I kept pushing, and then there it was: the water tower. Wouldn't that be nice if there was actually water there? The sun sat low on the horizon, a sliver pretending to be hope. And there I was—standing in plain sight like an idiot. Hide, I told myself. Hide, now.
Two guards lounged by a rusted fuel drum, rifles across their laps, smoke curling up from a shared cigarette. The ridiculous, slight curl of smoke made a traitor of me; for half a second, I wanted to trade everything for one long drag. Wait — do I smoke? I thought back. Lily's clothes had smelled like cigarette smoke sometimes. She'd laughed it off as "my coworkers smoke." Liar. Of course, she'd lied about that. Still, the smell made my throat ache with a phantom craving I didn't recognize as mine.
Focus. Water, ammo, food. Worth dying for. Worth sneaking for.
I circled the campsite, keeping low, tasting the dry dirt and the campfire smoke. Two more people moved near the mess tent—one with a shotgun slung across his back, the other cleaning a rifle. The place was small. Not much of a challenge. In my old life, I would've turned tail and run. In this body, something else set my shoulders in a line and whispered, You can do this.
Plan: get water. Get food. Get ammo. Get out. Simple. Efficient. Lethal if it had to be.
I slipped between low brush, feet damp and silent. Muscle memory—Lily's muscle memory—kicked in like a second brain. How to press my weight against the earth, how to breathe without giving myself away, how to move when the light hits just wrong. I eased up behind the two smoking guards as if I belonged to the shadows.
They were close enough that I could hear their voices, low and bored. "You see anything up the ridge?" the taller one asked, flicking ash.
"Nah," the other said. "Only that ghost on the highway. Some girl looked like she hit the ditch."
"You sure she's gone?"
The taller one snorted. "If she's not, she will be soon enough."
Lovely. Nice and confident. Stupid.
I crept in, hand on my gun, but an idea slithered into my head like a warm blade: quieter's better. Lily's body moved like it already knew the method. Before I could argue, my hand slid into my sister's pack and came out with a length of cord and a small, serrated wire. Old habits. Old tools. Maybe Lily had been careful, or perhaps she'd been trained to improvise. Either way, the wire fit into my palm like it was made for me.
I moved behind them. Two quick steps. A loop around a wrist. A twist. The taller guard barely had time to curse before the cord tightened. He spun, eyes wide and reaching for the rifle. I brought my elbow down into the base of his skull, hard and clean. He went limp, sagging into the dirt.
The second guard snarled and lunged, cigarette flying. I used the momentum—one step forward, shoulder into his chest, shoulder into his throat. My head whipped back, and the world blurred for a second, but the rest of me worked fine. I grabbed his wrist, pulled the serrated wire to the front of his neck, and tightened. He choked, tried to claw at my hands. His rifle clattered. I slammed my knee into his shin; he dropped, wheezing.
Two guards down, and the cigarette still smoldering in the dirt between them like a promise. I ripped the pack from the fallen taller guard and stood, breathing too fast but steady. My hands smelled like gun oil and smoke and warm blood. Ugh, why does it smell familiar. I almost vomited, dry heaving my disgust.
Inside the pack: two water bladders, a ration pouch, a small kit of tools, and a half-empty canteen of something that looked, miraculously, drinkable. Ammo: five rounds for what looked like an old pistol, several shotgun shells, and a bandolier with rifle cartridges. Little prizes: a hand-crank radio, a torn map showing the ridgeline, and a circle marked "TOWER—HQ?" There was also a small, laminated ID tucked inside a zip pocket—Lily's face staring back at me from a photograph, the same symbol I'd seen before stamped at the corner. No wonder that scavenger knew who I, SHE had been. The three intersecting circles. Experimental. Classified. Official.
So that's where your coworkers were working, Lily. Good to know. Is that where you were really taking us? Was there ever a cabin?
No time to celebrate the clue. I slung the pack over my shoulder, checked the ammo twice, and slid the pistol into my waistband. I took a breath and looked up at the water tower—a skeleton of iron reaching into the twilight. If the map were correct, there'd be a pump-house at the base, locked and guarded by two more people. I counted them: two up top by the ladder, one by the pump house. Small numbers. Minor problems—if you could take them quietly.
That's when I noticed movement in the mess tent: silhouettes shifting, a light. Voices—louder this time. The slapping of boots. Footsteps that weren't part of the lazy guard rotation. Someone had come back early, or someone had noticed something missing.
Shit.
I slipped into the shadows, heartbeat in my ears. Lily's hands were steady; mine would have been a wreck. I could feel something like gratitude for the body I wore—you made me better at this, she'd say if she could.
A kid—maybe ten—poked his head out of the tent flap, chewing something. He froze when he saw me. His eyes widened, and before he could call for the older men, I grabbed him by the collar, hard, and shoved him against the canvas. "Quiet," I hissed, my voice a low rasp that probably sounded like Lily, probably sounded like danger. "You don't want them knowing."
He whimpered, tiny in my hands. His eyes flicked to the direction of the pump-house, then to the downed guards. Panic flashed. "Please," he whispered. "Don't—please don't hurt me."
I stared at him. Then I reached into the pack and handed him one of the water bladders. "You see anything?" I told him. "You tell me now." My voice had a hard edge that made him swallow.
"No, ma'am," he stammered. "We—we didn't see nothin'. You from the highway?" His voice trembled.
"Go sit down," I said. "And if anyone asks, tell them Lily came through here and took two guards. Say she's pissed. Got it?"
He nodded, shaking.
When I straightened up, the light in the tent shifted, and a face peered out—older, with the kind of weathered lines that mean too many cold nights and too little food. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder and a look that could turn to suspicion in a blink.
"Hey!" he called. "What the hell—"
Before he could finish, I raised the gun. The shot sounded loud and final in the small compound. He dropped, not dead but stopped. The tent erupted into curses and scrambling.
This was the moment plans turned into chaos. Alarms—literal and figurative—started to ripple through the camp. I shoved the pack under a tarp, snagged the canteen, and pivoted toward the water pump, knowing full well escape routes and smoke and noise would all be used against me.
Adrenaline sang through me. Lily's instincts took over. My body moved efficiently through the spinning panic—two more shots, two scared men down, a sprint to the pump house, a wrench to the lock, a prayer that the damn thing would turn.
It turned.
Water sputtered, coughed, and then roared into the bladder. I filled both and took a long, greedy swallow. Cold and holy. Then I grabbed a stack of ration tins and the rifle strips and started toward the trees.
Behind me, the camp screamed, and the radio burst into frantic static. They were coming. Maybe they'd bring more people. Perhaps they'd bring soldiers. Maybe the whole damn settlement would erupt.
Maybe. But I had water, ammo, and food. And I had a map with a circle labeled "TOWER—HQ?" and a goddamn symbol that meant my sister had been part of something official.
That was enough for now.
I slipped into the trees, the night swallowing me like a promise. My boots were silent. My hands were steady. My voice—Lily's voice—murmured something that might have been a thank you or a curse.
Either way, I was content with my haul. I have no idea where this came from. I'd never been this type of person before, but I liked it. I could sense that even Lily was shocked. Good, it's your turn, Lily.