May Dawney - Survival Instincts

“You don’t.” Lynn knelt down, reached beneath the debris, and checked for sharp edges. She found something squishy that wiggled instead. Shuddering, she brushed it off and took a hold. “On three.” This is going to hurt. She braced herself. “One… two… three!”

Dani pushed.

Lynn set her jaw and put tension on her arms. Pain seared through her injured forearm like lightning, and she had to lessen her grip or risk dropping the whole thing.

Even with the force of three and a half arms, they managed.

Skeever bounced around them excitedly as the slab crashed onto the thick branches and against the wall. It slid to the side; a piece broke off, and it threatened to topple. Then it settled.

A victorious thrill coursed through Lynn. She cradled her arm against her chest and flexed her fingers to ease the pins and needles. “That should do it.”

Dani put her hands on her hips and sucked in air. “I’ve got this.” She shot Lynn a glare, then began to stuff the gaping holes of the two front windows with more leafy branches.

Lynn rolled her eyes. Whatever . “Skeever, come.” She snapped her fingers.

Skeever shot up the slope.

Lynn followed him a lot slower, trying not to use her throbbing arm. Serves you right for trying to help. Let the stuck-up bitch figure things out herself if that’s what she wants.

Even in the few minutes she’d been away, the fire had died down to small, flickering flames looking for sustenance to fuel their young life.

Still scowling, Lynn fed them scat and twigs and poked the fire up again.

Skeever dropped down by her legs and exhaled audibly.

Eventually the grunting and mumbled swearing and the rustling of drying leaves below her stopped.

Lynn was hungry. They’d walked far today; she’d fought with wolves and Dani, and perhaps more importantly, she was back in the Wilds. All had taken their toll. They’d eaten jerky and bread with sour goat cheese while walking, but that was long gone.

As if roused by her thoughts, her stomach growled. Soon . The fire was scarcely hot enough to heat anything up now, but it would do with patience.

Lynn bit back a smirk. Patience was never your strong suit, Tanner.

Skeever lifted his head and stared out into the deepening darkness.

Lynn followed his gaze even as her hand settled on the handle of the tomahawk she’d laid next to her.

Dani came up and dropped down heavily by the fire without sparing Lynn a glance. She frowned and leaned to the side as she reached under her butt and pulled a piece of warped metal out of the rubble. Dani tossed it across the plain of their hideout.

It clanged onto the debris somewhere in the darkness.

Skeever shot after it, almost catching fire as he sailed past its flames, yapping eagerly.

Lynn let go of her weapon and straightened.

More carefully, Dani straightened as well, then stuck out her legs along the fire.

Here was an opportunity for small talk, Lynn realized. She stubbornly refused to take it. “You have the food.”

Dani glared at her but got up with a groan. She pulled her pack away from the wall and into the circle of light cast by the now healthy fire.

Skeever returned and offered the bent iron bar to Dani, tail wagging.

Dani grunted. “Not now, Skeever. Go.” She pushed against his flank. “Go!”

Skeever turned a circle and looked expectantly up at Lynn.

Lynn grinned. “How about food instead, hm?” She drew her aching legs under her and untied a stiffening rat from her backpack: Skeever’s second catch of the day. She held it up.

Skeever promptly dropped the bar from his mouth, then trotted along.

She took him to a spot just outside the circle of light, not wanting to watch him demolish his meal while she ate. “Down.”

Skeever hesitated. He whined, then turned on the spot she had indicated and sagged down.

She laid the rat between his legs and watched him as he tore into it.

His tail drummed excitedly on the rubble.

Tiny bones cracked under the force of his jaws.

Lynn shuddered, not so much at the sound but at the realization that the wolf could have done that to her arm with ease. She rubbed the appendage in question.

By the time she returned to the fire, the sight of a jar awaited her. She recognized yesterday’s elephant stew, and her mouth watered.

Dani had settled her shoulders against her pack. Her eyes were closed. The firelight flickered across her features. Her wrestling contest with the branches and rubble had left her face and neck smeared with dirt.

Lynn squatted next to her pack and took out a spoon and a bowl before rummaging around for two old cans. They were dented and blackened but held water—and elephant stew—just fine.

Dani’s head shot up, and her eyes blinked open sleepily. They settled on Lynn for a moment, then drooped again.

Amateur . Lynn shook her head with a smirk. She opened the jar and filled both cans to the halfway point for the first round of dinner. After securing the lid, she kneeled by the fire, pushed the sticks aside to expose some of the red glowing embers, and dug both cans in.

Weariness had claimed Dani again. Her head bobbed. She’d crossed her arms in front of her chest, but one arm was threatening to slip from the tangle.

As much as Lynn scoffed at Dani’s surrender to exhaustion, there was also something enviable about it; Dani apparently lacked the terrifying experiences that even a few minutes of inattentiveness could cause out here—like the way the wolves had been upon them in seconds today—that would have her fight her exhaustion no matter what.

The same exhaustion Dani felt, Lynn felt too. Perhaps more so because she hadn’t even come close to recovery during her night locked up in the Homestead’s disused closet. Yet Lynn couldn’t imagine napping like this around Dani and most certainly not without having her weapons within reach.

Dani’s spear lay above her head. Her knife hung on her belt but was secured by a strap. If something barged in now—or if Lynn attacked her—it would take Dani precious seconds to free her knife. Seconds were all it took out here.

Lynn stirred the stew and tasted it. The potato was still stone cold. She sighed and shifted. It upset some of the leaves under her feet.

Dani shot awake again and sat up, looking around and then at Lynn. Her eyes narrowed as if Lynn was somehow the cause of her drowsiness.

With a snort, Lynn returned her attention to the cans. She stirred again and made sure to scrape the bottom. “Almost done.”

Silence. Dani shifted until she sat close by the fire, cross-legged, and rubbed her eyes and cheeks with the flat of her hands, spreading even more dirt on them.

I should get away tonight, when she sleeps. They were far enough away from the Homestead, and Dani was too tired to follow her into the dark. The thought should have brought her elation, but it caused a heavy weariness instead. Lynn was exhausted too. Traveling in the dark was a terrifying prospect even when she didn’t ache all over. Unable to reach an instant decision, Lynn’s thoughts dissolved when Dani moved.

Dani opened her pack and pulled out her own spoon and wooden bowl.

Lynn tried the stew again. It was hot enough. She pulled the sleeve of her sweater from under her jacket and covered her fingers with it before gripping the edge of one of the cans. Heat seeped through the wool instantly so she hurried to lean over the embers and put the container down in the rubble by Dani’s legs.

“Thanks.” Even Dani’s voice was weary with sleep.

Lynn hummed and liberated the second portion from the fire.

Dani employed the same trick Lynn had used to draw the hot can farther along the ground before she tipped its contents into the bowl and scraped out the tin.