“But, Daddy—”

“Inside.”

She steps back into the shadows, but her silhouette remains visible. She doesn’t go back inside, which likely means I’m safe. This guy is protecting his daughter, not trying to rob me.

“I’m here for a few cans of fuel,” I say. “That’s it.”

He gestures to the gun in my belt. “Drop it and you can come inside.”

“We can both leave our weapons out here,” I counter. Doesn’t he know that no one drops their weapons during an apocalypse?

“Leave it in your belt then, or I will shoot.”

I follow him to a thick, dented metal door. The two little kids trail after me, but the man stops. “Not you two. Stay out here.”

“But you said—”

“I said stay out here.” They don’t argue, almost like they’ve had a similar exchange with him before.

I hazard a guess. “They’re not yours?”

“They’re lackeys of the supposed Nightmare Emperor.”

“Lackeys?” I swallow a laugh. “They’re children.”

“I don’t care. They’re not allowed near me or my family. They’re only here to make sure you find this place and get what you need. They told me enough. I can take over from here.”

He makes it sound like he’s doing all of us a favor, but I can read between the lines. This guy is still trapped in the Tunnel, and he learned from these kids that there’s hidden fuel. He set up his own camp.

Now he’s in charge.

His daughter Becca skips inside ahead of us. It’s odd seeing something so cheery as skipping when her father threatened my life moments ago.

The man walks across the great expanse of a cold concrete space. The opposite side of the room holds the first semblance of warmth. Some lit candles, piles of blankets, a little bookshelf, and four cots—one of which holds a sleeping woman and another acting as a seat for a young man.

To the right, in the corner, rest several gas cans. I catch a whiff of their contents.

“Help us with these, Zaff.”

The man on the cot stands and tosses a cigarette on the ground, stamps out the ember, then stashes the stub in his pocket. “You sure about this, Clark?”

“When will you start smoking that poison outside like I asked?” Clark gripes.

“Sorry.” Zaff gives an apologetic glance to Becca.

Clark heads over to the gas cans and picks up one in each hand. Zaff does the same. I follow suit. I don’t ask how many I’m allowed, but six full cans is more than I expected. They help me carry them to The Fire Swamp, but not out of courtesy. I see their gazes scouting, assessing what I have. What might benefit them. I stay on guard.

They load the gas into the back of the pickup while I empty my two directly into the tank.

“Now get us food,” Zaff demands, eyeing the door of The Fire Swamp.

“Are you going to share with those two kids?” I ask. I don’t have much food, but I’m not about to hand it over to them if they’re going to starve out the children.

“They’re not ours,” he restates sullenly.

At least he’s honest. They’re going to hoard it for themselves.

“Of course we’ll share,” Clark says with an exasperated sigh. I’m not sure if that’s the dad in him or if he’s merely trying to mollify me. Clark lowers his voice and comes closer to me. “We’ve gotta have food, man. The kids told us their Emperor said that would be the exchange.”

“Luc never said anything of the sort to me.” I place a friendly hand on his shoulder, knowing the route of honesty right now is the most dangerous to take. But I can’t bring myself to lie to them.

“I don’t have much, but I’ll give you what I can.” I grab the can of beans and a single box of pasta from the cab. After a moment’s hesitation, I also grab the peanut butter. That’s all that’s in there, and I’m not about to open the makeshift door to The Fire Swamp.

Clark takes the beans, peanut butter, and the pasta box but looks disgusted. “That’s it?”

“I’m sorry.” There’s a can of chicken broth in The Fire Swamp, but Stranna needs it. And I can’t risk entering and exposing her to them.

The door to the warehouse opens, and Becca comes out, holding the hand of the woman who had previously been sleeping. Her hair is mussed, and she blinks wearily, waking from what seem to be hours—perhaps even days—in the Tunnel. She is bent over while she walks, her stomach so hollowed out she looks about to fold in half.

“See, Mom? He’s got a whole house with him. I bet there’s plenty inside.”

The mom lifts her eyes. The moment they land on me, she staggers into her husband. “Clark. Clark! That’s him.”

“Who?” Clark looks at me.

Her bottom lip trembles. “The one . . . who made the . . . the cure.” She lifts a tremulous finger. “You’ve killed us all.”

Becca gasps and pulls her mom back toward the door.

“This is that guy?” Clark asks, incredulous.

Zaff grabs Clark’s rifle and aims it at me. “We spent our LifeSuPod savings on that cure! We used the last of our own gasoline to pick up the vials.”

I back toward the cab, slipping my revolver free. “I don’t want a fight.”

“Of course you don’t!” Zaff yells. “You want to take our money, our gas, our food and split, leaving us to die!”

“Becca, get your mom inside,” Clark says in a dark voice.

“Don’t kill him!” Becca sobs. “Please! Don’t kill anybody else!” It is the mom who tugs her through the door.

This isn’t good. “I was up-front about everything.” They need to know that I’m no charlatan. I truly believed in the cure. “It was new. I used it on myself, and it worked that one time. I took a risk in the hope of saving lives.”

“Of robbing us.” Zaff cracks his knuckles against the trigger of the rifle. “Serving false hope and profiting from it.”

“I didn’t profit. I charged only what it cost me to make—”

Boom. A bullet slugs me in the shoulder.