Chapter 15 (Anna’s POV)

  My leg throbbed with each cautious step, the laceration pulsing like a toxic heartbeat under the threadbare bandage. I half-limped, half-crept along the ragged alley, eyes always darting to the rooftops overhead, half-collapsed walls on either side. Even the faint sunlight filtering through gaps in the crumbling high-rises offered no comfort—if anything, it just made me a clearer target against all this ruin.

  I shouldn’t be so deep in Empire territory. Normally, I’d keep a wide berth of these sectors. But hunger and a near-empty stash of usable canned goods had forced my route. Now I was trying to skirt the edges, heading south then west, aiming for the next crossing that would lead me to the outskirts. I was now trying to make it back to the Scavengers colony, a scattered band of folks who refused to bow to the Empire Gang or the other factions, set up near an old Muay Thai gym ironically called Iron Elbow. If I could trade for a half-decent meal—or maybe a few weeks of shelter so my leg can heal—then limping through these battered streets might be worth the risk.

  But that was if I made it past the Empire’s patrols, which seemed particularly aggressive of late. A few hours back, I spotted a pair of them further up the block—patchwork armor and rifles that barked lethal threats. It took all my cunning to slip away, crouched in the debris while they stomped by, spitting curses about “filthy roamer-chow.” Something must have them riled up: maybe another faction had made a move, or they were out for fresh kills. I’d seen them like this before—tense, spoiling for a fight, eager to hang another corpse on their makeshift walls.

  Now, every hiss of wind or crackle of rubble made me freeze. My breath rattled shallow in my lungs, my battered leg protesting every shift of weight. I’d tried adding more cloth to cushion the wound, but all I’d managed was to soak another bandage in grime. It oozed a watery mixture of blood and pus, and the feverish undertone in my bones told me it was getting worse. Pain or not, I had no choice but to push on.

  A whispering wind slithered through a collapsed overpass nearby, stirring dust in swirling eddies. I caught a fleeting whiff of rotting matter—a corpse or two left to fester by the roadside. The entire city reeked, but here, in the Empire’s territory, it felt thicker, as though layer upon layer of unburied remains had amplified the stench. I could almost taste it on my tongue, bitter and heavy, blending with the metallic tang of rust.

  I halted abruptly, pressing my back to a jagged slab of concrete. My ears pricked at a sound—footsteps, muffled but growing nearer. Soft, rhythmic scuffing on the asphalt, a subtle rattle of gear. Empire patrol, probably. They always moved with that calculated arrogance, believing everything belonged to them. My pulse hammered in my ears, sweat slicking my palms against the chunk of steel I’d scavenged for a weapon.

  In the hush, I peered around the corner: half a block away, four men in battered armor, each carrying rifles that glinted dully under the half-light. They marched in a wedge formation—like they were practiced, efficient. I sucked in a slow breath, heart throbbing with fear and hatred. Hide or fight? The answer was plain. I had a half-lame leg and a chunk of metal that might handle a roamer, but guns would mow me down.

  I slipped back behind the rubble, forcing my body low, making myself as small as possible. The tension in my thigh flared with scorching pain, but I bit my tongue. If I yelped, they’d hear. Flicking my gaze around, I found a small opening between two slabs of collapsed concrete—barely wide enough to wedge my body through, but it would serve as a hiding spot. Holding my breath, I wriggled inside, ignoring the dust that coated my face and the sticky wetness that might be old blood or sludge. It smelled foul, but it was better than a bullet.

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  Footsteps drew closer. I listened intently, a new wave of sweat trickling under my collar. The men stopped just a few paces from my vantage point, boots knocking pebbles aside. My stomach lurched at their harsh laughter and the snatches of conversation that drifted my way: talk of “cleaning out more scavengers,” or “finding that bitch who took out Reyes.” My blood ran cold. Could they be referencing me? They could be. The Empire Gang collected grudges like trophies.

  I stayed rigid, pressing down the panic. The cramped hole reeked, probably of rotting remains under the chunk of concrete. But I’d endured worse. My heart hammered so violently it felt like it would betray me with each throb. A swirl of dust tickled my nose, forcing me to clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle a cough.

  One soldier stepped just beyond my hiding spot, so close I could see the scuffed metal plates strapped to his shins, flecks of dried gore on the edges. My fingers clenched around the chunk of steel, half-tempted to lash out, half-terrified I’d die if I tried. The soldier paused, spinning on his heel. For a heartbeat, I thought he’d sense me. But another barked an order—something about checking the next intersection. Their footsteps receded. My tense muscles began to quiver from relief and exhaustion.

  I didn’t dare move until their voices trailed off into the wind. Only then did I crawl free of the gap, mind reeling with fresh dread. My entire body ached, the leg wound screaming for a break, the rest of me seething with hatred for these men who roamed with rifles and cruelty. Calm, I warned myself. I still have to get to the outskirts. If I could reach the scavengers near the old Muay Thai gym—Iron Elbow, if memory served—I might trade the few pearls I had left, or that worthless hoard of old-world bills, for actual bandages or food. The thought spurred me on, even as the city threatened to swallow me in its gloom.

  Pressing on, I limped down a side street, stepping over twisted pipes and smashed windows. My breathing came hard, chest tight, as though something pressed on my lungs. Possibly the infection, or just the terror that refused to leave. Each building I passed bore the scars of violence: bullet holes scattered across battered facades, melted signage, burnt-out vehicles rusting in contorted shapes. The wind gusted again, carrying a shrill note as it funneled through collapsed corridors. The echo of emptiness was a stark reminder: this city devoured everything.

  Still, I wasn’t dead. My battered chunk of steel might not compare to an assault rifle, but so far it had kept me alive against roamers. If the Empire cornered me, I’d just have to run, or hide, or… fight. A knot in my stomach tightened at the thought. My leg couldn’t handle much more sprinting, but that didn’t matter. Survival allowed for no excuses.

  In the distance, I spotted the half-fallen roof of an old gym—once a modern building with tinted windows, now boarded and graffitied. The swirl of dryness in my throat warned I might be hallucinating. No, keep going. I was still too close to the Empire’s patrol route, the air thick with their presence. Another half-mile, maybe more, separated me from the relative safety of the scavenger outpost.

  A distant shriek—unearthly and abrupt—ripped the hush. My heart stuttered, but I forced myself not to freeze. Some roamer or feral must have stumbled upon fresh prey, or maybe the Empire found more victims. The noise lingered, echoing off the battered architecture, then died as quickly as it came. Silence thickened once more, leaving me trembling. My entire body demanded rest, demanded a moment to bandage my leg properly. I denied it that luxury, hobbling faster instead. The possibility of Empire troopers hearing that same cry, zeroing in on it, forced me onward.

  Stale wind battered my face, carrying faint embers of old fires. I scanned the battered thoroughfare, shoulders tense, prepared to duck behind the next chunk of collapsed building if necessary. My breath came ragged, half-labored. Almost there, I told myself. If I could circle behind the next few blocks, maybe I’d slip unnoticed into the outskirts, to Iron Elbow. The scavengers there might not be friendly, but they were better than the Empire’s bullets, and at least they’d trade rather than shoot me on sight—hopefully.

  So I pressed forward, ignoring the pain, ignoring the swirl of gritty dust that stung my eyes and the stench of rotting corpses in unseen corners. My leg burned like fire, every jolt a fresh stab that threatened to buckle my knee.