The road was wrapped in a thin layer of ice, the trees bare and rigid, their branches glazed with frost. As I rode my bike over the broken pavement, the cold air clawed at my face, numbing my cheeks and fingers until the world felt frozen solid. There were no animals, no birds, only silence, broken by the low hum of the engine and the faint rattle of the chain beneath the tires.
"Are you still upset about what I said?" I asked, keeping my eyes on the icy stretch of road ahead.
Clementine hadn't spoken the entire ride. Her arms were locked around my waist, her forehead resting between my shoulder blades. I felt the tension in her grip—fingers clenched, knuckles pressing into my jacket. Regret settled in my chest. I waited for an answer, but she stayed quiet, holding me a little tighter.
"I'm sorry," I said softly. "What will it take for you to talk to me again?"
Her hands shifted, loosening, then tightening, as if she were weighing her options. After a moment, she leaned closer, her breath warm against my back.
"I want you to take me on your bounty-hunting mission," she said. Then, after a pause, "And three kisses."
I let out a short breath, almost a laugh. "Three kisses I can do," I said, shaking my head. "But I can't take you on the mission. It's too dangerous."
Most of the missions I chose pushed me to my limits. I picked the hard ones deliberately, to gain experience, sharpen my combat skills, and earn camp credit. The danger wasn't a side effect. It was the point.
"I'm not useless," Clementine said, her voice firm. "I can fight alongside you. I don't want to just tag along for hunting or area clearance."
She'd been asking to come with me for weeks, and every time I'd shut her down. I swallowed. "If anything happened to you—" The words lodged in my throat.
She lifted her head. "I feel the same," she said. "If something happened to you, I couldn't live with myself." Her arms loosened, then settled around me again, steadier this time. "Do you know how hard it is waiting back at camp? Sitting there, wondering if today's the day you don't come back?"
Her voice hardened slightly. "Max, I don't want to be something you have to protect. I want to be someone you can count on."
I knew she'd been training for over a month, so she wouldn't slow me down. Still, the thought of her getting hurt twisted my gut. But I also knew the truth: I couldn't keep her safe forever. One day, she'd face danger on her own. And if something happened to me, she'd need to survive without me.
After a long silence, I nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "Okay," I said quietly. "I'll take you on the next mission."
She sucked in a sharp breath, then laughed beneath it, squeezing me hard enough that I nearly lost my balance. "Thank you," she said, pressing her cheek against my back.
"So," I asked, keeping my voice steady, "what are you planning to trade?"
She'd been pushing to go to Common Ground for a long time.
"A cooking book," she said, a hint of excitement slipping through. "I haven't found one in any other camp, but Common Ground might have it."
"A cooking book?" I kept my eyes on the road. "Clem, people are eating tree bark just to stay alive. Some would kill for a dead mouse. Learning how to cook doesn't exactly help right now."
She went quiet, then slid her arms higher around my chest. "My mom used to say that if you want to keep the people you love happy, you need to learn how to cook," she said. "That's why cookbooks are important to me."
My grip tightened on the handlebars. My heart began to race. She knew exactly how to get to me.
"Silly girl," I muttered, a small smile tugging at my lips. "You should worry about yourself."
She leaned forward, her lips brushing near my ear. "Dummy," she whispered. "If you're okay, I'm okay."
As we drew closer to Common Ground, more people appeared on the road, all heading in the same direction. Some walked barefoot. Others traveled by car, bike, or even horseback. Nearly all carried something to trade. Out on the open road, they would have been perfect targets for bandits.
A few who could afford it had hired guards, but once inside the three-mile radius of Common Ground, most people finally looked less afraid. Every two hundred feet, three guards were stationed along the road. Most were desperate themselves, hired to keep the area secure and paid with just one meal a day. Hundreds had applied, but only the strong and those deemed trustworthy were chosen.
The guards closest to Common Ground were different. They were handpicked by the settlement's leaders. Every one of them was a former soldier, police officer, or trained fighter with proven combat experience and unquestioned loyalty. Their primary task wasn't protecting travelers—it was identifying anyone who appeared sick or bitten before they reached the gates. Their orders were clear: kill on sight.
After a few more minutes, the settlement finally came into view.
A massive wall rose ahead, built from thick, weathered logs scavenged from fallen cabins and nearby forests. The logs were stacked horizontally and bound with leather and rope. Sharpened stakes angled outward at the base, designed to keep the undead at bay. Narrow arrow slits pierced the walls, allowing defenders to fire from relative safety. At the center stood a heavy gate of cross-braced logs, hung on rusted iron hinges and secured by a jury-rigged pulley system capable of sealing the entrance in seconds.
A long line of people stretched from the gatehouse, each waiting to pay the entry fee for access to the market inside. Before that, they were required to pass through a quarantine house, where they would be searched, stripped naked, and inspected along with their belongings. Many shifted nervously beneath the watchful eyes of armed guards lining the wall.
Painted boldly above the entrance were the words WELCOME TO COMMON GROUND. Beneath them, in smaller lettering, were the rules: Sick, bitten, elderly, and weapons not allowed inside. Violation results in death. First-time arrivals paled as they read, shuffling uneasily in line.
One person in a dark hoodie tried to slip away from the crowd. A guard stopped him almost immediately. After a brief inspection, they found a fresh bite mark on his leg. He begged, insisting it was from an animal, but the guards didn't listen. They beat him to the ground and killed him on the spot.
The crowd froze. Faces went pale. Eyes locked on the body as it was dragged away. No one spoke. The message was clear.
A short distance from the wall, groups of people dug deep trenches, nearly ten feet down. They looked exhausted, starving, barely able to stand. A man overseeing them shouted without pause.
"Come on! Dig faster! You think food is free? Finish before the deadline, and you'll earn bonus rations!"
He kept yelling as the workers labored on, hands shaking, bodies pushed beyond their limits.
I parked my bike near the entrance and walked straight toward the gate. People in line stared in disbelief, some glaring, clearly expecting the guards to intervene. Sensing the tension, Clementine stayed alert; her hand hovered near her gun.
Two guards stepped forward.
The moment they recognized me, their eyes widened. They immediately lowered their heads, refusing to meet my gaze.
Seeing that reaction, the onlookers quickly looked away. No one spoke. No one protested. They simply stared straight ahead, pretending we weren't there.