The Factionless

The Hideout

Landon woke to the warmth of Clara’s body pressed against his, and in the faint morning light, he could just make out the peaceful curve of her face. The soft rise and fall of her breathing was steady, almost calming, and for a moment, he simply stayed there, letting the quiet morning stretch around them. She had recently started sneaking into his bed at night, but it seemed to ease her mind, so he had allowed it. Besides, she was a childhood friend—not some random girl—and in a world that had lost everything, that small familiarity was a rare comfort.

Slowly, he slipped out of her arms, careful not to disturb her, and moved to get dressed for the day. The floorboards were cold beneath his feet, and the faint smell of smoke and wood from last night’s fire still hung in the air. As he pulled on his clothes, his thoughts drifted back to the chaos they had survived. When the Phantoms were attacked, they had been separated in the bloody confusion, forced to navigate a frozen, hostile world with nothing but each other to rely on. The snow had been unrelenting, biting at their skin, and the darkness of night had made every shadow feel like a threat.

By the time the sun had dipped toward the horizon, they had stumbled upon a cabin that seemed almost too good to be true. Inside, it was stocked with everything they could have hoped for: food, firewood, and weapons. Even after weeks of careful rationing, they still had enough food to last another month. A compound bow and a hunting rifle sat against the wall, accompanied by five boxes of bullets. They had only needed to use them once, when a bear had wandered too close to the clearing, and even then, the single shot had been enough to send it retreating into the trees. Landon ran his hand over the smooth wood of the rifle, thinking of how fragile life had become—and how extraordinary their luck really was.

Landon pulled the rifle off the wall and slung it over his back, taking a handful of bullets with him, just to be safe. He opened the cabin door and was immediately met with the sharp bite of morning air. Frost clung to the edges of the doorway, and every breath came out in white clouds.

He made his way to the small shed nearby, where uncut logs were stacked haphazardly. The wood smelled faintly of pine. He opened the shed, pulled out a hefty log, and grabbed the axe hanging from the inside of the shed door. With practiced swings, he began chopping the wood, each strike sending small chips flying into the snow. When the log had been split into manageable pieces, he carried handfuls back to the cabin and stacked them neatly by the fire, doing his best not to wake Clara.

Next on his list was checking the snares. Even though they had plenty of canned food in the cabin—enough to last a long time—fresh meat would be better if they could manage it. He trudged up the first hill along the snowy trail, glancing back at the open plain nearby for any sign of other people. As usual, the world appeared empty, silent except for the crunch of his boots against the snow.

At the top of the hill, the snares were set. The first one was empty, the second the same disappointment. By the third, he felt a spark of hope—and there it was: a small rabbit, frozen and trapped. Landon threw his hand up in silent celebration, relieved he hadn’t messed up the setup; he was relying purely on memory. Carefully, he picked up the rabbit and started back down the hill, eager to bring home his catch. Once Landon made it back to the cabin, he set the frozen rabbit down on the small wooden table by the door. His fingers were stiff from the cold, but he worked carefully, pulling his knife from its sheath. The metal glinted faintly in the pale morning light seeping through the frosted window. The rabbit was stiff as stone, and it took effort to slice through the hide, but eventually, he peeled it away and cleaned the carcass as best he could. Once the job was done, he carried the meat inside to thaw near the stove.

While it warmed, Landon stacked the chopped wood into the stove and struck a match. The small flame caught, flickering to life, and within moments, the cabin filled with a faint crackle and the comforting scent of burning pine. He rubbed his hands together for warmth and turned his attention to the pantry—a rough set of shelves stocked with dusty cans and old supplies. He scanned the labels.

“Beans,” he muttered to himself. “Not exactly gourmet, but it’ll do.”

He grabbed a can and a pinch of salt, setting them down beside the stove. By the time he turned back, the rabbit meat had softened enough to cook. He laid it gently into a worn metal pan, and soon the faint sizzle of fat hitting heat filled the quiet cabin. The smell of fresh meat—real meat—spread through the room, rich and mouthwatering after weeks of canned food.

Landon was so focused on the meal that he didn’t notice Clara had stirred until her soft voice broke the silence.

“Good morning, Landon,” she said, her tone still laced with sleep.

He turned, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Morning, Clara.”

Her nose lifted slightly as she sniffed the air. “That doesn’t smell like canned food.”

“It’s rabbit!” he said proudly, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

Clara smiled faintly, though there was a shadow behind her expression. “I haven’t seen you smile in a while,” she said quietly.Landon’s grin faltered a bit, the warmth behind it dimming as her words lingered in the air. He turned back to the stove, poking at the meat to hide the flicker of sadness that crossed his face. “Breakfast is done,” he said softly. “Let’s eat.”

He divided the food between two plates—rabbit and beans, a strange but welcome combination. Clara joined him at the small wooden table, her blanket still draped around her shoulders, hair a mess of soft curls from sleep. She looked tired, but the faint smile she offered him was genuine.

Steam curled from the plates, and for a while, neither of them spoke. The quiet between them wasn’t uncomfortable, just heavy with everything that didn’t need saying—their losses, their survival, and the uncertain days still ahead.

“This actually tastes… good,” Clara said after a moment, her tone surprised.

Landon chuckled faintly. “Guess I haven’t forgotten everything my dad taught me.”

That name—the casual mention of someone who was gone—hung in the air for a bit too long. Clara looked down, her fork stilling. Landon noticed but said nothing. He just kept eating, eyes fixed on his plate, trying not to think about the faces that had vanished a month ago when the world had changed forever.