Every step was agony. Gabriel’s feet had never hurt like this before, he never knew they could. With the RPG games he had installed in his bunker, there was often a run-lock key he could press and the character would jog off towards the skybox forever; their stamina might deplete–although Gabriel often modded that function out of games (he found the stamina bar anti-fun)–but if it did deplete, it would regenerate anyway, and they would only ever stop if they got stuck in a corner or hit an invisible wall.

  Gabriel prayed to nameless gods to send him a run-lock key. The ropes around his wrists tugged, forcing him to take another excruciating step, or else fall into the mud again, where he’d be beaten, and the barrel of a gun pressed against his skull, and he’d be made to stand. Gabriel didn’t want to die, now more than ever before in his life, but neither did he want to take another step. The former only just outweighed the latter.

  The rope pulled again, tied to the wrists of the man in front, and Gabriel tottered along, wincing as his soles cried out in agony. He shut his eyes and bowed his head, retaining just enough vision not to trip. He didn’t want to see ahead, didn’t want to envision their tortuous path, didn’t want to spend any more hours calculating how many steps he had taken, and how many more were left to go.

  The battlewagon at the front of the convoy belted its horn. The motorcycles nearby revved their engines and sped off ahead. Sunlight slivered in through the dwindling canopy overhead. Gabriel dared a glance at the landscape before him, and what he saw stole his tired breath away. A glittering pile of gold stretched beyond a glistening lake, like the enormous haul of some ancient dragon. There might well be a dragon somewhere in these mountains who had amassed all of the gold on the planet in this one valley. Gabriel blinked, trying to make sense of it, then gave up. He had lived in his bunker since near the start of the cataclysm. He had never attempted to brave or understand the outside world, seeking instead to observe it through hacked camera feeds and intercepted transmissions. However, due to his stupid bravery, Plodder’s misguided speech about friendship and his desire to impress Clara, he was a prisoner of a gang of orcs, being dragged through the mountainside towards slavery, or butchery, or whatever evil deeds they had in store for them.

  In some ways, walking downhill was harder than up, it put more weight on the soles of his feet as he practically fell upon his ankles, cockling and more than once falling on his arse. But he was quick to rise to save the ire of the guardsmen and the prisoner in front, who on more than one occasion had had to help him up. Gabriel closed his eyes again and counted his steps. He made it to triple figures, then opened his eyes again. The lakeshore was to his right, he could hear its soft waves of the grumble of the battlewagon’s engine. Then ahead, on the side of the road, her beauty, a sudden stab of hope, was Clara. Her eyes were wide and blue, glinting in the golden atmosphere, brighter than any gem, any star. Gabriel swallowed, his throat dry. His legs gave out and he fell to the ground.

  A hand caught his arm, soft but firm. It lifted him to his feet, and there was Clara, so close to him that he could feel the heat of her radiant presence on his skin. Gabriel’s lip quivered with all the things he wanted to say: I need water, and Don’t worry about me baby cakes, I’m fine, and Please for the love of god get me out of here!

  “This one’s with me,” Clara said, addressing a tall man approaching from behind her. “Cut the ropes.” She walked alongside Gabriel to keep up with the marching column, her hand cradling his tender tricep.

  “Who is he?” the tall man asked. His features were striking, as were his wardrobe choices: denim jacket and denim jeans, accessories with a metal cane coiled with copper wire.

  “He’s mine,” Clara said, and Gabriel almost passed out with joy. Suddenly, the pain in his body was gone, and it felt like he was floating in the warm waters of a pristine lake. “I’m allowed an entourage aren’t I? Well, I chose him. He’s my sape.”

  “Your what?” Gabriel wheezed.

  The tall man cut Gabriel’s ropes with a dagger and dragged him aside. “Open wide,” he said, and Gabriel’s jaw shot open with the command. Gabriel tried to turn his head, but with a flick of his wrist, the man snapped it back around as though he had pulled on an invisible string. He leaned in closer, inspecting Gabriel’s throat, all the while, invisible fingers prodded and groped his body. Gabriel tried to turn, shield his face and eyes, but he could not move. He was frozen in place, beheld by this patriarch. His jaw agape, Gabriel whimpered.

  “What are you doing?” Clara said, a wilted anger in her voice. “Don’t hurt him.”

  “He seems to be in good nick,” the man said, “If a little fatigued.”

  Suddenly the spell was released and Gabriel fell to his knees, massaging his jaw. He lowered his face in shame, staring into the man’s polished leather boots. He was an embarrassment, defenceless and weak. A beta male, worthless.

  “Why him?” the man said, towering above him.

  “He’s resourceful,” Clara said. A flicker reignited in Gariel’s heart.

  “Possessing a retinue of sapes is for New Patricians only,” the man said. “Am I right to think that this means you have made your decision to join our ranks?”

  “My mind has changed about many things, Alister.” There was a softness to Clara’s voice which burgeoned on sweetness, prickling at Gabriel’s ears. “For one, yourself. I must admit, I got the wrong impression of you in Milltown.”

  “How so?”

  “Let’s have this conversation another time,” Clara said. “In private.” Her treacle sweet voice made Gabriel sick to his stomach with jealousy. So, Clara’s taste in men was more the strong leader types, those who could protect and serve her. No surprise there. It was a dangerous world–it had been the same in the jungles, when mankind were apes–now it was the same in the apocalypses. Women had always wanted an alpha male. Andy, Clara’s companion, suited that description, and now so did this Alister. She would never go for a runt like him. All that Gabriel could hope for was to receive her mercy and serve as her assistant, just long enough that he figured out a way to escape and a way back to his private bunker where he could lock the doors, never again to send out a distress signal or open them to a buxom maiden in distress, never again to foolishly wander the world of behemoth beasts and men, content instead with his games and figurines, and fantasies of virtual worlds and alien lands.

  “Where are my quarters?” Clara said, picking Gabriel up and wrapping her arm around his waist. Her hips against his, her breast so close to his chest. How could he help but fall in love with her? With that one touch, all of Gabriel’s doubts surrendered. He melted in her arms.

  “You don’t expect me to sleep inside that cargo container again?” Clara said. “That’s not a good place to build a team.”

  “I will have something arranged,” Alister said.

  “Do it now,” Clara said.

  “Do it now,” Gabriel mimicked in the voice of the Terminator, though his impression was impaired by the dryness of his throat.

  “Excuse me?” Alister said.

  Gabriel kept his mouth shut and looked the other way. With Clara’s help, they made it down the lakeside towards a tent city. Gabriel gritted his teeth, wincing, but not verbalising his pain. He didn’t want to come across as a baby to his escort. Ahead, women and children were herded out of a large tarpaulin structure, forced at gunpoint to set up shop elsewhere. Gabriel and Clara entered their abandoned domicile, complete with floor-mattress furnishings, a heap of golden rubble acting as a fireplace and a pile of ash beneath for the open fire. And there, beside the bed, was a miraculous jug of water.

  “This will do nicely,” Clara said, setting Gabriel down on the bed. Rolling over, he took the jug of water in both hands and slurped it down. “When would you like to see me again?”

  Alister licked his lips in the open flap of the tent. “Tonight,” he said. “I will have a meal prepared and shall contemplate our discussion. I trust you have the book Vincent gave you? Our manifesto?”

  Clara drew a book from the large pockets of her combat jacket and read the title. “The Augmentus Epoch, by The Superiority.”

  Alister smiled. “That is the one. I am sure you will find it illuminating. Until the night.” He bowed and made his exit.

  Having drunk his fill, Gabriel sank into the torn spring mattress like it was a bed of feathers made for the kings of fairy tales. For what felt like a long time, Clara just stood there, staring out of the tent flap into the afternoon air. Gabriel’s heartbeat jittered as his brain swelled, and his temples throbbed. He closed his eyes, consciously relaxing every muscle in his beaten body. He didn’t know when he’d be forced to rise again, so he intended to maximise his rest time.

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  “I’m so sorry.” Clara’s face was above his. When had she gotten so close? She touched his forehead. “You’re hot.”

  “Thanks,” Gabriel said, then immediately regretted.

  “I’ll get some more water.”

  All throughout the afternoon, Clara attended to Gabriel’s wounds, quietly explaining what she could about their situation, and apologising far too much than she needed to that he’d been dragged into it. She undressed his clothes, respectful of his modesty, and washed his face and feet with a cloth. Gabriel focussed as hard as he could to retain every single second of it, as though he was coding the memory of it into his brain. They didn’t talk, but as the silence between them stretched out, Gabriel found himself more relaxed than ever. Clara hummed softly to herself, a tune which Gabriel could’t place.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “Huh?”

  “That song?”

  “What song?” she asked.

  Gabriel tried to hum it back, but his voice was nothing like a rusty hinge compared to her pristine obo.

  “Oh,” Clara smiled. “It’s a tune from my jeep. Well, it was off a CD that was stuck in the jeep. But, it’s gone now.”

  “The jeep or the CD?”

  “Both.”

  “What was the song?”

  “No idea,” Clara said. “It was stuck in the system when I bought the jeep. I never found a case for it, or knew anyone who recognised it.” Her smile widened. “It’s lost.”

  “No,” Gabriel said. “You carry it.”

  Clara chuckled, the sound like soft rain off tin roofs and wind chimes in the valley. “That’s a nice way of thinking about it.”

  “Sing it again,” Gabriel said. “I might know it.”

  Clara cleared her throat, raising her chin to stare off into the canvas walls, eyes glazed over. Then she sang for him, at the edge of his lifeline, at the end of the world. “They say the meek shall inherit the earth. But all I see are the helpless, crushed by the wheel of man.” Clara closed her eyes, absorbed by her song. “We’re in the shadow of a dying world. We’re in the shadow of a dying world.”

  She hummed the melody a few times over, then her eyes shot to him. “Anything?”

  “No, I don’t recognise it.”

  Clara blushed. “I don’t think I’ve ever realised before how depressing those lyrics are.”

  “It sounds nice to me,” Gabriel said.

  Clara smiled. He’d made her smile. Him. Gabriel, man of charm, harbinger of gayety and cheer. Silence befell them once more, but it was a comfortable quiet, like the one which Gabriel had experienced in his bunker with his figurines and AI chat scripts; he didn’t feel like less of a man for it being there, as though he should be forced to say something, or else be discovered imbecile or a bore. Rather, he was confident in the silence, content to snooze while Clara sat by his side and read her book, as the sun dipped in the late winter sky outside and night rested upon them.

  Gabriel awoke to the rowdy sound of men outside their tent. He held his breath as anxiety swept through his body, expecting them to intrude, but they walked on by. Unable to sleep, Gabriel listened to the rustle of the tarpaulin and periodic flicker of a turning page as Clara read her book. Gabriel’s feet were hot and swollen, so he stuck them outside his blanket, holding them to the cold draft of the tent flap. Their little room was lit by candlelight, and the smouldering glow of a log fire beneath the table. The flickering shadows on the canvas walls reminded Gabriel of what he had witnessed on the vault’s video feeds: shadow demons slaughtering defenceless people. If he had been in Clara’s position, could he have helped them? Would he have the strength, let alone the guts to do something? Probably not. This one overnight trek from the vault’s entrance to the lakeside had left his body in tatters, his resolve teetering on a knife’s edge. Yet there was Clara, poised like a regal painting, focussed on the book in her hand. The depth of Gabriel’s admiration for her magnified. Not only was she stunning, and kind, and intelligent, but she was strong. Normally, characters such as that annoyed him in video games, too pristine to be realistic, too flawless to be likeable. Yet, Clara’s perfection was effortless, it simply emanated from her as warmth does a flame, or the sweetness does a flower.

  “Clara,” Gabriel said before he could stop himself. She turned to face him, expression soft, absent of judgement. “I… You…”

  Heavy footsteps approached their shelter. Alister pulled back the tent flap and ducked inside. “My lady, the sun is setting over the lake. I thought you might like to see it.”

  Clara marked her page and folded the book back into her jacket pocket. “Yeah, I’m starved.” She rose and stretched, removing her baseball hat from her head. “But I need a mirror first, to get ready. A gold plate won’t do. I can’t see my face in that.”

  “How quickly you’ve filled the role of princess,” Alister laughed. “I shall have one delivered.”

  “Thank you,” Clara said, turning her back to Alister. “You’ve been very accommodating, even after our grievances. I’m sure Andy will come around too, given a little time.”

  Gabriel’s heart shrunk to hear the smile in her voice.

  “Of course,” Alister said, and departed.

  Clara waited a few seconds before checking outside their shelter that he had gone, then she knelt beside Gabriel. “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay,” Gabriel said.

  “How are your legs?”

  “Sore.”

  “Good enough to move?”

  Gabriel nodded.

  “Good enough to run?”

  Anxiety stabbed him. “I don’t know if I could,” he stammered.

  Clara put a hand on his chest, drawing the panic out of his body like poison from a wound. “Get some more rest. Sleep, I’ll be back.”

  “I’ll be back,” Gabriel muttered under his breath as Clara rose, quickly fixing her hair into a scruffy ponytail, drawing the plume through the rear hole in her cap’s strap, and excited their shelter, leaving Gabriel alone.

  For more than an hour, Gabriel fretted, awaiting her return. Nobody came with a mirror, nobody checked up on him, or came to bind him in rope and drag him away. Gabriel’s stomach rumbled, but amongst the rest of his bodily pains, hunger was the least of his worries. He wondered what relation Alister had with Clara. He had assumed they were adversaries at first, given the nature of their kidnapping, but now they talked alliably. Was it an enemies-to-lovers situation? Were they out on a date? Gabriel wanted desperately to climb out of his tent and sneak up on their meeting to eavesdrop, but even if he’d had the energy to do so, it wasn’t what Clara wanted. Her command was to rest, so Gabriel remained deadly still, preserving every joule of energy he had, devouring his fat reserves in order to keep his nutrition up, his wounds healing and his heart pumping.

  Gabriel burnt a handful of calories to straighten his blue and red honeydew Hawiian shirt, dusting some of the dirt off of it to make himself more presentable upon Clara’s return. Minutes slipped by, and Gabriel found himself dreaming of walking an impossible distance, harried by hurtful voices. Though distressed, Gabriel could tell that he was asleep, and accepted the state as the most optimal mode for maximum rest, and so braved the journey, taking one pained step after another until finally, voices penetrated his slumber more real than those he imagined, and he roused from his imagined toil.

  “I would have hated being your enemy,” came Alister’s pompous voice.

  “Yeah,” Clara chimed, sweet like a spring melody. “You would.”

  “Then I will need your partner’s answer soon,” Alister continued. “The winter is late. The snow has thawed. We shall be returning to the nation. I might be convinced to stay here with you to teach you, or you could perhaps travel north with us.”

  There was a belated pause, during which Gabriel wondered if the two of them had walked out of earshot, then Clara’s voice sounded loud and clear through the tarpaulin flap. “He will join. I’ll convince him.”

  “How easily?”

  “It’s our best option,” Clara said. “He’ll understand, but I’ll wait until the morning to speak to him. Give him some time to cool off.”

  “Excellent,” Alister said. “But may I ask, what has changed your mind.”

  “The nation’s power. I underestimated you and the New Patricians. I didn’t think that your ambitions aligned with our own. I thought that you would limit us.”

  “But we will not,” Aliser bellowed triumphantly. “We will aid you, and fight with you. Strategise and work with you, side by side.” Alister paused. Gabriel held his breath. “There is so much we need to rebuild.”

  “I’m going to be honest with you Alister,” Clara said. “It’s going to take some getting used to. But I appreciate everything you’ve done for us, even if it was a little rough, your mercy hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

  “Mercy between equals and would-be allies is merely an inalienable advantage of social evolution.”

  Clara chuckled, though it sounded to Gabriel like a tin bell being struck with a rubber mallet. “I wouldn’t have worded it like that, but I guess so.”

  “Then, this is goodnight,” Alister replied.

  “Goodnight.”

  As Clara ducked into their shelter, Gabriel caught a glimpse of Alister behind her in a waning light of dusk, his bronze skin tinted by the red sky above, sandy hair like clouds, catching the basking rays of his victory gloating about his head. Clara let the tent flap fall behind her, then remained still while Alister’s footsteps disappeared down the road. A moment longer, and she slumped into the fold-out chair with a weighty sigh. “Here,” she said, handing a tupperware carton to him. Inside was fresh fish on a bed of leaves, cooked and seasoned. Gabriel sat upright and wolfed it down. Something tapped his knee–a bottle of water–and a chunk of bread fell into his lap.

  “You eat like Andy,” Clara said, and the fondness that swept up in her voice could not have been faked. “Are you okay?”

  Gabriel made an affirmative sound while his mouth was crammed with food. What’s happening? He tried to say, but it came out a muffle.

  “I have a favour to ask,” Clara said.

  Gabriel swallowed his food and looked at her, holding her eye contact for as long as he could bear. “Yes?”

  “If we can get you back to your bunker safely, can Andy and I stay there, just for a short while?”

  Gabriel nodded. “Yes.”

  “Just while we regroup, figure things out.”

  “Yes, be my guest. You’re my guests, I mean. You can stay with me for as long as you want.”

  “Okay, good.” Clara’s eyes danced about the tarpaulin walls, as if trying to discern the future from the shadows cast upon them.

  “But how?” Gabriel said.

  “I’m gonna break Andy out tonight.”

  Gabriel took a sip of water. “I’ll refer to my previous question.”

  Clara smiled, fishing something out of her small breast pocket. A packet of what looked like paracetamol tablets, and a key, the teeth of which were all filed to the same length. “With this.”