Chapter One
Pike felt exhausted. He had spent the whole night working on plans for the caravan that was passing through in three days. The traps were set. All he could do now was wait.
He craved a cigarette; they had been out for a week, and Pike was counting on the caravan to bring plenty. If everything worked out, he would finally get a few packs.
That is one less thing to worry about.
He exhaled slowly.
Maybe someday I can go home. Maybe I can face my daughter.
After her mother overdosed on speed, he left his little girl on a man's porch. She had a better chance without him. He told himself it was the only way she'd have a chance.
Now he wondered if he ever would be able to see her. If he stayed here much longer, she'd probably be gone from his life for good.
Look at me. I'm a monster.
We murder people for food and supplies. If they don't bring in enough, everyone starves.
It's kill or be killed.
That's how things are now.
Footsteps sounded through the camp.
Flint was coming.
Pike straightened and pushed the thoughts aside.
"What's up, boss?" he asked.
Flint stopped a few feet away, his jaw clenched.
"Did you order the perimeter mines moved to the ambush site?"
Pike rubbed the back of his neck.
"Look, boss, hear me out. The last caravan killed four of ours. I figured if we thinned them out before they got here, it'd save us some trouble—and maybe keep us alive."
Flint stared at him for a moment, then pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Pike, how exactly are we supposed to recover supplies if they're scattered across a minefield?"
Damn. Should've thought of that.
God, I need a cigarette.
I really screwed that one up.
Pike rubbed the back of his neck.
Need to find a couple of idiots to move those mines before Flint changes his mind. Just have to make sure they never find out whose idea it was.
He pushed open the scrap shack and stepped into the morning air.
The Grinder's Camp.
Flint's name for their little family of drunks.
At least these idiots were good at killing and robbing.
The smell of fresh-cooked squirrel drifted across camp, making Pike's stomach grumble.
Should grab a bite after I find someone to clean up this mess.
A bird chirped overhead, briefly cutting through the shouting and arguing echoing across camp.
Pike glanced toward the water barrels.
Nearly empty.
That caravan better have enough to last us the next month.
He kicked an empty liquor bottle out of his path.
"These messy idiots never clean up after themselves."
Pike bent down, picked up the bottle, and tossed it beside a guard snoring against the barricade.
"Wake up, asshole."
The guard jerked awake with a groan.
Pike didn't wait for the complaint.
Across camp, Gecko and Tool were already screaming at each other.
Perfect.
Those two idiots can fix my mistake.
"Gecko! Tool! Shut the hell up."
Both men turned toward him with matching looks of annoyance.
"What the fuck do you want, Pike?" Tool asked.
"Yeah, what ya wan?" Gecko mocked with a grin.
The two looked about ready to start swinging at each other.
Good.
At least they were both awake.
"The mines at the ambush site need to be removed. We don't want the goods blowing up when the caravan comes through. You two handle it. If one of you dies, I'll kill the other one."
Tool rolled his eyes.
"Do it yourself, boss—"
Pike stepped forward and drove a fist into Tool's nose.
"You wanna try acting up again?" Pike asked, annoyance creeping into his voice.
Tool pressed a hand against his bleeding nose but said nothing.
"Good. That's what I thought. Now get to work."
Gecko hurried toward the highway, suddenly becoming far more interested in the mines than mocking Pike.
Pike lingered just in case Tool got any more ideas. His pulse still raced from the punch. The adrenaline had burned away the exhaustion for the moment, but he knew it wouldn't last.
Once Tool disappeared down the road, Pike finally turned toward the mess tent.
A bowl of squirrel stew sounded pretty damn good right about now.
As he crossed the camp, his eyes found the watchtower.
A bottle caught the morning light.
"Hey!" Pike barked. "If you're watching the horizon, you're not allowed to drink, dumbass!"
The guard flinched before hurriedly setting the bottle aside.
God, these bumbling drunks are gonna get me killed one day.
He'd deal with them after he'd had something to eat.
A flock of birds suddenly burst from the trees beyond the highway.
Gecko better not be shooting at the damn trees again.
Pike sighed and ducked into the mess tent.
The smell hit him first.
Stale liquor.
Sour vomit.
Years ago it would've turned his stomach.
Now it was just another smell.
His eyes swept the room.
Pete and Ellis were passed out face-first over a table, dead to the world.
Marty and his crew argued over a hand of cards, accusing each other of cheating.
Across the tent, Mathis and Rogue took turns throwing darts into a scarred wooden board.
Hinto sat alone, drawing a whetstone down the edge of a knife with slow, practiced strokes.
Empty bottles littered the floor. Dirty bowls sat where men had finished eating. Mud had been tracked inside and left to dry.
Tsk.
The place needed cleaning.
He'd deal with it after he ate.
Shatter.
Someone dropped a beer bottle outside.
They better not cut themselves.
I ain't letting the doc out of her cell for another drunk injury.
Pike ladled himself a bowl of squirrel stew.
"Hinto, you mind moving your stuff so I can sit?" Pike asked.
Hinto silently gathered his knives and whetstone, then slid them to the other end of the table.
The first sip of stew felt incredible. Even the bland broth couldn't ruin the morning after everything he'd dealt with.
Thud.
The stupid drunks really can't function without me bossing them around.
"Bullshit!" Mathis snapped. "You weighted my darts!"
Rogue rolled her eyes. "Or maybe you just throw like shit."
Marty scowled at the cards in his hand.
"Again?" someone at the table laughed.
Ellis snored loud enough to wake the dead.
Sometimes I wish I could just enjoy my stew alone.
But somebody's gotta manage this chaos.
"Mathis! Rogue!" Pike barked. "Kiss and make up like you normally do."
He pointed his spoon toward Ellis.
"And somebody wake Ellis's fat ass up."
Hinto glanced over at Pike.
"What's got you all wound up this morning?"
Pike looked up from his stew before taking another sip.
"One day..." He shook his head. "One day I'd like to wake up and smell the blue roses, y'know?"
He gestured vaguely around the tent with his spoon.
"Instead I wake up to... this."
Clank.
Marty slammed his cards onto the table.
"Bullshit!"
The table erupted.
"You cheating again?"
"Like hell I am!"
"Then explain that hand!"
Chairs scraped across the floor as everyone began shouting over one another.
Pike closed his eyes.
Five damn minutes of peace. Is that too much to ask for?
He opened one eye.
Ellis was still asleep.
Pike let out a long sigh, pushed himself to his feet, and walked over.
"I swear none of you idiots listen."
He drove the toe of his boot into the leg of Ellis's chair.
"Wake up, you loud drunk."
Ellis jerked upright, blinking.
"Huh...?"
"You've been promoted."
Ellis frowned.
"...What?"
"You're awake now."
Pike turned and walked back to his stew before Ellis could ask another question.
He sat down across from Hinto and took another spoonful.
"Hinto."
The older man looked up from his whetstone.
"Why do you still carry those knives?"
Pike nodded toward the rifle propped against the wall.
"You got yourself a perfectly good rifle in the last raid."
Hinto shrugged.
"I like it when it gets up close and personal."
A slow grin spread across his face.
Pike shook his head.
"Remind me never to piss you off."
Hinto returned to sharpening the blade.
The steady scrape of steel against stone somehow sounded calmer than everyone else in the room.
"H—"
A scream echoed from somewhere outside.
Probably two idiots getting into another fight.
"Bullseye!" Mathis shouted.
"I told you I throw better than you."
"Oh, shut up," Rogue muttered.
Ellis wandered over to the liquor shelf and grabbed another bottle.
Hinto quietly picked up the next knife.
Pike shifted his bowl just enough to keep the metal shavings from falling into his stew before taking another bite.
Marty slipped a card from his sleeve into his hand.
Rogue and Mathis had stopped playing darts and started making out instead.
Ellis let out a loud burp.
Pike watched them all in silence.
Well, he thought, these people made being irritated feel like a full-time job... but it still beat being alone.
Splash.
Someone had fallen into the water barrel.
Pike closed his eyes.
"...Great."
He looked toward Ellis, who was already reaching for another bottle.
"Ellis."
"What?"
"Go see which idiot just ruined our drinking water."
Ellis groaned but shuffled toward the exit.
"I swear, I do all the hard jobs around here..."
A few people laughed.
The tent flap swung shut behind him.
Silence.
Then—
THUNK!
The round tore through the canvas wall of the mess tent and buried itself in the wooden support post inches from Pike's head.
Everyone froze.
The room went deathly silent.
Pike stared at the splintered post.
Slowly, he turned toward the fresh hole in the canvas.
"...Shit."
Someone screamed.
The camp erupted into chaos.
Pike was already moving.
"Weapons!" he roared.
Every chair crashed backward as rifles were snatched from walls and tables.
Pike ripped the tent flap aside—
—and stopped dead.
Bodies littered the camp.
Blood soaked the dirt.
The watchtower stood empty.
Ellis lay face down beside the water barrel, unmoving.
Flint was nowhere to be seen.
Panic clawed at Pike's chest.
Move.
He forced it down.
"Everyone to the barricades!" he roared. "Find cover! Move! Move!"
The camp exploded into motion.
Men sprinted for rusted cars and sandbag walls.
Marty barely made it three steps.
The back of his head burst apart.
He crumpled into the dirt, his rifle skidding from limp fingers.
Nobody stopped.
Nobody could.
A scavenger cried out as a round punched through his shoulder, spinning him to the ground.
Pike dove behind the nearest barricade, a patchwork of wood and scrap steel, and slammed his back against the cold metal.
"Keep your damn heads down!" he shouted.
Silence.
No muzzle flash.
No movement.
No report from the shooter.
Pike risked the smallest glance over the barricade.
He had to squint to make anything out.
There.
At the far end of camp, a lone figure stood in the middle of the highway.
The morning sun blazed behind them, reducing them to a black silhouette edged in gold.
A long rifle rested loosely against one shoulder.
Not some homemade pipe rifle.
Military.
Pike's stomach tightened.
The perimeter guards were dead.
The watchtower had gone silent.
The camp had been hit with frightening precision.
Every shot had found its mark.
A Ranger.
It had to be.
Military rifle.
Military tactics.
Military efficiency.
But Rangers never worked alone.
His blood ran cold.
If that was the shooter...
...where was the rest of the squad?
Pike dropped back behind the barricade.
"Rogue! Mathis!"
The pair looked over from opposite ends of the barricade.
"Get to the rear! Now! If there's one Ranger out front, there'll be more circling behind us."
Neither of them argued.
They grabbed their rifles and sprinted toward the rear barricades.
Pike looked back toward the highway.
The silhouette still hadn't moved from the road.
That somehow made it worse.
Pike took a slow, steady breath.
Don't panic.
Think.
Marty was dead.
Pike scanned the camp.
He couldn't see any of Marty's crew still moving.
Ellis was down.
Rogue and Mathis were covering the rear.
That left him...
...and Hinto.
Pike tightened his grip on his rifle.
"Okay..." he muttered. "If it's a Ranger, they'll—"
Hinto never looked away from the highway.
"...That's no Ranger."
Pike frowned.
"What?"
Hinto never took his eyes off the highway.
"...It's Ghost."
Pike snapped his head toward him.
"Shut the fuck up."
His voice came out harder than he intended.
"There is no Ghost. That's just a story people tell to scare assholes like us."
Hinto said nothing.
He simply kept watching the lone figure standing in the road.
That silence unsettled Pike more than any argument could have.
If Hinto was right...
They were already dead.
Thud.
A scream tore through the camp.
"Mathis!" Rogue cried.
Pike twisted toward the rear barricade.
Rogue had dropped to her knees, scrambling toward a motionless body.
Mathis wasn't moving.
"Get down!" Pike shouted.
Rogue threw herself behind cover, dragging Mathis by the collar as another round passed overhead.
Pike clenched his jaw.
They hadn't even seen the second shooter.
Or maybe...
There never had been one.
The barricade cracked, spitting splinters and flakes of rust.
Rogue didn't even have time to scream.
The round punched through the cover and into her chest.
She collapsed behind it and didn't move.
For a heartbeat, nobody spoke.
Nobody breathed.
Pike stared at the hole where the bullet had torn straight through the barricade.
"...Jesus."
The cover they'd trusted had never stood a chance.
Pike swallowed hard.
"Listen!" he shouted toward the highway.
"You're still outnumbered."
His voice echoed across the camp.
"Turn back now, and we might let you live!"
Silence.
Pike tightened his grip on the rifle.
There wasn't much left.
Marty was dead.
Ellis was dead.
Rogue was gone.
Mathis...
He didn't even know.
Hinto was the only one still beside him.
They could both die any second.
He just hoped whoever was out there believed the lie long enough to hesitate.
The barricade cracked.
A round tore through the wood beside Pike.
Splinters pierced his skin.
He recoiled, losing his balance.
He fell backward into the dirt, his rifle slipping from his hands.
"...God..."
Dust and splinters rained down around him.
"Hinto!"
No answer.
Pike blinked, trying to force the world back into focus.
His rifle.
Where was his rifle?
His hands clawed blindly through the dirt.
Then he heard it.
Footsteps.
Steady.
Unhurried.
Coming closer.
Pike's heart pounded.
He reached again, desperately searching for the familiar feel of cold steel.
A searing pain ripped through Pike's leg.
He cried out and curled onto his side.
"What the fuck..."
His hands clamped over the wound.
Warm blood seeped between his fingers.
His thoughts raced.
What the hell just happened?
No.
No, this wasn't possible.
He'd fought raiders.
He'd fought militias.
He'd even seen Rangers work.
But he'd never seen one person fight like this.
There had to be more of them.
There had to be.
He couldn't...
He refused to believe...
...that they'd lost an entire camp to one person.
The footsteps drew closer.
Steady.
Unhurried.
Pike forced himself to breathe.
Dust drifted through the air. His vision sharpened despite the throbbing pain in his leg.
A silhouette stood over him.
Combat boots.
Military armor.
Ballistic gloves.
A weathered hood concealed the figure's head.
Beneath it, only a mask stared back at him.
No face.
No emotion.
No hesitation.
Pike's pulse hammered in his ears.
His eyes darted across the dirt.
His rifle.
A knife.
Anything.
His fingers clawed through the dust, searching for any weapon at all.
The figure took one more step.
Their boot came down on Pike's wounded leg.
Agony exploded through him.
Pike screamed.
The pressure didn't let up.
The masked figure looked down at him.
"Where is Rook?"
The voice was calm.
Almost conversational.
Pike froze.
Not because of the pain.
Because of the question.
"Who the hell is Rook?" Pike gasped. "I... I don't know anyone by that name."
The boot pressed down harder.
"I don't know!" Pike shouted. "Ask the boss!"
The figure didn't move.
"Your boss is dead."
The words landed with chilling certainty.
"Took a round through the heart."
A beat of silence.
Then—
"I'll ask one more time."
The pressure on Pike's leg increased.
"Where is Rook?"
"He was seen here a week ago."
A week ago...
Pike searched his memory through the pain.
There had been another group.
Flint had ridden out to meet them.
Pike hadn't gone.
Someone had to stay behind and watch the camp.
He frowned.
"I don't know any Rook..."
His eyes widened.
"...But Flint kept a journal."
The masked figure didn't move.
"Every meeting."
"Every deal."
"Every business transaction."
Pike swallowed.
"If somebody named Rook was here..."
He looked toward Flint's shack.
"...it'd be in there."
The masked figure leaned in.
"Where?"
Pike's eyes flicked toward the largest shack in camp.
"Flint's."
He swallowed hard.
"The scrap shack by the gate."
He pointed with a trembling hand.
"Desk... bottom drawer."
The figure held his gaze for another moment, searching for any sign of a lie.
Then the pressure lifted from Pike's leg.
Before Pike could react, a gloved hand seized the back of his vest.
He cried out as the masked figure dragged him across the dirt.
Every bump sent fresh pain through his wounded leg.
Why am I still alive?
They passed Flint's body.
One shot.
Straight through the heart.
Inside the shack, the figure let the rifle hang from its sling.
A heavy pistol cleared the holster with a practiced motion.
The muzzle settled against the back of Pike's head.
"Open it."
Pike hesitated.
The pistol dug harder into his skull.
"I said..."
"Open it."
With shaking hands, Pike reached for the bottom drawer.
He pulled it open.
Empty.
His stomach sank.
"No..."
He looked back over his shoulder.
"I swear... it was here."
Pike's mind raced.
The journal had to be here.
It had to.
If he couldn't find it...
He didn't want to think about what came next.
Think.
Think, damn it.
Where would Flint hide something?
On his body?
No.
Too obvious.
Flint trusted no one.
Not even his own people.
Pike's eyes swept across the desk.
Then it hit him.
Every time Flint sat down, he'd shoo everyone out of the shack.
He never let anyone stand behind the desk.
Not once.
Pike lunged for the open drawer and drove his fingers along the bottom.
His nail caught on a seam.
"...Wait."
He pressed harder.
The wooden panel shifted.
A false bottom.
Pike looked over his shoulder at the masked figure.
"I found it."
Slowly, he lifted the hidden panel.
The masked figure took the journal from Pike's trembling hands.
"Lay down."
Pike hesitated.
"On your stomach."
The pistol never wavered.
Slowly, Pike lowered himself to the floor, every movement sending fire through his wounded leg.
He heard pages turning behind him.
Fast.
Deliberate.
God...
Please, Flint.
Please have something about Rook in there.
The pages stopped.
Thump.
The journal slammed shut.
Pike flinched.
Silence filled the shack.
He didn't dare move.
He didn't dare breathe.
The pistol shifted.
The masked figure broke the silence.
"Why should you live?"
Pike's thoughts raced.
Fear clawed at the edges of his mind.
No.
Don't panic.
Think.
If he stayed silent...
He was dead.
"Uh..."
His mouth had gone dry.
"Uh..."
Nothing.
Come on.
Say something.
"I..."
He swallowed hard.
"I have a daughter."
The words spilled out before he could stop them.
"I really want to do right by her."
His voice cracked.
"Please..."
"Please give me that chance."
Silence.
Pike squeezed his eyes shut.
Every heartbeat felt like an eternity.
Then—
Wham.
Something hard slammed into the side of his head.
White exploded across his vision.
His head dropped to the floor.
Everything went dark.