Ash Mercer's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Ash Mercer had survived two years alone in the wasteland by trusting no one, and he meant to keep it that way. He crouched behind a dead pine, counting his supplies. Three cans. Half a canteen. One knife. Enough to last if he stayed invisible. He had learned the rule the hard way, after a man he fed slit his pack open while he slept. Alone meant alive. That was the whole math of his life now. Then the scream cut through the trees. It came from deep in the forest, low and ragged. A woman. Ash froze. His first thought was a trap. Bandits used bait like this. A cry, a wounded stranger, a circle of knives waiting in the brush. He gripped his knife and told himself to walk away. His legs did not move. The scream broke into a snarl, then a crash of branches. That was no act. Ash swore under his breath and ran toward it. He found her in a clearing, pinned against a boulder. She had a white-blonde pixie cut and green eyes, and she was swinging a broken rifle like a club. Her combat boots dug into the dirt for grip. In front of her stood something that had once been a man. It towered over her, skin split and swollen, veins glowing beneath the surface. Claws curved from its fingers like knives. The mutant's white eyes locked on her throat. The woman spotted Ash. "Don't just stand there, pretty boy," she gasped. "Grab a rock!" Ash hesitated for one breath. Help her, and he broke his only rule. Walk away, and he listened to her die. He grabbed a rock. He hurled it. The stone cracked against the mutant's skull. The creature spun, snarling, and charged him. Ash dove sideways. Claws tore the air where his chest had been. He rolled, came up, and threw his knife. It sank into the thing's shoulder. The mutant barely flinched. "Its neck!" the woman shouted. "The veins are thin there!" She swung the rifle hard into the back of its knee. The mutant buckled. Ash lunged, ripped his knife free, and drove it into the creature's throat. Hot blood sprayed his hands. The mutant thrashed, then dropped, twitching in the dirt. For a moment neither of them spoke. Ash stood over the body, chest heaving, blood dripping from his wrists. The woman wiped her face and grinned. "Ness Wilson," she said, sticking out a hand. "You're not half bad." Ash looked at her hand. He did not take it. "Ash," he said. "And you almost got me killed." "You ran in anyway." She coughed hard, doubling over, then straightened like it was nothing. "That means something out here." He had broken his rule. Now a stranger knew his face, his name, and the fact that he would come when someone screamed. Ash wiped his knife on his pants and wondered what that would cost him.