She bolted and ran, heading into the woods, angling south. Behind her she heard voices. The muscular woman and Trash.

“You saw her?” demanded the woman.

“Yeah,” said Trash. “Caught just a glimpse of her going north, maybe northeast. C’mon, I’ll show you. She can’t be too far ahead.”

There were more whistles and the sounds of shouting.

Going northeast.

Going away.

Tears fell down her cheeks.

“Trash . . . ” she said so softly that it was little more than a breath. She turned.

And Mr. Church was there. Right there. Four feet behind her. She hadn’t heard him at all. He had a pistol in his hands, the barrel pointing where Trash had stood. His eyes searched hers. She nodded, and after a moment he responded in kind. He lowered his weapon very slowly.

Then, without a word, he holstered the weapon, turned and led the way through the woods to where Neeko and the rest of the Pack waited.

After a long, long time, Dahlia ran to catch up to Old Man Church.

— 30 —: THE WARRIOR WOMAN

— 30 —

THE WARRIOR WOMAN

Rachael fought.

But there was one of her and six of them. Kyle, the one she’d kicked, joined the others, his face bloated and flushed, naked hatred in his eyes. He muscled his way between the others and punched Rachael in the stomach. It was an ugly, brutal blow that drove the air from her lungs and would have dropped her to the ground had the ropes not already been wound around her waist. She screamed and then gagged, trying to suck in air, but there didn’t seem to be any left in the whole world.

Kyle grabbed her face, pinching her chin between his thumb and fingers and leaned close to spit in her face. Then he gave her a grin that was beyond malicious, crossing over into true malevolence.

“I hope the walkers don’t find you for weeks, you little whore,” he said. “I hope you starve out here.”

Her legs were bound, as was her right arm; Rachael tried to tear her left free so she could stick a thumb in his eye or punch him in the throat, but the others held her.

“That’s enough,” growled the man with the cigarette. “She’s done. Let it go.”

“She’s done when I say she’s done,” growled Kyle. He reached for the frayed collar of her Batgirl T-shirt, clearly intending to rip it open. But then the moment, the day, and maybe the world changed as a voice spoke from the shadows of the woods.

“Now ain’t this interesting as all shit?”

They all whipped their heads around as a woman stepped from between two big pines. She was muscular, with a sharply-etched face and a necklace of human ears.

“Who the hell are you?” asked Kyle. He shook Rachael by his handhold on her blouse, tearing the collar. “More of your pussy friends?”