"Give us Stephan," he calls out, loud enough for every soul in to hear. "Or we burn this place to the ground. Every building. Every person. We start with the kid."
I step forward before anyone can stop me. "I'll go. No one else dies for me."
"Like hell you will." Iris appears beside me, pistol drawn, jaw set. "He saved my daughter's life. He's under our protection."
"Iris, you don't have to."
"Shut up."
Then something I never expected happens. Other settlers join us. Dr. Nowak with his shotgun and his steady hands. The guards moving to reinforce the gate. A dozen ordinary people, farmers, builders, survivors, who have no logical reason to risk themselves for an ex-Wolf.
"Why?" I ask.
"Because you sat with my daughter when she was dying," Iris says. "Because you're not the man those tattoos say you are."
Bull laughs. "This is what you left us for? Farmers and women? Pathetic."
"Not pathetic," I say. "Family."
The word surprises me as much as it seems to surprise him.
I know Wolf tactics. Bull will feint, test our defenses, then hit hard from an unexpected angle. He likes overwhelming force, shock and awe, breaking morale before the real fighting starts.
But he doesn't know this settlement. Doesn't know I spent three days walking these walls, identifying weak points, positioning defenders. Doesn't know that Dr. Nowak was acompetitive shooter before the outbreak, or that the guards I trained have been practicing kill shots on zombie targets.
"Let me coordinate this," I tell Iris.
The battle is short and brutal.
Bull expects farmers who'll break at the first charge. He gets a coordinated defense that uses the gates and walls against him. Crossbow bolts drop two Wolves before they even reach the perimeter—Dr. Nowak's sharpshooting taking out their scout and their fastest rider.
When they breach the outer gate, they find a kill box. Overlapping fields of fire, obstacles that slow their bikes, choke points that negate their numbers.
Bull comes straight for me, of course. This was always personal.
We fight in the gateway while the battle rages around us. He's bigger, stronger, fueled by two years of hate. But I'm faster, and I know his weaknesses, like the way he drops his left shoulder before a power swing, the old knee injury that slows his pivot.
He cuts me twice. Ribs and forearm, blood soaking through my jacket. But I stay moving, stay patient, wait for the opening I know will come.
It comes when he overextends on a killing blow, putting all his weight into a swing that would have taken my head off if it landed.
My machete finds his throat.
The look of surprise on his face is the last expression he ever wears.
The survivors flee. Five Wolves dead, three in retreat, and the settlement has only minor injuries. One guard with a broken arm, another with a gash that needs stitches. Nothing that won't heal.
Bull's blood cools on my hands. Iris finds me standing over his body, machete still dripping, unable to move.
"It's over," she says.
"For now. Word will spread. Other Wolves might come."
"Then we'll be ready." She takes my bloody hand in hers. She doesn't flinch, doesn't hesitate. "Stay, Stephan. Not because we need protection. Because Allie needs you. I need you. Stay. Build something with us. Stop running."
I've been running for three years. Running from the Wolves, from my memories, from the weight of promises I couldn't keep.
"Okay," I say.
