We had met Gilbert and Ethan in a standoff just about like this one, before we all realized that none of us had guns and that none of us were raiders. Gilbert seemed to know this area better than any of us, and we soon found out that they had learned of a place called Crestwood. Incidentally, that was where Lucas and I were headed too. We had learned of it from an old man whom we met on the road. He had said Crestwood was a large town, led by a good man who wanted only to provide a safe place free from greyskins and raiders.

“Likely there is limited space,” the old man said. “And good luck getting there. You’ll have to cross hundreds of miles of greyskin-infested lands, and if they don’t get you, the raiders certainly will.”

Now, one week out, I wish Lucas and I would have listened to him and tried to form a different plan. Because of Gilbert’s poor leadership, we now sit hunkered behind thin cover, just waiting for the raiders to either kill us or move on. We are nothing but a bunch of teenagers hoping to survive, facing grown men bent not only on survival, but ruling over every traveler they come across.

I crane my neck to look through the front car window. The man standing in front of the other raiders is tall and dirty. He looks thin. Too thin. But this is not uncommon to see. I think all of us are too thin these days. Food is scarce, so it’s a good day if any of us have had one decent meal. He carries a large rifle in both hands, ready to take aim and fire at anything that moves. He wears suspenders to hold up pants that are too big for him, and a straw hat shades his face from the sun above us. From here, he looks just like a scarecrow.

I duck back down before he sees me, and I look over at Gilbert. He’s still moving his mouth, trying to communicate something to us. I squint my eyes and stare at his lips.

“Don’t make a sound,” he seems to say.

I shake my head and rest it against the car door. “He doesn’t want us to move,” I tell Lucas.

“I don’t know what he’s expecting us to do,” he answers.

“Rats!” Scarecrow calls out. “Show yourselves now, and I might let you live.”