Three Days on the Hill, Part 2

Continued from Part 1

Thursday, May 17, 2012

I woke to Kelly’s body pressed against mine. Her fingers traced circles on my chest. The tent smelled like earth, canvas, and the lingering salt of our sweat. Light seeped through the fabric.

She propped herself up on one elbow, her dark hair a mess. “I’m heading out with Parker,” she murmured, breath warm against my skin. “See what we can find in the woods.”

I brushed my fingers through her hair, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. “Be careful.”

She smirked. “Always.”

Then she was gone, slipping out of the tent, leaving behind the incredible emptiness of morning.

About two hours later, I was crouched near the fire pit, poking at the embers, when the first voice—high-pitched, almost squeaky—cut through camp.

Kelly walked in with four strangers at her back.

The first one I noticed was Keith. He carried a wooden crate with fresh vegetables—real food, not canned mush or dried-out rations. He set it down and straightened, pulling off a camouflage hat to rake a hand through short-cropped blond hair. He stood a solid half-foot taller than Kelly, lean and cut, like someone who spent every waking moment training for a triathlon. Not an ounce of fat, not a strand of stubble on his face. His clothes—an Army-green T-shirt and clean denim—looked like they’d just come off a store rack, untouched by the dirt and blood of the world falling apart.

Beside him, Natalie mimicked his movements, setting down another crate before adjusting her thick-rimmed glasses. Her black ponytail twitched as she turned her head, surveying camp. She wore an Army T-shirt, jeans, and hiking boots, but there was something different about her. She seemed…restless.

Wyatt came next. If it weren’t for Jaime, he’d be the tallest here by far and heavier by forty pounds. He carried himself like a man used to hauling weight, his massive shoulders stretching the fabric of his overalls. Without a word, he dropped a duffel bag beside the crates, exhaling hard through his nose like he’d just unloaded a burden.

The last one, Benton, hovered at the edge of camp, away from the others. His hair was the color of old straw and hung over his forehead in uneven chunks. He had a slumped posture with his shoulders rounded forward and a slight hunch to his back. He chewed on a worn, plastic straw, his eyes dull and sagging as they glanced from face to face.

A few feet away, Brody and Madison sat side by side, watching him without a word.

Keith gazed across the camp, his jaw twitching to hold back a smile. He clapped his hands together once, loud and sudden like he was calling a team into a huddle.

“So, who’s in charge here?”

The response was immediate. Every head turned toward me. A few people, Brody included, actually pointed.

Keith’s lips twitched upward. “That right?” He adjusted his stance, shifting his weight. “Alright, let’s talk.”

I motioned toward the fire pit and walked, keeping my pace steady. He walked just behind me, chin slightly lifted, eyes lazily looking around the camp. We stopped away from prying ears. Keith hooked his thumbs in his belt, scanning the area again before fully focusing on me.

“I’ve put together a group,” he said, his voice dipping lower. “We call ourselves the Silverthorne Militia.” His grin widened. “We’re organized. Disciplined. Not a bunch of random people just trying to get by. We don’t do chaos, we don’t do panic, and we sure as hell don’t do weakness.”

I crossed my arms, keeping my expression neutral. “That what you’re selling?”

Keith tilted his head slightly, his chest expanding as he inhaled deeply. “Not selling. Offering.” He rolled his shoulders, shifting closer, lowering his voice. “You’ve got good people here. Capable. But this world isn’t kind to good people. You know that, don’t you?”

I didn’t answer. He smirked like he took my silence as agreement.

“This isn’t about survival anymore,” he continued. “It’s about control. The old rules?” He waved a hand, dismissing them. “Gone. It’s the ones who adapt fastest that make it. The ones who take what they need and don’t apologize for it.”

His eyes gleamed in the firelight. He was enjoying this.

“You, though,” Keith went on, tilting his head slightly like he was studying me under a microscope. “You’re interesting. You’ve kept this place together, but I can see it clear as day—you’re not sure how long you can. You’ve got people who follow you, but for how long? Until food runs out? Until someone makes a bad call? Until someone gets weak?”

I held his stare. “You came all this way to tell me how doomed we are?”

Keith chuckled. “Nah. I came here because I think you’re the kind of guy who understands what it takes to last.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping even lower. “I think you’re the kind of guy who belongs with us.”

I didn’t blink. “And what exactly does belonging with you mean?”

Keith’s grin stretched wider, slow and deliberate. “That depends.”

A sudden shout from the side of the camp cut through the tense air. Chairs scraped against the dirt as people turned. I pushed off the log I’d been leaning on and moved toward the noise, my pulse ticking up.

Benton was already on his feet, one hand hovering at his hip. His eyes sharpened as he glared at Brody and Madison. His lips curled, his teeth clenched around the plastic straw he’d been chewing on.

“Don’t talk to my sister like that,” Brody shouted, stepping forward, his body angled protectively in front of Madison.

Madison crossed her arms, her jaw tight. “This guy’s being a creep.”

Benton scoffed. “I wasn’t doing nothin’ wrong,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “You two need to shut your damn mouths.”

The space between them shrank. Brody didn’t back down. Madison’s nostrils flared. Benton’s fingers twitched toward his waistband.

Then the guns came out.

Benton drew first, a pistol materializing in his grip like it had always been there. Wyatt and Natalie followed.

Rachel’s rifle came up fast. Reilly reached for his Colt Python, and Jaime took a step closer, his submachine gun aimed straight at Benton’s chest.

It happened in seconds.

Keith stepped forward. Not fast, not slow. Just enough to make himself seen. His expression didn’t change, and his hands stayed open at his sides.

“Lower your weapons,” he said. His voice was calm and level. Not a request. A command.

His people obeyed instantly. Benton hesitated half a second longer than the others, then took a slow breath and holstered his gun.

I shifted my stance, scanning my side. Rachel didn’t move, her jaw tight, eyes locked on Natalie. Jaime held for another second before sighing and lowering his gun. Reilly was last, swallowing hard as he tucked his pistol away.

Keith nodded once as if everything had gone exactly as expected. Then he turned to me.

“We’re leaving,” he said, dusting off the front of his shirt like this was a minor inconvenience instead of a near firefight. Then he stepped closer, his voice dropping just enough so only I could hear. “You have twenty-four hours to join us. If you don’t, we’ll consider you enemies.” Then he turned, eyes sweeping over his people. “Let’s go.”

Without hesitation, the Silverthorne Militia followed, moving as one. I watched them disappear into the trees, the last crunch of their boots fading into the wind.

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Kelly moved beside me, arms wrapped around herself. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I shouldn’t have brought them here.”

I shook my head, letting out a breath. “It’s not your fault.”

The rest of the group gathered near the fire, their faces tight. No one said it, but I could feel the question.

“What now?” Madison asked.

I looked at each of them one at a time. “We don’t bow to anyone. If they come back, we fight.”