Jax scooped a handful of water from the stream he was kneeling at, examining it closely. It was clean, he determined, and he drank deeply, wiping his mouth, allowing a few stray drops of water to drip off his chin. His dark, alert eyes scanned the trees. The wind moved boughs peacefully, but he wouldn't be fooled by the serenity. He thought he had heard a sound.
He grabbed his backpack – the holder of all his worldly possessions and a single reminder of home, where he came from, and slung it over his shoulder. He had found it heavy at first, but now he'd become accustomed to its weight, feeling nearly naked without it resting warmly on his shoulder. It reminded him of a pet he once had, a lizard he had named Jenko. Jenko sat on him like his bag did, his body temperature cool until Jax's body heat warmed it up. It was nice to pretend that he wasn't alone.
Alone was safer though, and the sound of others had brought his pulse to racing. He moved nimbly through the trees toward the sound, gripping a piece of glass tightly. He had been using it for a weapon for a few months, and had duct taped the edge so he could grip it firmly as he swiped it at whatever threat was looming. There were more wild dogs than ever now. After the humans had begun to die out, their pets grew feral and ran rampant around the cities and towns, meeting and breeding, populating the emptiness with their own pups. The same was true of cats, though their feral nature was already commonplace where he came from. Cats and their kittens roamed the streets without fear. He'd enjoyed it at first, feeling that finally it was time for man's supposed best friend to take his rightful place on the food chain. It seemed like poetic justice in a way.
Now though, the savage creatures would show no mercy. They vaguely remembered humans, and didn't think very fondly of them on the whole. The result was that he now had to fear both man and beast. At night, he had to keep watch for the glowing eyes of feral cats who wouldn't hesitate to jump out of the foliage and grip whatever was moving with fierce claws and teeth. He missed the way things used to be, when they were simple and safe. He had been younger then, and the few people who survived had created a new, hellish world all their own – one he wanted no part of.
The sound of heavy footfalls – a twig snapping loudly – brought him to attention. Somebody was running, heading toward the stream where he was standing dumbly, staring off into the distance. He narrowed his eyes and focused on the sound. Somebody was probably being chased. Sure enough, a stampede of feet followed closely after the first person he had heard. The Jackals were apparently after new prey. He shifted, selfishly irritated that the person they were chasing might lead them to him. He had been so peaceful there, but now he would have to hide.
He leapt up into a nearby tree, watching the action unfold. He wouldn't get involved; he would just stay out of sight long enough for the danger to pass and then go about his business. A woman burst through the bushes, her long, light brown hair framing her face. She gazed longingly at the water – he felt a pang of pity, as it was a look he knew well – but she was trapped and couldn't drink. She looked around helplessly, her beautiful oval face contorted in panic and fear. He groaned to himself and lowered himself to the ground, motioning her over to him. She didn't seem to be wearing any of the signature clothing styles of the tribes he was familiar with, and he had a fleeting, hopeful thought that maybe she was like him and didn't belong to any of them.
That was unlikely though – the safety and food security in a gang was tempting to most people after the virus had hit, and he was sure that most others would have to be crazy to try to make it on their own.
“Up there,” he hissed. “Go!”
She looked at him in confusion before registering what he said. He didn't wait for her to respond before he hoisted her up, letting her step hard on his muscular forearm, and then took off running, throwing a large stone into the stream, hoping it would keep them off the trail, and dodging into a bush just as the three Jackals arrived, panting and swearing, their bare chests heaving as they gulped in air and looked into the stream.
“Where'd the bitch go?” the scrawniest asked. His hair was buzzed short and bleached white by the sun.
“We should split up,” the leader of the small group decided. He tugged at his pant leg – the Jackals went around shirtless with one pant leg up and one down to make them distinctive – and pointed into the stream. “All yours, Buggy.”
The third man groaned. He was tall and lanky, with sandy blonde hair and a small, round face.
“Why do I always get the shit jobs, Orson?” he complained.
“Because you always whine about it,” Orson said, slapping him hard on the back. It left a red imprint. “Now be a fuckin’ man and go get that sea hag out of the water.”
Buggy grumbled to himself as he waded in, looking around for her. Orson and the blonde split up in different directions, leaving Buggy alone. He waded around for about half a minute, before an epiphany struck him.
“This is stupid,” he growled, wading back out of the stream. “Jinx never has to do this shit.” He began to wring his pant legs out. “I don't see nothin'!”
As he said this, his eyes fixed on a shuddering branch. Suddenly, he saw bare, tan legs and recognition flickered on his face. He hurried forward, opening his mouth to alert his friends. Before he could, his throat was filled with blood. Jax was behind him, the shard of glass lodged into Buggy's esophagus. He uttered a strangled gurgle and collapsed to the ground. The woman in the tree watched, paralyzed.
“Did you find anything, Bug?” Orson asked, emerging suddenly out of the brush. Jax crouched, lunging like a panther, and tackled Orson to the ground. He tried reaching to his side to pull out his weapon, but Jax was too powerful. Orson hit his head hard on a rock, momentarily stunning him. It was just long enough for Jax to slash him, leaving him for dead on the ground.
A few final, terrifying beats passed as Jinx approached, whistling as if calling to a housecat. He took one look at his friends lying dead on the ground and his face turned white. Jax glared at him, ready to strike.
“Fuck this,” Jinx said, and turned on his heel and ran away.