Pallavi POV

  Pallavi approached the infirmary tent, the one they had thrown together with her bedsheet. Inside, two people lay on leaf-stuffed beds made from her saris.

  She’d heard a doctor had joined the group a couple of days ago. Without instruments or medicines, how much could he help? She wondered.

  Everywhere she looked, people turned their eyes away from her, except for the Kurishingal family, who were glaring at her. Thirteen of them had arrived yesterday, a group comprising three brothers and their families. Led by Sunny Kurishingal, a cheerful old man who tried to lighten every silence. However, he was now fighting for air on one of those beds inside.

  Sunny’s younger son stood up from his seat. “Did you come to check if he will drop a skill crystal on death?”

  Pallavi opened her mouth, then closed it. An apology would change nothing. It was not required either. All she had done was absorb a skill crystal before others could take it away from her.

  “No, Naga usually assigns the daily tasks. I’m waiting for that.”

  “You’re late.” The woman beside him shifted closer to her son and folded her arms. “They left after assigning jobs for the day.”

  Pallavi pressed her tongue to the back of her teeth. Her phone had died yesterday, the alarm gone with it, and no one bothered to wake her.

  “Do you know where Naga went?”

  The woman shook her head.

  Pallavi moved away toward the camp’s edge. A few people were planting sharpened branches, spacing them by forearm length, tying them off with vines. She thought she could join them and help build some defenses for the camp.

  “Hey,” said Pallavi as she approached the work line where Bunty sat on a low rock, shaving thin branches with his short knife. Wood curls fell at his feet.

  Bunty glanced at her and then returned to work. Two people from the doctor’s group were helping him, one digging holes in the ground and the other planting sharpened branches in them, pointy ends facing up.

  Pallavi reached for a finished branch. Bunty caught her wrist lightly and pushed the branch back toward the pile. He then made a shoo-away gesture. She and Bunty had never bridged the language gap. She did not know Hindi, and he did not know English or Malayalam. Most of their conversations were just pointing and nodding.

  “I think he’s asking you to leave.” The guy digging the hole paused and looked up.

  “I get that,” said Pallavi. “I am trying to convince him to let me stay.” She stepped back half a pace and let the branch go.

  “Looks like you’re not respecting his wishes.” The same man rose from his crouch and brushed dirt from his palms.

  “Please go, so we can continue,” said the man with the pole. His tone was even, but his grip tightened on the stake. “I want to finish this side of the fence today.”

  Pallavi swallowed, her throat dry. She inhaled twice, then turned away. Naga had likely told people to shun her. How else did tempers flare so fast when she only wanted to help?

  The horned deer had been her fourth fight in two days. She still had no skill crystal. Her bedsheets shaded the infirmary, her sarees lay under the injured, and her entire wardrobe was shared among the survivors. It felt right that she kept the crystal she had fought to earn.

  But Naga, it seemed, wanted to give the skill to the Kurishingal family. They had taken the worst of it. Sunny lay in the infirmary, breathing shallow. His nephew had died in the fight.

  Pallavi took the path the foragers used, a narrow line through wet undergrowth where the soil held the shape of sandals. The ground smelled of damp leaves and old wood. She hoped Naga was with them, naming which mushrooms were safe and which to toss.

  The doctor’s group claimed that the mushrooms Naga rejected were not lethal, but they made you incredibly high. Yesterday, two Kurishingal youngsters had eaten them and missed the fight. People let it go, saying they were kids. Pallavi was only a few years older. The line of leniency felt thin.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  She found Lauren with two Kurishingal matriarchs by a rotting log. A basket made from a stretched scarf and vines sat between them. Lauren glanced at her approach, then shifted her focus to the moss at her knees.

  Pallavi gathered three clean caps as she closed the distance. She reached toward the basket to set them down.

  “What are you doing?” Lauren pulled the basket out of reach.

  “I got these on the way. Let me help with the foraging.”

  “No. We can manage with three people.” One corner of Lauren’s lips lifted. “Decided to sleep in?”

  Pallavi had thought she had a good rapport with Lauren. She had even given her spare footwear when Lauren could not walk in heels. Of all people, she did not expect Lauren to ice her out.

  “Yeah,” said Pallavi, looking around the group. “Now that I am here, I can help.”

  “You cannot barge in whenever you please. There are social rules and manners we should follow,” barked one of the Kurishingal matriarchs.

  “Could you tell me where Naga is?” Pallavi realized it was better to leave. They would keep sniping at her, and there was no point in arguing.

  “He should be near the pond.” Lauren placed one hand on her hip and looked at Pallavi, waiting for her to go.

  Pallavi whirled around and walked away, afraid they might see her eyes welling up. She had promised herself that she would bounce back, that she would be free.

  Throughout her life, whenever she set her mind to do something, it felt like the entire world conspired against her. Be it her studies, her love life, or her marriage—a nosy relative, a toxic lover, or an abusive husband was always there to ruin things for her.

  When she fought for herself and stopped being the victim in her own story, the people she counted on stepped back. They spoke of duty and neighbors and what people would say. Society weighed more to them than their daughter.

  Bangalore was supposed to be a fresh start. Everything she owned and everything she had was in that backpack. Watching it get picked apart for a better chance at surviving felt cathartic. It felt like she was leaving her past self behind. The new Pallavi would not cry. She would fight for herself because no one else would.

  On her way to the pond, Pallavi spotted two people digging a pit. A body lay nearby, covered with one of her saris. She hurried over, hoping it wasn’t Sunny.

  “Who was it?” asked Pallavi, her gaze dropping to the pit.

  “My wife,” said the man digging the grave. His voice was solemn, and he struggled to hold back tears. “She would still be at home if it weren’t for me,” he said, breaking down.

  “Why are you here? Looking for skills?” asked the other man, not attempting to hide the spite in his tone. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but only monsters drop skills.”

  Pallavi stepped back. He was the younger brother of the man who had died fighting the horned deer yesterday. He was likely lashing out, like the rest of his family. She said nothing and headed for the pond.

  Pallavi caught sight of Naga as soon as she reached the water. He was in an animated argument with the doctor. Naga had his palm out toward the doctor, as if he wanted to push him back. The doctor had one hand in his pocket, his head hanging down, submissive. She could not hear what they were saying, but Naga noticed her and motioned for the doctor to leave.

  “I am sorry, Pallavi.” Naga walked toward her in long strides. “I had no option but to reprimand you. You have every right to be mad. I am truly sorry.”

  Pallavi had many things she wanted to say: that she deserved that skill, that the public scolding was uncalled for, and that she had already contributed so much to the camp. But Naga’s apology derailed her thoughts. She asked the first thing that came to mind. “Why?”

  “The Kurishingal family has thirteen people—sorry, twelve now. That is almost half of the camp. They wanted someone to blame for the death of their kid. You took that skill, which made them think you were only looking out for yourself, and that your carelessness led to Bijo losing his life. I stepped in and reprimanded you so they would not go overboard,” said Naga, voice calm and even.

  His reasoning confused Pallavi. She had nothing to do with Bijo’s death. He slipped and took the monster’s kick to the face. She happened to be standing next to him.

  “I asked Bunty and Lauren to be terse with you for a couple of days. Please do not hold it against them.” He met her gaze and leaned in.

  “Everyone is avoiding me like the plague. What am I supposed to do now?” Pallavi didn’t want to leave after a few words of apology. She wanted to know where she stood and what lay ahead.

  “For today, stay at the camp and oversee the work there. Keep a lookout for any monsters and provide support when needed. Do not absorb any skills today. Pass any drops to me for allotment.” He studied her face, gauging her reaction.

  Pallavi did not enjoy the joke, assuming it was one. But she nodded anyway.

  “There might be other groups coming to join us, like the Kurishingal family. Send word to me before showing them around,” said Naga, a soft smile on his face. “I am thinking of forming a second scouting squad tomorrow. You can join if you are interested.”

  “To look for Rohan and the team?” Pallavi raised her eyebrows.

  “It has been two days since they left. They are most likely dead. I am thinking of forming a bigger squad to look for whatever killed them. We will mostly search the perimeter of the camp, moving in an arc.” Naga drew an arc in the air with index and middle finger pointing down.

  Pallavi nodded. “Alright, I will go back to camp.”

  “Sure. Take care.” Naga walked back to the doctor to continue their conversation.