Razor and Wild Eye stared at each other for a few tense moments, sunlight glinting on the edge of Razor's knife. It ended when Wild Eye took a step back and glanced for a split second toward a growing commotion. Razor slipped his knife back into the sheath on his belt, also taking a step back an to the side.

The two rivals parted, going to separate sides of the strike team involved in the skirmish. Wild Eye hadn't forgotten their first meeting, nor forgiven Razor for the loss of his eye, but he was apparently willing to wait until a more opportune moment to settle the score.

Directing his attention toward the shouting coming from a group of scavengers crowded together, Razor discovered a fight between the last survivor of the Bloody Hand tribe and the warriors trying to claim her as a prisoner.

Razor estimated her age to be late teens to early twenties. Her fiery red hair was wild and unkempt. As was standard among the Bloody Hand tribe, her hands had been dyed red all the way to the wrists. Tan leathers wrapped her waist and upper torso, keeping her somewhat covered while allowing full freedom of movement. Knee and shin pads used by catchers in baseball had been strapped to her shoulders and arms to strengthen her makeshift defenses.

She was quick and used her mobility to dodge the blades shoved in her direction, striking back with the dagger she clutched in her red hands. So far, she'd been most successful, injuring several opponents while taking no damage in return.

Perched atop a low wall, a scavenger waited for the right moment to jump down and tackle the woman. Razor thought it a good plan, but he decided he should be the one to do it.

Heading around behind the wall, Razor took hold of the man's ankles and pulled them out from under him, dropping the man hard on his face against the wall before hitting the ground. The dazed scavenger would be a few minutes in recovering, and it gave Razor all the time he needed.

Jumping up to the top of the broken wall of bricks, Razor instantly lunged toward the woman. She saw him coming and swung her knife up and over her head to meet him in the air. Twisting in mid flight, Razor angled his chest and caught the knife in the shoulder rather than the heart. Using the momentum of his jump, Razor slammed into the woman and knocked her off balance.

Because if the metal studs in the leather armor over his chest, the knife glanced off rather than stabbing deep. Retrieving the knife from the ground where it had fallen during his tackle, Razor used it to kill two scavengers who were trying to take advantage of the helpless tribal woman.

Reaching her, Razor buried his hand in her thick mane of red hair and pulled the woman back to her feet, driving his knee into her stomach to knock the wind from her lungs. She gasped for breath, unable to fight as he pulled her along. Razor held up the knife and looked with murderous intent at his fellow scavengers, daring them to challenge his rightful claim.

Although Wild Eye was visibly seething with hatred, he kept his place and watched. It still wasn't the right time for his attack, and he would wait. Razor knew Three Scar had been right. Someday, Razor would have to kill that man, and it looked as if it would need to be soon.

***

Once the clan retuned to their hilltop fortress, Razor pulled the woman captive into the tent of Three Scar and tossed her on the floor. It felt oddly similar to his first day among the scavengers.

The woman, having caught her breath on the way, spun around but remained in a low crouch with her red hands out in front of her in a defensive position. She hissed at him like a cat, baring her teeth.

While the woman braced to defend herself from expected advances, Razor calmly observed her movements and appearance, trying to learn about her from the methods Three Scar had taught him.

The Bloody Hand tribe made their headquarters in an old factory. They had access to large vats of red dye. Their tradition was to dip the hands of their members in dye once a year. He noticed several differences in the color near her wrists, indicating she'd been a part of the tribe for many years and had her hands dunked unevenly on several occasions.

"Do you understand me?" Razor asked.

The woman hissed at him again, recoiling from him like a snake preparing to strike.

Razor sighed. He'd hoped to be wrong, but his guess had been accurate. The woman had been among the tribe for years, probably since she'd been a little girl. She'd lost the ability to speak and probably didn't remember anything prior to the violent society of the scavengers. He had only one way to reach her, and although he detested methods he was frequently forced to use among the scavengers, he saw no other choice.

Moving with tremendous speed, he lunged at the woman. Dodging her flailing attacks, he managed to get inside the reach of her arms and shove his full weight against her, knocking the woman off balance. He fell on top of her, pinning her to the floor of the tent.

Remembering the hunting tactics of boa constrictors, Razor let the bulk of his muscle mass press down on her, cutting off her ability to breathe effectively while simultaneously keeping her from moving too much. She thrashed at him with her arms and legs, but Razor endured the scratches and bruises, waiting for oxygen deprivation to do its work.

When she finally realized she could do nothing to escape and was helpless against him, she calmed down, spreading her arms out wide and laying them against the floor of the tent in a gesture of total submission.

Razor put his hands to either side of her and performed a push-up to lift his weight slightly from her. He moved slowly in case she was only faking surrender in order to trick him into lowering his guard. When she offered no further resistance, Razor moved beside her. Gently taking hold of her behind the neck, Razor lifted her into a sitting position. He slid his hand forward from her neck to caress her cheek, turning her chin to look at him directly.

"You're mine," he told her softly but firmly. "I will protect you. Trust me."

She made no move to answer him, and Razor didn't think she understood the words he said, but the look in her eyes showed she did comprehend his actions and tone of voice. She would offer not further resistance to him.

Motioning for her to wait, Razor retrieved an item from the other room. Returning to her, he offered her a hairbrush Three Scar had kept in one of his storage bins. She looked at it then back to him as if confused at the purpose of the item he offered to her.

Razor reached out his hand, motioning for her to give him hers. She hesitated only a second before doing as commanded by her new owner, placing her hand in his. Taking hold of her wrist, Razor turned her hand over and placed the hairbrush in her red fingers and closed them over the handle.

He maintained a hold on her hand as he drew the brush through the tangled mane of her red hair. It took time to remove the knots, but it was time well spent as it let the her know his intentions were not for her harm but for her benefit.

"We need a name for you," Razor commented. He considered her hair and the dye on the skin of her hands. "How about Red?"

He stopped brushing her hair, and she turned her green eyes in his direction as if seeking the reason.

"I'm Razor," he said, pointing to himself. "Razor."

"Raz or," the girl said hesitantly, and he nodded, a gentle smile on his face which she mimicked.

"Red," he said, pointing to her hands and hair. Pointing to her directly, he said it again. "Red."

"Reed," she said.

"Close enough," Razor acknowledged. He knew if he was going to educate her on surviving among the Snake Eye clan, the first thing she'd need to learn was language.

Most of the old leadership knew how to talk for they were the gang members and looters who originally formed the scavenger groups. As the violence escalated, and new members were recruited at younger ages, words became less important. It didn't take too long before the older ones died off, leaving the uneducated and primitive younger generations in charge, and they had no use for language. In this way, it had become a forgotten thing among the clans and tribes, but Razor knew the smarter she became, the better her chances of survival.

***

As night descended over the scavenger encampment, Razor offered Red the worn mattress he'd been using in the past, taking the bunk and room previously belonging to Three Scar. When he offered a blanket to Red, she seemed confused. She obviously knew what was expected of captured females and was puzzled by Razor not taking what was clearly his right.

To be perfectly honest, Razor had never been with a woman in his life. Although Red was extremely attractive physically, her mental state was that of a child, so to him, she was more of a little sister than anything else. He offered her a comforting smile before withdrawing to his room for the night.

Unbuckling the straps holding the leather armor on his chest, Razor shrugged out of the thick material. Metal studs embedded in the leather flashed in the darkness of late evening, reflecting the minute light filtering in from the torches outside the tent.

Despite the excellent training by Three Scar, old wounds covered Razor's arms, back, and chest in a multitude of scars. Life was not easy in the broken world, and his skin was a clear testimony to that fact.

In addition to the scars were the kill tally marks his tribe used. On the left side of his chest were a series of black marks, one for every zombie he'd killed. The red marks on the right were for humans. He'd earned several new ones today for the skirmish with the Bloody Hand tribe, as well as for the two of his own clan he'd dispatched to claim Red, but those had yet to be added to his tally.

His muscles rippled as he stretched out on his bunk. Razor left his ripped jeans and heavy boots on. He also kept at least three weapons within reach whenever he went to sleep. Death could come at any time or from any direction, so all scavengers were light sleepers, ready to rise and fight in an instant.

As he shut his eyes, Razor was visited by the faces of those he had lost. His friends had either died or been separated from him because of the zombie outbreak. His family had been next, murdered in front of him by scavengers. Even Three Scar, the only scavenger who had been anywhere close to civil with him, was now gone.

He clenched his eyes tighter in an attempt to restrain the tears trying to appear. Those he'd been forced to kill, and the rotting horrors he'd faced when fighting the undead clawed at his sanity. During the day, Razor had enemies to fight and objectives to deal with, but the nighttime hours left his mind free to replay the memories that threatened to drive him to madness. It was all he could do to keep a scream from tearing from his throat.

A hand touched his shoulder. Drawing a knife from under his pillow, he slashed at his attacker. Red's exceptional speed and agility let her duck back and dodge the blade. She held up her red hands in a submissive and nonthreatening manner. After waiting a moment, she tentatively reached for him again, touching his arm with her fingertips. When he didn't flinch or use the knife, she slid her hands slowly forward, tracing the scars and kill tally marks on his chest. Putting her arms around him, Red pulled herself close, resting her head on his chest.

Razor kept his hold on the knife, but he gently stroked Red's hair with his free hand. He slid over slightly, and Red pulled herself up onto the cot beside him without releasing her hold. It was clear he wasn't the only one feeling isolated and haunted by the past.

***

Razor awoke with a start. His eyes glanced around, but Red had vanished. Standing at the foot of his bed was someone he knew instantly. Holding a large bladed knife in his hands, Wild Eye grinned at him evilly.