Chapter 4: An Unexpected Ally
The dawn came gray and cold, seeping through the cabin's single window. Jess was already awake, had been for hours, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of a settling building and the distant calls of morning birds. She moved stiffly, the pain in her side a persistent, dull ache. She pulled on Eli’s jacket over her own clothes, the weight of it already starting to feel like a part of her.
The mess hall was louder, brighter than the night before. The air was thick with the smell of coffee, frying grease, and damp wool. People clustered at long tables, the hum of conversation a low, constant rumble. She felt every glance as she entered. A few stares lingered, flat and assessing, before turning away.
She got in line, accepted a tin plate from a tired-looking woman serving behind a counter. The food was a scoop of grainy porridge, a slice of dense brown bread, and a helping of scrambled eggs that looked rubbery and pale. She found an empty spot at the end of a table near the wall, her back instinctively finding the solid wood. She ate the porridge first. It was bland, lukewarm, filling.
She was methodically tearing the bread when the bench opposite her scraped back.
A girl about her age slid into the seat, setting her own plate down with a soft clatter. She had dark, curly hair pulled into a messy bun, warm brown eyes, and a smudge of what looked like engine grease on her cheek. She smiled, not a cautious, sizing-up smile, but an easy, open one.
“You’re the new girl,” she said, not a question. “Jess, right? I’m Dina.”
Jess nodded once, her chewing slowing. She said nothing.
Dina seemed unbothered by the silence. She pushed her own plate forward. On it were two golden-brown biscuits, steam still curling off them. She picked one up and broke it in half, the inside soft and fluffy. “First rule of Jackson,” Dina said, leaning forward conspiratorially. She nudged the other intact biscuit across the table towards Jess’s plate. “Never eat the eggs on Tuesdays. Old man Riggs does the cooking Tuesdays. He thinks pepper is a radical concept.”
Jess looked from the biscuit to Dina’s face. The offer felt like a test, but not a hostile one. A different kind. She slowly put her piece of bread down and picked up the biscuit. It was warm, almost hot, in her hand. She took a bite. It was good. Really good. Buttery, soft.
“Thanks,” Jess said, the word muffled by the food.
“No problem. Everyone learns the hard way once. Figured I’d save you the gastrointestinal regret.” Dina took a bite of her own half, watching Jess with frank curiosity. “Heard you came in with Tommy. That you’re staying in Eli’s old place.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s a good cabin. Quiet. Eli was… he was a friend.” Dina’s smile softened, turned a little sad at the edges. “I like the jacket on you. Seems right.”
Jess’s hand went to the patched sleeve automatically. A callback, an acknowledgment. It eased something tight in her chest, just a fraction. “Tommy said he didn’t come back.”
“He didn’t.” Dina shook her head, a quick, clean motion. “We don’t really do funerals here. Not like before. We just… remember. Keep using their stuff. It’s better.” She sipped from a chipped enamel mug. “So, Maria’s got you on patrol roster with me and a few others. Starting after lunch. Perimeter check, mostly. Ease you in.”
Patrol. Outside the walls. Jess felt her muscles tense, a fresh wave of alertness cutting through the morning fog in her mind. “I can handle myself.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Dina said, her eyes flicking to the faint bruising visible on Jess’s jaw, the careful way she held herself. “Nobody gets here by being soft. But out there, it’s not just about handling yourself. It’s about watching each other’s backs. Knowing the patterns. Knowing what a broken branch means, or why the crows go quiet.” She finished her biscuit. “It’s different here.”
Before Jess could formulate a response, a man further down the table slammed his hand down, making the tin cups rattle. “—absolute bullshit, is what it is!” he barked, his face flushed. “We’re rationing candle wax but we’re taking in strays who’ll eat a week’s worth of supplies just healing up?”
The hall went quiet for a beat. Jess didn’t look up, but every fiber of her being focused on the speaker. Her fingers tightened around the biscuit.
Dina sighed, a small, frustrated sound through her nose. “That’s Seth,” she murmured, rolling her eyes. “Ignore him. He’s got a sore tooth and takes it out on the world.”
“I can hear you, you know!” Seth snapped, turning his glare their way. His eyes landed on Jess, dripping with contempt. “We all see you, sitting there in a dead man’s clothes, eating our food. What’d you trade for it, huh? What’s your worth?”
Jess put the rest of the biscuit down, carefully. She wiped her hands on her pants. The old heat, the violent, liquid instinct to shut him up permanently, rose in her throat. But she saw Maria, from across the room, standing near the kitchen door, watching. Not intervening. Just watching.
“My worth,” Jess said, her voice low but clear in the hush, “is that I’m still alive. In the world that is. That’s the only trade that matters anymore.” She held Seth’s gaze until he looked away, muttering into his coffee.
Dina let out a low whistle. “Okay then.”
The moment broke. Conversations started up again, a little softer. Maria, Jess noted, had turned and walked into the kitchen.
Dina stood up, collecting her plate. “Meet me at the east gate after lunch. Wear sturdy boots.” She started to walk away, then turned back, her expression turning serious, the easy smile gone. “Oh, and Jess? One more thing. Keep your eyes open. For everything. Especially for the mark.”
Jess frowned. “What mark?”
Dina’s gaze was steady, her earlier warmth replaced by a flat, practical intensity. She didn’t point. She just gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod towards Jess’s plate, towards the remaining half of the gifted biscuit.
There, baked into the golden-brown surface of the biscuit, where it had been torn apart, was a crude, deliberate indentation.
The letter B.
The letter B.
Jess stared at the impression in the soft, torn bread. It was no accident. It was carved, pressed in before baking.A brand. Her eyes snapped up, but Dina was already weaving her way through the tables, disappearing into the morning crowd without a backward glance.
The hum of the mess hall faded to a distant buzz. Jess’s fingers traced the indentation, the simple shape feeling heavier than any threat. ‘B’ for what?Block? Burn?Betray? She broke the marked piece off, crumpled it in her fist, and shoved it deep into her jacket pocket. Her appetite was gone. The porridge turned to a cold, gluey paste on her plate.
She sat there, motionless, as the hall emptied around her. The weight of Eli’s jacket, once a comfort, now felt like someone else’s skin. She thought of the watchful eyes, Maria’s flat assessment, Seth’s venom. This wasn't sanctuary. It was another system, with its own rules and its own marks. She just didn’t know the currency yet.
The morning passed in a slow, painful blur of chores. She was assigned to the greenhouse, her side screaming in protest as she hauled buckets of collected rainwater to troughs. An older woman named Astrid showed her how to check for blight on the tomato plants, her hands gentle on the leaves. She didn’t ask questions, just worked in a companionable silence that Jess found almost worse than suspicion. It felt like a invitation to relax, and she couldn’t afford it.
At lunch, she grabbed an apple and a hunk of cheese from the kitchen, eating alone on the steps of her cabin. The sun was weak but direct, doing little to cut the mountain chill. She watched the compound move. Two kids chased a dog near the animal pens. A man repaired a section of fence, the steady thunk-thunk-thunk of his hammer marking time.Normalcy. It was a performance, and she was an audience of one, unsure if she was watching a comedy or the prelude to a slaughter.
When it was time, she made her way to the east gate. The huge, reinforced timber doors were open just enough for foot traffic, secured by a heavy crossbar. A group was already gathered in the cleared space between the inner wall and the gate itself.
Dina was there, checking the action on a rifle. Beside her stood a tall, broad-shouldered man Jess hadn't seen before, his face mostly hidden by a thick, brown beard. He gave her a slow, appraising nod. Another guy, younger, leaner, with nervous eyes that never stopped moving, fidgeted with a pack strap. An older woman with steely gray hair plaited down her back was sharpening a long hunting knife on a stone, the rhythmic shhhick-shhhick sound grating in the quiet air.
Jess approached the edge of their loose circle, stopping a few feet away. She adjusted her pack, her own salvaged pistol a familiar weight on her hip under the jacket. She kept her gaze on the gap in the gate, on the winding path and the dark line of trees beyond. She didn't offer a greeting. She didn't make eye contact.
“This is Jess,” Dina said to the group, her voice matter-of-fact. “She’s running with us today.”
The bearded man grunted. The younger one’s fidgeting intensified. The older woman looked up from her knife, her eyes like chips of flint. “Heard you had a rough entry,” she said, her voice raspy from smoke or age.
Jess just shrugged, a tight, minimal movement of her shoulders. She didn’t elaborate. She didn't mention the fire, the running, the wound. Pity was a debt. Dead weight got left behind. Her silence was a wall, and she built it stone by stone.
Dina didn't push.“Alright. Standard outer loop. Stay sharp. Jesse, you’re with me. Let’s move.” She shouldered her rifle and headed for the gap.
Jess fell into step, not beside Dina, but a half-pace behind and to the right. Her eyes were already scanning the tree line, the ditches, the way the late afternoon light slanted through the pines, looking for the things that didn’t belong. The gate creaked shut behind them with a solid, final thud that echoed in her bones. The world outside was vast and terribly quiet.
The bearded man took point, moving with a surprising lightness. The nervous kid, whose name was apparently Mateo, was behind him. The older woman, introduced only as “Griff”, brought up the rear. They moved in a practiced, watchful silence, the only sounds their footsteps on the pine needles and the distant cry of a hawk.
After twenty minutes, Dina slowed, letting the distance grow between them and the others. She gestured with her chin towards a cluster of broken saplings off the trail. “Rabbits,” she murmured. “Recent. Something spooked ‘em.”
Jess nodded. She’d seen it too. The breaks were too clean for wind. Something had passed through, low and fast. She looked at Dina, waiting.
The forest held its breath around them.
“Not just rabbits,” Jess said, her voice low. “Something ran through here. Heavy. Fast.” She crouched, brushing her fingers over the snapped stems. The sap was still wet. “Not more than an hour ago.”
Dina knelt beside her, her rifle resting across her thighs. “You’re right.” She pointed to a faint depression in the pine needles. “Boot print. Same as the one we found earlier.”
Jess’s pulse quickened. She stood, scanning the tree line. The wind whispered through the branches, carrying no other sound. “We should tell the others.”
“Not yet.” Dina’s voice was firm.
“We need to track this.”
Jess hesitated, her instincts screaming at her to fall back, to regroup. But something in Dina’s steady gaze held her. “Why?”
“Because if we don’t, someone else will. And not everyone here is as… cautious as we are.” Dina’s eyes flicked to the distant figures of the others, now nearly out of sight around a bend in the trail. “Griff will notice we’re gone soon enough. But we’ve got time.”
Jess exhaled sharply through her nose. “Fine. But we move fast. And we don’t engage.”
Dina nodded, already moving forward, her rifle held low and ready.
Jess followed, her own pistol drawn, the weight of it familiar in her hand. The tracks were faint but clear—crushed ferns, a snapped branch, the occasional scuff in the dirt. Whoever—or whatever—had passed through here was moving fast, but not trying to hide.
Jess kept her breathing steady, her eyes scanning the forest in a slow, methodical pattern. The trees here were thick, their trunks close together, the underbrush tangled. Perfect cover for an ambush. She could feel the tension in her shoulders, the old, familiar prickle of adrenaline. She didn’t like this. Not one bit. But she trusted Dina’s instincts. At least for now.
The boot prints led them deeper into the trees, where the shadows stretched long and the air smelled of damp earth and pine. Jess crouched beside a broken branch, running her fingers along the jagged edge. "Fresh," she murmured. "Within the hour." Dina nodded, her rifle held loose but ready at her side. The tracks were too deliberate to be accidental—someone was moving with purpose, and not trying to hide it.
Jess's pulse thrummed in her throat. "Why aren't we calling the others?"
Dina's jaw tightened. "Because whoever this is, they're not just passing through. They're heading straight for the east gate."
The realization hit Jess like a physical blow. The same gate they'd just walked out of. The same gate that stood between this unknown tracker and the compound. She exhaled sharply through her nose. "Then we cut them off."
Dina's eyes gleamed with something like approval.
"There you go. You're learning." She adjusted the strap of her rifle, her fingers lingering on the worn leather. "We cut them off. But not like you're thinking."
Jess frowned, her grip tightening on her pistol. "Then how?"
Dina pointed ahead, to where the trees thinned into a rocky outcrop. "We don't chase. We ambush. That's the only way to handle one of the Blotters."
Jess's breath caught. *Blotters.* The word hit like a punch to the gut. She'd heard the stories—nightmares of infected, mutated things that had once been human, their bodies twisted by the same sickness that had torn through the world. The big ones were the worst. The ones that didn't scream, didn't charge. The ones that *watched.*
She swallowed hard. "You sure it's a Blotter?"
Dina didn't answer right away.
She raised her rifle, squinting through the scope as she scanned the tree line. The afternoon light slanted through the pines, turning the forest into a maze of shifting shadows. "See that?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "The way the branches are bent? Not just broken—*twisted*. Like something heavy swung through here."
Jess held her breath, her pulse hammering in her throat. She followed Dina's line of sight, her own eyes narrowing as she caught the faint, unnatural distortion in the trees. The branches weren't just snapped—they were *wrenched*, the wood fibers torn in ways no animal could manage. Her stomach twisted. She'd seen this before. Not often, but enough to recognize the pattern. The Blotters didn't just kill. They *played* with their prey.
Dina lowered her rifle slightly, her expression grim. "It's not just one.
It's a pack," Jess breathed, her fingers tightening around the grip of her pistol as the first guttural snarl echoed through the trees. The sound wasn't human—it was something deeper, wetter, like a throat full of broken glass. She didn't wait for confirmation. She dropped to one knee behind a fallen log, her free hand already reaching for her knife. "Dina, left flank—"
The first Blotter burst from the underbrush before she could finish. It was bigger than she remembered—taller, broader, its limbs elongated and twisted like something from a fever dream. Its skin was a patchwork of raw, weeping sores and thick, corded muscle, the remnants of its human form barely recognizable beneath the grotesque transformation. It moved with a terrifying, fluid grace, its head snapping toward them with a wet, clicking sound.
Dina didn’t hesitate.