I gained my feet and lunged away when his hand closed on my foot. I smashed into the forest floor with a flash of pain. I tried to rip my foot away and get back on my feet.

Too slow.

The curly-haired man's weight hit me, and this time the fight was different. His knee dug deep into my back, crushing me to the ground, a terrifying illustration of how much stronger he was. Panic grew inside me, not just of being caught, of worse. I struggled and flailed, my nails scraping on rocks and dirt, but he only pushed harder, until I buckled, my face grinding into the earth.

He pressed harder. The air squeezed out of me.

I wanted to scream for Father, but I was alone, with only the lessons he'd taught me.

I got my elbows under me and tried to roll sideways and throw him. He pressed down harder. Black spots flickered in my vision.

I couldn't breathe.

A heavy hand pressed on my lungs. It was impossible to move, to think.

I was suffocating.

I thrashed, weaker now. Still, his body pressed. I fought harder, until blackness filled the edge of my vision.

"Hey, hey, steady there!" Despite everything, his voice sounded concerned. "You're alright. Just calm down." His weight lifted a fraction.

I sucked in a breath like a drowning man. My lungs felt shallow.

He knocked the wind out of you. You're okay. Breathe!

I laid still, focusing on drawing in breaths.

"That the boy who was following us?" A deep, slow voice came from my left.

"Yeah, no wonder. He looks half starved. Probably just looking for food." This came from the curly-haired man. God, he was heavy.

But through the panic came a single thought.

He didn't know I was a girl.

Maybe I could still play this off.

"Anyone with him?"

"No."

"You think he's part of a clan?"

"Nah, I mean.... look at him."

There was silence and I tensed, feeling the weight of their eyes. I didn't like that I couldn't see them with my face ground into the dirt. Then-

"Jeb, come help me check him for weapons. He had a gun, might have a knife too."

My stomach tightened. What did checking for weapons entail? There were a few things he'd notice if he checked too closely.

I tensed, readying myself for the weight to lift. I filled my lungs, fingers tingling as I prepared for the race of my life.

Instead, powerful hands grabbed my upper arms and shoulders from each side, holding me steady. For a brief moment the weight lifted as the curly-haired man got off. I kicked wildly, making contact with someone and hearing a satisfying "Umph."

The satisfaction didn't last long. Pain exploded across my lower thigh, like a heavy rope swung hard. Another set of hands held my legs now, and I began to shake, blinking back tears.

What sort of pain would come if they found out I was a girl? Hands worked steadily up my leg, squeezing my thigh viciously. I jerked, but the hands kept moving. Maybe he would just search my back? When he paused at my waist, I allowed myself a feeling of hope.

The metallic note of a knife leaving its sheath broke it.

Slicing upwards, the knife cut through my shirt, and cool air swept over my back. I closed my eyes, pretending this was a dream.

"What the hell is... " I could almost hear him making the connection in his head, at the sight of my bra. I was skinny, but even then, the shape of a woman was different than a man.

"Turn him over."

The pressure released. My window of opportunity. Like a viper, I flipped over, kicking the man who'd been searching me full in the face.

I should have aimed for the curly-haired man. He tackled me and was sitting astride my waist before I could gain my feet. Damn! I wanted to scream in frustration. His eyes blazed into mine. A sudden understanding flickered in them.

He knew.

He reached forward and ripped my shirt away completely, not even bothering with the knife. Then he pulled the hat from my head.

Tangled, auburn hair spilled around my shoulders. My hair was one of the few features I was proud off; thick and straight, hinting at red in the light. I cursed myself now for not cutting it.

Not that it mattered.

I was trapped beneath a strange man, shirtless except for my bra.

My mother would have been disappointed, but then again, there were no women left to be disappointed. Only me. And I was angry.

The curly-haired man spoke first.

"It's a girl."

He said it with such disbelief that, had I not been terrified, I might have been insulted. I resisted the urge to spit on him.

The other men came closer, and my eyes burned with humiliation and fear.

"I don't know how you were raised but sitting on a girl is not a polite way to introduce yourself." Or at least, that's what I probably should have said. What actually came out was a mix of profanities that amounted to "Get off me. NOW!"

The curly-haired man smiled, not at all cowed. Without taking any weight off me, he looked up at the others.

"It's definitely a girl."

"Can't be. There's not any left." This came from the man with red hair and long limbs, the one I had first collided with. Now that I looked at him, he seemed more like a boy, not just because of the soft way he'd spoken, but also because he looked at me with a sort of innocent longing, like he saw in me a lost mother or sister. I didn't want to imagine what the other men were thinking.

It didn't take long to find out.

"We should check, make sure it's really a girl, all the way," said the man with the slow drawl and small, rat-like eyes. He was balding, with a white rash across his arms. A bruise was already forming on his face, and I realized with satisfaction he was the man I'd kicked. His eyes traveled down my body. I swallowed.

"No, it's a girl."

I glared up at the curly-haired man. His green eyes trailed over me, and I felt a flush grow on my face. I returned his gaze with all the hate I could muster.

Then, suddenly, his weight was gone. I sat up slowly, surveying the men surrounding me.

I stood, favoring the leg still burning from the hit.

"Sam, give me your jacket," the curly-haired man said.

The younger boy, Sam, took off his jacket and handed it over. He stared at the ground, his face littered with freckles and his hair unwashed. The curly-haired man tossed the jacket at me. I caught it and considered throwing it at his feet. I settled for glaring at him as I pulled it on. I was outnumbered, and my leg throbbed. In a foot race, I could beat every man here, except maybe the curly-haired man. Even standing still he looked fast, with long legs and an athletic frame.

He smiled as he caught me watching him.

I decided I could outrun him.

But I'd put a knife in him first to be sure.

I crossed my arms over the jacket. It was well-worn, soft, and still warm from the boy, Sam. I breathed in the scent of leather, suddenly aware of the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. I had bitten my cheek when I fell and didn't even notice. I swallowed the blood and raised my chin to meet the eyes of the curly-haired man, waiting for him to speak. I liked him better when I had a pistol aimed at his head.

"What's your name?" he asked. It was a simple question, but I hadn't been asked it for so long.

"What's your name?" I countered.

"I'm Kaden. That's Sam, Issac, and Jeb." Sam, gave me a soft, boyish smile, contrasted with Jeb's ugly leer. Issac looked me square in the face and nodded, a quiet sympathy there. His black hair had touches of grey, a detail I noted simply because I'd seen no one over thirty survive the plague, besides my father.

"Ara," I finally said. Short for Arabella, but I withheld that, taking pleasure in giving him as little information as possible.

Kaden stepped forward and unraveled a rope, watching me through oddly long eyelashes. While he tied my hands, Sam ran back to the clearing and returned with my gun. He pulled out the magazine.

"It's empty," he said, sounding confused.

Kaden smiled at this, but I refused to acknowledge he had been right.

"You know," Kaden said as he tugged on the knot, forcing me a half-step closer, "Most people shoot a gun. But I like your style. Throwing them is much more sporting. Your aim is a little off though."

"Give me the gun and a bullet and I'll show you how off it is."

He laughed at this, then in a gesture that felt much too intimate, he stepped behind me and wound my hair into a bun. I tried to ignore the feeling of his hands in my hair as he came close enough that his body almost touched mine. Then he pulled the cap back over my head. I scowled as he came to stand before me and picked up the rope.

"You know, Princess, I don't think I will."