ASTRID

CHAPTER 8

After an argument with Kenny, we finally settled on a plan.

We’re going back.

Back to my father’s place before.

The very same place that had already been compromised. The same place the enemy had traced—back when Hillary was still there.

It’s a reckless move. A dangerous one.

But right now, it’s the only choice we have.

"Do you even remember where it is?" I asked Kenny, my voice barely above a whisper.

I tried to picture it—my father’s old place—but the memories were fragmented, blurry. After the attack, we had moved to the underground in complete secrecy. I remembered being shoved into a closed van, the engine’s low rumble drowning out my father’s hurried instructions. I never saw where we were going. I never knew how far we had traveled.

Kenny’s jaw tightened. "It’s in Kenova."

Kenova. The name alone sent a chill down my spine.

"We need a ride," he added.

I swallowed. "And what if there’s nothing left?" My voice was hoarse. "That place was already attacked once. It could be… wrecked. Empty."

"That’s exactly why we should go," Kenny said, his tone flat but firm. "They already hit it. The enemy has no reason to go back."

Still, doubt gnawed at me. "And if we find nothing? No supplies, no shelter—just ashes and rubble?"

Kenny exhaled sharply. "Then we move. But standing here, waiting to be hunted, isn’t an option."

He was right. Again.

"Okay, we go. Now!"

Kenny shook his head. "No. In the daytime. We need rest." His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.

I exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling beneath my exhaustion. "Fine."

My body ached, the weight of the night pressing down on me. Every muscle burned, every nerve felt raw from the chaos we had just escaped. But Kenny was right—running blindly through the dark would only get us killed.

I glanced around, scanning the dense forest for anything that resembled shelter. Towering trees loomed over us, their twisted branches swaying in the night breeze. The undergrowth was thick, the ground uneven, littered with dead leaves and broken twigs.

We moved quickly, crouching low as we pushed through the brush. The ground was damp beneath my hands as I crawled between the rocks, squeezing into the narrow space. It was cold. Cramped. But it would keep us hidden.

Kenny sat beside me, setting his rifle across his lap. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The only sounds were the distant howls of unseen creatures and the rustling of the wind through the trees.

I hugged my knees to my chest, exhaustion settling over me like a heavy blanket. But my mind refused to rest.

Tomorrow, we would head to Kenova.

And whatever waited for us there—ruins, danger, or something worse—we had no choice but to face it.

* * * * *

We walked. And walked. And walked.

The forest stretched endlessly around us, a labyrinth of gnarled roots and towering trees. The damp earth clung to my boots, each step heavier than the last. The only comfort—the only thing keeping me from feeling completely lost—was that Kenny at least seemed to know the way. I had no idea where we were, no sense of direction.

I just had to trust him.

Or should I?

Kenny had been by my father’s side for as long as I could remember. He was always there—quiet, efficient, obeying orders without question. If my father needed something, Kenny got it done. If my father called for me, Kenny was the one sent to fetch me. But beyond that? I knew nothing about him.

He was my age, maybe a little older. Chinese, with sharp features and deep-set eyes that always seemed to be watching, calculating. He carried himself with an effortless confidence, like someone who had been trained for this life from the moment he could walk.

But who was he, really?

Just Kenny. One of my father’s men. Nothing more. Nothing less.

And yet, here I was, following him through the wilderness, putting my life in his hands.

I heaved a shaky sigh of relief when we finally stumbled onto a bigger road. My legs burned with exhaustion, my boots caked in mud from the endless trek through the thick forest. The vast expanse of trees had felt suffocating, stretching for what seemed like forever, and I had started to wonder if we would ever find our way out. Now, standing on the cracked pavement of an old highway, I felt an odd sense of hope.

Kenny, however, remained stone-faced, his gaze locked on the road ahead. His grip tightened on the rifle slung across his shoulder, his jaw clenched. He didn’t share my relief. If anything, he looked tenser than before.

We walked along the edge of the road, sticking close to the treeline for cover. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and rotting leaves, the distant hum of insects the only sound filling the silence between us. But then—faint at first, then growing louder—I heard it.

A low, grumbling roar.

Kenny stiffened. "Truck," he muttered under his breath.

I turned my head, my heart pounding. A massive vehicle rumbled down the road, its headlights slicing through the early morning mist. It was an old transport truck, its metal exterior dull and dust-coated, the flatbed covered by a thick tarp. I squinted, catching glimpses of what looked like sacks of grain and crates stacked beneath the covering.

A supply truck.

"We need to hide," Kenny hissed, grabbing my arm and yanking me toward the trees. We ducked behind a thick oak, pressing ourselves into the rough bark as the truck thundered closer.

Kenny peeked out, watching the vehicle approach with calculating eyes. "This is our chance," he murmured. "We climb on. Get inside. It’ll take us straight to the city."

I nodded, though my pulse hammered wildly in my throat.

The truck was moving fast.

How the hell were we supposed to get on it without being seen?

Kenny didn’t give me time to think.

"On my mark," he whispered. "We run. Stay low. Don’t hesitate."

I swallowed hard and steeled myself.

The truck was nearly beside us now.

"Go!" Kenny bolted.

I sprinted after him, my feet barely making a sound against the cracked asphalt. The wind whipped against my face as the truck barreled past, its engine growling. Kenny reached it first, his fingers gripping the metal bars along the flatbed. With a grunt, he swung himself up, vanishing beneath the tarp.

He grabbed my wrist in a bruising grip and yanked. My body slammed against the side of the truck, my feet scraping against the rear tires as I scrambled to find a foothold. My other hand clawed for purchase, my breath ragged.

"Kenny—!"

"Hold on!" He pulled harder.

With one final heave, I tumbled inside, landing hard against the wooden floorboards. The truck jolted beneath me, the force nearly sending me rolling off the edge. Kenny grabbed me again, dragging me fully under the tarp just as the vehicle sped past an old road checkpoint.

My lungs burned. My limbs trembled.

But we were in.

Panting, I looked around. Stacks of corn and grain filled the truck bed, the rough fabric of the sacks scratching against my arms. Kenny was already adjusting the tarp, pulling it tighter around us, making sure we were completely hidden.

I exhaled, pressing my forehead against the cool wood beneath me.

We had made it.

But the real danger was still ahead.

Kenova was waiting.

And I had no idea what would be left of it.