2 Chapter One

Alcmene Argent

I wake with a stifled yelp, opening my eyes. Still shaky, I slowly sit up properly. Filled with grief and frustration from the dream, I feel my eyes knowing they are puffy from crying.

Twelve years and I still remember every gory detail, the exact shape of the cuts, the bloody field knife glinting in the afternoon sun, the dark crimson color of her blood staining the carpet, and worst of all the blank, unseeing look of her eyes. Taking a deep breath trying to shove it all to the back of my mind, hating my weakness. It always makes me remember the day, I lost everything, my mom, my guardian, my brother, and my spirit.

After calming down a bit, I stand up and start to shuffle towards the kitchen to get a glass of water and push away the memory away, but insomnia is horrible so I'm most likely not going to fall back to sleep. That's alright, it's not the first time and sure probably won't be the last.

I look at the microwave clock hoping it's about time to leave to clear my head like running always does; 4:27. That can't be right. After only around an hour of sleep if I remember correctly. I was exhausted from running around to school and back- around 5 miles, yesterday. I should have slept in at least a couple hours longer. Checking both the oven clock, the one on the wall, and my watch, they all blared the same thing- well in the couple of minutes it took me to find the watch it changed just not to the time I hoped for. Damnit I really need to get a grip on my insomnia.

Sighing, I acknowledge that there is still three hours until the animals are easiest to find to go hunting. If not for me, then my youngest twin siblings, Azazel and Melisande would be alone. We are eight years apart in age, but since the incident with Michael and mother, I like to think I've become more like their guardians. Heaven knows they need some sort of parental figure they can look up to, with one of them always having a knack of finding trouble, the youngest twin's loyalty tagging along or even taking the blame, but they don't know I know that part yet.

Those two can get into the most bizarre situations anywhere, honestly, it was endearing at first, but now it's just annoying. When they misbehave, normally, I take them out in the yard for a time out, so they can release all their pent-up anger on something other than our house. So, when they began acting wild, I nudged them towards the fence in our yard, which for the record, has nothing except for a few cacti and some dirt and rocks. When I came back to check on them, I found them with a pack of coyotes and a bobcat stumbling around yowling and fighting little squabbles. Melisande and Azazel hold out a crown made of old clothes and all the animals stop and yank it out of their hands, then turning to scramble away.

They figured out that a certain cactus held alcohol in a hole they dug in the yard, you can guess how that went. I'm never letting them near those cacti on my watch, I don't need them drinking until they're older, thank you very much. Getting blood from birds' corpses that flew into the window and never got back up was creepy coming from two toddlers, but we hunt for a living so, I'm going to choose to turn a blind eye to that one.

Apparently, they created secret ingredient they agreed to take to their grave, a kind of animal drug that makes them relaxed and act drunkenly and the next morning no side effects or aftereffects (lucky bastards, it doesn't work on humans, I tried). I'm pretty sure it's just a mix of alcohol, water, and cornflower. We released all the animals they managed to catch, and I simply shooed them away from that backyard.

Another time I put them into an empty room, they started to wrestle, and broke the floor and the fan fell and the wood shattered. Don't worry they're fine only split lip and a scratch but still…It wasn't even our house, safe to say we ran out of there like our asses were on fire.

While I sit on the couch and think about times like that, I start to wonder how long they can keep their childhood and wish that I could have had the same courtesy, but I know it suits us well now.

I hate not doing anything, not that I haven't had any practice, this isn't exactly the first night something like that has happened, but I don't like feeling anxious or useless. I start to pace before stopping and tell myself to get ready for the day so I can at least be productive.

I start by getting up and walking to the bathroom for a shower it's a long one but it stays at a nice temperature with me struggling to scrub the red Tucson dirt out of my long silver hair which had become pretty red it takes so long I briefly consider cutting it and getting most of the dirt off my skin before I get out and braid my hair in a simple plait down my head and putting on my normal blue jeans and black tank top before going back into the kitchen and sitting at the dining room table anxiously waiting for seven o'clock studying a map looking for a place to scavenge for breakfast next.

You see in Arizona there is not really any good hunting spots or game, so scavengers do more scavenging which as you can guess is why we are nicknamed scavengers by the city bugs-named after the suits they wear when they go beyond the city walls. For twelve years we have been traveling everywhere trying to survive ever since mom died.

I look around the area on an old Atlas map from before the virus (even then it was old because everyone used technology then) and I see an old gas station and an abandoned grocery store and think. The grocery store is closer and in theory it should have more but there is a good chance someone else is there or has been recently and taken everything and they aren't always (almost never) pleasant (civil), but I guess neither am I.

The gas station, though less likely for someone to be there, will be less stocked, but it is further, giving me more time to clear my head. I imagine my heart thumping hard and fast in my chest, my feet pounding against the earth

Finally, the clock says it's six, and I am so nervous and bound up so… Fuck seven. And I put on my shoes' excitement fills me as I open the rotting front door and step outside of our abandoned mobile home.

I take a deep breath of the morning air calming me, knowing it will be thick with humidity later today, so I enjoy it and bask in the sun also knowing it will be scorching later, I take another breath and I start my trip running towards the west where the map said an old gas station a couple of miles away according to my map.

A run a bit, probably a couple of miles away, based on my muscles starting to burn and breathe harder and I see it, an old abandoned Quick Stop from before the poison-Guillotine-V when I stop for a breather.

I quickly catch my breath and shake out my legs and start jogging towards it. I walk inside and I hear a bell ring before going to the part of the store that has some non-perishable food but while browsing the aisle, I hear the bell alerting me of someone's presence I get ready for some danger but make sure not to look to threatening in case they don't want trouble, but I am almost certain that is wishful thinking. I hear the footsteps getting closer to me and I hold my breath then I listen, but I hear nothing no breathing or footsteps and then crack then my eyes roll back, and I fall into black nothingness….

…

I wake and try to jump forwards but at once regret it when the pain in my head registers. I wince it feels like there is a jackhammer inside my head worse than my first hangover after five tequila shots. I am slowly becoming aware of my surroundings and getting my memory back. I was walking into the store to get some food for the twins...The twins-are they all, right? How long have I been away? I shake my thoughts away. I cannot think about that right now.

I blink my eyes open, and I am still in the gas station. I am in a dark room with one light bulb hanging from the ceiling tied to a chair. Oh no, I'm so scared. Seriously, these people need to be more creative. Then I hear footsteps and a door opens somewhere. A guy walks in dressed in a black T-shirt that clung to him with a pair of old and torn black jeans and some combat boots, all of it looks old and dirty.

What really caught my eye was what appeared to be his belt holding the weapons. It held the basic weapons, guns, drugs, matches, and a large clean knife. I look up to his eyes and find out he has blue eyes that could almost be mistaken for black in the right light.

Quickly looking away from his direction, I don't want him to think I'm challenging him, only heaven knows what he'd do then.

Slowly, I ask, "What do you want with me?" It came out more nervous than I wanted it to, but it sounds stoic enough. Good, he'll think I won't be a threat. After an awkward silence he talks, looming over me.

"Feisty kitten, wouldn't want your spirit to go to waste… but where's the fun in telling you?" he answers me in a manic southern accent, eyes glowing with insanity. Suddenly I feel more fear than I ever have in my entire life.

Fuck my life.