Chapter 1: Girl at the Gate
The fence loomed ahead, a jagged line of rusted metal and scavenged wood, patched together with hope and desperation. Jess stumbled forward, her boots kicking up dust from the cracked asphalt. Blood trickled down her shin, warm and sticky, soaking into the frayed hem of her jeans. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to keep moving. The town of Jackson wasn’t much—just another scrap of civilization clinging to survival—but right now, it was the only thing standing between her and the wasteland behind her.
She could hear them before she saw them. Voices, sharp and alert, cutting through the dry wind. A shadow shifted behind the fence, followed by the unmistakable *click* of a rifle being cocked.
"Stop right there," a woman’s voice called out, firm and unyielding.
Jess’s knees buckled, her vision swimming as she pressed a hand to the wound on her side—still bleeding, still burning. She swayed, gripping the rusted fence for balance, her fingers slipping against the rough metal. *"Please—"* The word tore out of her, raw and desperate. *"I’m not here to fight. I just—need help."* Her voice cracked, and for a second, the world blurred, the fence tilting like a ship in a storm. She blinked hard, forcing herself to focus. *"I’m not a threat. I swear."*
The rifle didn’t waver. A woman stepped into view—tall, broad-shouldered, her dark hair streaked with silver and pulled back in a tight braid. Maria Miller. Jess had heard the name whispered in the ruins, a warning and a promise all at once.
*Maria Miller.* The woman who ran Jackson. The woman who didn’t suffer fools. The woman who might just let her live.
Dust swirled from Jess’s fall, a sudden, choking cloud that caught in her throat as she hit the ground hard. The impact sent a fresh wave of pain through her side, her breath hitching as she pressed a trembling hand to the wound. Blood seeped between her fingers, warm and slick, staining the cracked earth beneath her. She coughed, her lungs burning, and forced herself to look up—right into the barrel of Maria’s rifle.
Maria didn’t lower it. Her dark eyes stayed locked on Jess, sharp as flint, assessing every twitch, every ragged breath. "You’re bleeding," she said, voice flat. "Badly."
Jess swallowed, her throat dry. "Yeah. I noticed."
A beat of silence.
Then Maria exhaled sharply through her nose, her grip on the rifle loosening just enough to signal the others without taking her eyes off Jess. Behind her, the fence creaked as two figures stepped forward—a wiry man with a scar running from his temple to his jaw, and a younger woman with a medical bag slung over her shoulder. Neither spoke, but their movements were efficient, practiced.
The woman knelt beside Jess, her fingers already probing the wound with clinical precision. "Hold still," she murmured, her voice low but steady. "This is gonna hurt."
Jess hissed as the pressure sent a fresh jolt of pain through her side, her nails digging into the dirt. "No shit," she ground out, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. She forced herself to meet Maria’s gaze again, defiance flickering in her green eyes despite the sweat beading on her forehead.
"I’m not asking for charity," Jess rasped, her voice hoarse with pain and exhaustion. "I’ll work. I’ll—"
The words died in her throat as rough hands seized her arms. The world lurched sideways as the fence gate groaned open, the hinges screaming like a wounded animal. Before she could protest, she was half-dragged, half-carried through the gap, her boots scraping against the uneven ground. The sudden movement sent fresh agony lancing through her side, and she bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying out.
"Easy!" the medic snapped, her grip tightening as she tried to steady Jess’s weight. "She’s losing too much blood—"
"Then move faster," Maria cut in, her voice sharp as a blade. She didn’t look back as she strode ahead, her rifle still slung over her shoulder, her boots kicking up dust with every step.
The barrel stayed trained on Jess’s back, steady as a compass needle, never wavering—not when the medic pressed a wad of gauze against the wound, not when Jess’s knees nearly gave out, not even when the scarred man muttered something under his breath about "another stray."
Jess’s breath came in ragged gasps, her vision swimming as the pressure of the rifle’s presence burned into her like a brand. The medic’s hands were quick, efficient, but every touch sent fresh waves of pain through her side, and she could feel the blood soaking through the gauze, warm and sticky. *"You’re lucky,"* the woman murmured, her voice low. *"If it had been an inch higher—"*
*"Yeah, yeah, I’d be dead,"* Jess ground out, her voice rough with pain. *"I get it."*
Maria didn’t react.
Her rifle stayed leveled as the medic pressed a fresh bandage to Jess’s wound, her fingers moving with practiced efficiency. Jess bit back a groan as the pressure sent fresh pain lancing through her side, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. The medic worked quickly, her hands steady despite the chaos, her voice low and calm as she muttered instructions to the scarred man beside her.
*"Hold her steady—she’s losing too much blood. We need to get her inside before she passes out."*
Maria’s jaw tightened, but she gave a single, curt nod. *"Move. Now."*
The medic’s hands were warm against Jess’s skin, her touch surprisingly gentle as she worked to stem the bleeding. Jess’s vision swam, the edges of the world blurring as the pain threatened to drag her under.
The medic’s voice sounded distant now, muffled as if she were speaking through water. *"Jess? Stay with me—don’t you dare pass out on me now."* The words barely registered before the darkness closed in, swallowing the light.
Maria’s voice cut through the haze, sharp as a whip. *"She’s fading—get her inside before she collapses."* The rifle lowered slightly, but her eyes never left Jess’s face, searching for any sign of deception. The scarred man swore under his breath and adjusted his grip, hauling Jess’s limp weight forward with more force than necessary. The jostling sent fresh agony through her side, but she couldn’t even groan—her body had gone numb.
The medic cursed, her hands flying to Jess’s wrist, fingers pressing hard against her pulse. *"She’s losing consciousness—we need to move!"* Her tone was urgent, no longer the detached professional from before.