I'm sorry for the delay in publishing this chapter. I dislocated my shoulder, so I was unable to write for the week. This chapter is extra long to make up for it. Thank you for sticking around; it means the world! :) Enjoy!
"She's asleep," Grace whispered.
I didn't want to move. I wanted to monitor every breath Mother took, to be certain each one followed the last. But my senses screamed at me to get up, to check the shadows beyond the house. Someone must have heard Grace's cry. Carefully, I set Mother's head down on the rotting floor and rose to my feet. The one advantage of rotting wood—it didn't creak.
Grace barreled into me, her body shaking with quiet sobs. My arms instinctively wrapped around her, and my fingers smoothed her tangled hair. "She's okay," I whispered, forcing a smile. I kissed her forehead and gestured toward Mother. Grace nodded, biting her lip as she settled beside her again.
I forced myself to swallow my own emotions, to rebuild the wall that had cracked the moment I thought I'd lost Mother for good. It wasn't strong anymore. Too many times, I had torn it down, only to build it back up again. Now, it was riddled with holes, barely holding back the flood.
I traced my father's watch on my wrist. Be strong.
Steeling myself, I turned to the boarded-up window, peering through the cracks. The alley was dark, too dark. I squinted, scanning the shadows. Had something moved?
My hand instinctively found my knife. I wouldn't throw it unless they came through the door. It was my only weapon. If I lost it, I'd claw, bite, fight with everything I had.
Anything for my family.
I crouched by the door, waiting, breath shallow. An hour passed. No one came.
"Alexandra?" Mother's voice, raspy and strained, broke the silence.
I turned instantly, dropping to my knees beside her. "Mom. I'm so glad you're okay."
"You were gone longer than usual today. I was worried." Her weak smile made my chest tighten.
"I'm always careful." I kissed her cheek. "You should be focused on yourself, not me. How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine." A cough wracked her frail body. She pulled her knees up, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain. I knew she was lying.
I squeezed her hand. "You should rest. I'll bring you food soon." My mother's forced smile sent a wave of affection through me. She was trying to hide her pain, to be strong for us.
Ever since The Reckoning, she had been different. She rarely smiled; when she did, it was half-hearted and strained. Months after we were stranded in Los Angeles, the city we once loved, now called Beggar's End, she started to adopt the strained wheeze that echoed through the house.
I returned to the only other room in the small house and glanced out the boarded-up windows again. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Maybe Grace's cry would go unnoticed.
"Lexy?"
I glanced over my shoulder. Grace stood behind me and shuffled her feet on the floor. "I know I shouldn't have shouted. I should have waited, but I thought she was going to...you know." Her eyes shined with tears as she didn't meet my gaze.
"I would have done the same." I couldn't scold her for this.
She still refused to meet my gaze.
I knelt down and put a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to look at me. "I love you. You know that, right?"
She nodded, and her lip trembled, "I didn't mean to put us in danger. I really didn't."
I smiled and kissed her forehead before standing up. "I know you'd never do that. Now wipe your tears and get us some rations." I smirked at her sudden excitement.
She glanced up at me with her eyes wide. "Really?"
It warmed my heart to see her happy again, "Yes."
Her smile grew so bright it could have outdone the sun.
"But only enough for a day," I warned quickly, partly reminding myself. The empty gnawing of my insides had been a constant for the last few years. It felt as if my body was eating itself, and there was always a sick turning in my stomach. I suppose it eating itself. It was said that a human could go up to three weeks without eating food. It seems the universe wanted us to test that.
Grace's stomach growled happily as she nodded and dragged herself to the back wall of the house. She dug her fingers behind one of the boards and pulled it quickly away from the wall, which revealed a small dirt-covered bag. She looked into it, almost desperately, and shuffled through the bag's contents. Her face fell. "There's hardly enough food to split with two people."
I pushed down the desperation and hunger that was clawing at my stomach and choked out the words before my throat locked up. "You and Mother must eat first."
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
Grace shook her head slowly. The whole time, her eyes fixed on the small bag of food. "You have to eat. You haven't eaten in days."
"You and Mother need it more than me."
Grace could barely walk anymore, and Mother couldn't stand without help. They were weak; they needed food soon, or they would die. It didn't matter if I went starving. They came first. They would always come first.
Grace protested and grabbed my arm as I turned away. "And you don't need food? You must eat today. You're getting weaker by the day."
I turned and avoided her eyes. Of course, I knew this. Every day, I could feel my limbs grow heavier, and every day, I feared I wouldn't wake up. "I can't eat while you and Mother are starving."
"We're starving!"
We were all growing weaker by the day.
Trigger supplied me with rations occasionally, enough to keep me and only me on my feet. He preached self-dependence and the ability to rely on yourself, but I disagreed. I disagreed very strongly. I would rather die of starvation than let Grace or Mother, the only two people in the world who mattered to me, starve first. So we shared my rations. Our ribs showed through our torn clothes, and our faces were dangerously hollow, but I still had more strength than Grace. I could keep going. I had to. "Gr-"
She crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at me stubbornly. "If you're not eating, I'm not eating either."
I sighed. I didn't have enough energy to argue.
Grace turned to the window, her voice soft but certain. "I think Mother needs a good meal, too. She needs the extra food."
A stubborn pride surged through me as I watched her. She was stronger-willed than she looked—stronger than me. She held the food without hesitation, without even sniffing it. If I had held it, I would have been tempted to rip it open and devour every last bite.
"Mother's not doing well, is she?" Grace's voice barely carried through the stale air.
I bit the inside of my cheek. "She needs to see a doctor soon."
We both stared at Mother's frail form. Another strained cough rattled her chest, her body curling inward as if she could protect herself from the pain.
"Is she going to die?" Grace asked, barely audible.
I forced steel into my voice. "She's strong enough to pull through this." I wished I believed it. Her breaths were shallow, shaky. "We need to find a doctor soon. The medicine only numbs the pain."
We were out of her pills. After tonight, we'd be out of food, too.
"But we can't afford a doctor."
The few doctors in Beggar's End charged thousands. No one could stop them; their prices controlled life and death. Those who could pay secured their survival behind layers of security guards. The rest of us were left to fend for ourselves.
Unless we found a doctor alone. Unless we forced their hand.
My fingers curled around the gun in my pocket. Maybe.
"We'll find a way," I muttered. "We always do."
I reached for the last bag of rations and tore it open, the adhesive barely holding together. The scent that escaped hit me like a brick, a cruel reminder of how empty my stomach had become. The wave of desperation was so powerful it nearly sent me to my knees.
"Mother needs to eat." My whisper was almost a plea—to myself, to my willpower. I clenched my fists and forced the hunger down. "Here."
Grace hesitated. "But—"
"Give it to Mom." My voice came out harsher than I intended. I turned away before I could snatch it back from her myself, putting as much distance between myself and the food as possible. If I took even one bite, I wouldn't be able to stop.
I rubbed my father's watch, grounding myself in the familiar cool metal against my skin. I didn't trust myself right now.
Grabbing a small stone from the ground, I focused on sharpening my knife, the rhythmic scraping steadying my mind. Through the cracks in the boarded-up window, I scanned the street. It was almost empty. A few shadows flitted through the darkness, and my heart skipped.
Was someone out there?
A sharp pain sliced through my leg so suddenly that I nearly collapsed. I barely caught myself against the wall, my knife clattering to the floor. The numbness that had shielded me all day was finally fading, leaving only agony in its place.
Behind me, Grace and Mother murmured softly, their voices blurred by the throbbing in my head. I turned away from them and slowly rolled up my shredded pant leg. The sight made my stomach churn. The wound was a mess of purple, red, and yellow. The crude wrapping barely held together.
My satchel was only a few steps away. The medicine inside called to me.
No. You're stronger than this.
I untied the filthy cloth around the wound, my hands shaking. A small cup of water sat nearby—precious, rationed. I tipped it carefully, letting the cool liquid wash over the wound. It burned. A thin ribbon of red water pooled onto the floorboards. My vision wavered.
"Lexy?"
I turned at Grace's voice. She stood a few feet away, worry etched into her face. Her gaze flickered to the fallen knife. "Are you okay?"
"Of course." I forced my voice to stay even as I wrapped the wound tightly again and pushed myself upright. My vision swam, but I gritted my teeth and leaned against the wall for balance.
Grace didn't look convinced. "Lexy?"
"I'm fine," I lied. "Just need to sit."
Sliding down against the wall, I let my head rest back, every part of me screaming for rest. The gun weighed heavily in my pocket, an unspoken reminder of what I might have to do.
Trigger had given it to me. No price, no explanation. One of the most valuable things in Beggar's End, handed over without a second thought.
He had an angle. He always had an angle.
I had to figure out what it was—before it was too late.
Soon after, we headed to bed. I knelt beside Grace and Mother and pressed into their warmth as I removed my torn coat. I wrapped it over them and tucked myself under the mat.
“Good night.” I wrapped my arms around Grace as she curled around Mother’s shaking body.
“Night,” Grace mumbled sleepily and buried her face in her arms.
“I love you,” Mother whispered. Her breathing was slow and rattled, and I counted each rise and fall of her chest.
It was quiet as they drifted off to sleep, exhaustion making their eyes heavy. I watched Mother. She looked peaceful in her sleep, almost as if she couldn’t feel the pain of each breath. Grace lay beside her, eyebrows scrunched and eyes flickering. She slept in a tense position, as if ready to dart awake at any moment.
I let the warmth in my heart, which came from seeing them, keep away the cold as I wiggled closer. I would never have lasted as long as I did without Grace’s comfort or my mother’s courage. Without them, I would be just another meaningless walking corpse in the street.
I wanted to make one more perimeter sweep and check around the house to ensure it was secure, but my eyes felt so heavy I could hardly keep them open. I couldn’t muster the will to stay awake, so my eyes fluttered shut against my will, leaving only my thoughts as I drifted off to sleep.
My troubles flooded into my empty mind, filling every gap in my thoughts. A constant fear betrayed my confidence like water beating against rocks, slowly wearing them away. What if I wasn’t strong enough to protect my family?
As the last bit of energy left my body, I repeated my familiar argument. My father was strong and brave. I had to be like him. I had to have his strength to protect the people I loved the most.
But the little voice didn’t leave while I drifted from nightmare to nightmare. It stayed and whispered my doubts and greatest fears.
