“I’ve been thinking,” I say between bites. “I want you to teach me how to fight.”
Julien pauses with a piece of jerky halfway to his mouth. “Fight?”
“Not like boxing or whatever.” I set the can down, wiping sticky fingers on my jeans. “But how to defend myself. How to survive if—” I swallow hard. “If something happens and you’re not there.”
His eyes narrow. “Your head?—”
“Is fine.” I touch the tender spot. “Well, fine enough. We both know I can’t keep being helpless out here and do whatever I’ve been doing.”
His gaze slides to my arms, where he bandaged the reverend’s handiwork. “You weren’t helpless. You killed zombies at the church.”
“By accident,” I say. “Or luck. And I froze up first. What if next time I’m alone? Or what if Amelia needs me to protect her? You had to carry me out of the church. You had to save me from the reverend. I want to be… more useful.”
He considers, chewing slowly. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I blink, surprised by his quick agreement. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” He dusts his hands and stands. “We’ll start slow. Basics first.”
I scramble to my feet, heart suddenly racing with a mix of excitement and nerves. “Now?”
“Good a time as any.” He pops the last cracker in his mouth. “First lesson: the best self-defense is avoidance.”
“That’s it? Run away?” I frown. “That’s not really fighting.”
“Which is exactly why it’s the first lesson.” He moves to the center of the clearing. “Fighting should be your last resort, not your first instinct. If you can avoid the situation completely, do it.”
“Hard to avoid zombies these days.”
“Not just zombies.” He points to the road. “See that bend? You can’t tell what’s around it. In our new world, you never approach blind corners without caution. You listen first. You find high ground if possible and observe. You avoid the situation before it becomes a problem.”
I nod, trying to absorb his words. “Observation before action.”
“Exactly.” He gestures for me to join him. “Now, if avoidance fails, you need to know how to create distance. Show me how you’d push someone away.”
I hesitate, then step forward and place my hands on his chest, giving a soft push.
“Again.” His voice hardens. “Like you mean it.”
I push harder, still ineffectually.
“Use your body weight, not just your arms.” He grabs my wrists, showing me how. “Plant your feet. Push from your core.”
I try again, focusing on shifting my weight forward, but still barely move him.
“Better,” he says, though I can tell he’s just being nice.
We continue like this—Julien demonstrating a move, me attempting to copy it with mixed results. It feels unnatural, and each time I fail, I grow more frustrated.
“Sorry, I’m not very strong.” I drop my hands to the side. “I don’t… it feels like my body doesn’t want to.”
He sighs and steps directly in front of me, crossing his arms. “Stop apologizing.”
“Sor—” I bite my lip.
He reaches out, his hand moving toward my cheek, but I jerk back on instinct before he can make contact.
“I’m sorry.” His hand stays suspended between us. “I shouldn’t have?—”
