I immediately dropped the gun in my hand. The cold, brisk air blew flecks of snow above my face, but I couldn't see anything past the rifle in my face. I had two more guns attached to straps that I had carried on my back. They were digging into my spine. It hurt, but I was frozen in fear. I held my palms up flat and facing towards the roof of the car. “Please, I'm not a soldier, I-”

  “I know you’re not a soldier. Who are you?” I could see the gun aimed at me, at least most of it in my peripheral vision, but I couldn’t see the man holding it. It was a real gun, though, not the ones with the darts inside. It wasn't like the soldiers; it was like mine. My heart lurched, and I couldn’t stop my trembling hands.

  “Please, don’t shoot me,” I pinched my eyes shut. I felt a tear slide down my face. “I have to help some people. I can leave- just let me leave! Take me, shoot me with the poison, just don’t kill me. Please!" The scarf wrapped around my face was making it hard to breathe.

  “I’m not a soldier, either,” I could hear the metal attachments of the gun start to shift. He had lowered it. “I’m not going to shoot you unless you give me a reason to. Disarm yourself and throw your weapons to the side." I let out a staggering sigh of relief and slowly sat up, still facing the same direction, and laid the strapped guns onto the ground. The man stared at them, realizing they weren’t just something I had stolen from the soldiers. They were real. I shakily reached into my pockets to take out my knives when he slammed his arm against my throat, pinning me up against the wall of the truck. My scarf unraveled, and I stared at him. I couldn't say I was shocked. My hand was clutching the knife that was also pressed against his throat. He wasn't the only one with the high ground, except I had brought a knife to a gunfight. He had a pistol pressed against my temple. My mind flashed back to when Peter had done the same thing to me the first time we met. I closed my eyes, pressing the blade to their throat. Each time I tensed, they tensed too. I had to do it. I had to kill them. I needed to do it. If I didn’t think, I could just save myself, kill them in self-defense, and then I could save Jacob and our friends. I needed to kill him. I had already shot the soldier trying to take Jacob. I could kill this guy, too. I needed to do it. Do it. My hand started to shake with how hard I was gripping the blade handle, and I imagined the bullet going straight into my head. He was going to kill me if I didn’t do it first. I was so sure of it. I opened my eyes to look at his face, the face that would probably haunt my dreams after I killed him, and I realized I couldn’t do it. It was a human in front of me. It was him or me, and I couldn't have that on my conscience. He looked to be the same age as my brother, and he wasn’t a soldier. Maybe he was trying to protect and help someone, too. This could be my brothers somewhere in the same situation. I couldn’t kill him, but I had to get out of this mess.

  He was pushing me up against the side of the truck with an incredible amount of force, and the gun was glued to my head. I started to think, though, that if he was going to kill me, he would have done it already. He said it himself, that he wouldn't shoot me unless I gave him a reason to. He may have thought the same thing about me, too, but it was a risk I was going to have to take. He was either going to shoot me, and I didn’t try to save myself, or I tried to save myself and suffered the consequences. I didn't like any of my options.

  I stared into his dark eyes with my drooped eyelids, the way someone would look at you if they were trying to intimidate you, and then I made my move. I wrapped my legs around him and threw my body towards the gun. He couldn’t shoot, I realized, because it would give out his position. He wasn't a soldier, so he was a stowaway. I ended up flat on the ground and tangled our legs together. He went crashing down onto his side, but he grabbed hold of me. He grabbed my wrist, but I had the knife in the other hand. I jolted it forward, cutting straight through his sleeve and onto his skin. He jerked away immediately and knocked the knife out of my hands. I tried to shove him off, but the bulk in my clothes made it hard to move, and his body weight on me was too much to bear. I was getting overheated and fatigued more quickly than I thought I would. I somehow got my knees up to my chest and used them as leverage to get him off. Once I could get my foot onto his chest, he rolled off of me. I grabbed my gun, aiming it at his head. I saw fear fall into his eyes, and I pulled the trigger. To my luck, the truck immediately started to move just as I did so. I toppled to the side, and the bullet missed and went into his shoulder. He recoiled back, holding the bullet wound and rolling to the side. I rolled with him, the movement of the truck completely messing up my balance. I was on my stomach, but the second I went to turn over, he was on top of me again. He put his bloody hand over my mouth and started to… hush me? I looked up at him, his face clearly in pain, but he kept pressing his hand to my mouth.

  “Shh??????,” He grabbed a tarp beside us and threw it above him. It was completely dark, but through the holes I could still see the light on his face. The truck squeaked to a stop. “Don’t say a word or they’ll find us.” I was so out of breath from fighting him, and he was cutting off my air. He looked into my eyes, then the hand over my mouth. He slowly took it off. I stared up at him, catching my breath. I felt the cold air against the liquid on my face. The blood from his hand. I heard something slam against the tailgate. A hand, and then someone started speaking a language I couldn’t understand. A flashlight shone into the back and the walls around us, then clicked off before they walked away. Soon after, the truck started moving again. I didn’t realize how warm I was until he took the tarp off and climbed off of me. “Don’t shoot me and I won’t shoot you, alright?" I immediately got up and wiped my face off the best I could. I tasted the metallic on my lips. He put his hand on his wound and crept towards the back, keeping as quiet as he could. He had just left me here with all the weapons. I grabbed my guns and slung them over my shoulder, then hooked the knife in my outer pocket. I held my pistol and grabbed my scarf, then stood in the middle row between all of the crates. This truck was about the size of half a semi-trailer. It had ammo and wooden crates stacked on both sides, as well as tarps and some planks. It was nice to be out of the direct windstream though. The wind made everything colder. Being in still air made it seem a lot less frigid. I looked at the man as he leaned his back against the wall and held his hand up to the wound. Something started moving in the corner, and I realized someone else was in here with us. As the blanket slid off of them, I realized it was a child. A little girl. I stood there, my heart dropping to my feet as I stared with despair painted on my expression. He reached over to console her as I helplessly watched. Sorrow filled my glossy eyes.

  “No, I'm okay. Get back into the blanket, it’s cold,” He rubbed her arm. She nodded and went back behind one of the crates. I watched the blanket disappear as she pulled it back towards her. He looked back at me with defeat. “You’re not going to kill me,” I watched him release a sigh and close his eyes. “You almost did, but you won’t. I saved you, and you have people to save,” I slowly walked back towards him and set down all my weapons, then kneeled in front of him. He had a box of medical supplies next to him.

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  “You’re right, I won’t kill you.” Without acknowledging him, I reached forward and unzipped his coat.

  “Hey, what’re you doing-”

  "My name’s Amelia Clark, and I'm an EMT for the Hartland Fire District. I can help you, I just need you to let me,” I unzipped his coat all the way and pulled it off his shoulder. He had another layer underneath, but it was a hoodie. “I need you to take that off." My words came out almost robotic. I had done this so many times, but introducing myself formally really did soothe people more. He seemed uneasy but still took off his hoodie, then his long-sleeved shirt underneath. He piled his clothes next to him, his white skin slightly pink from the cold. I took my gloves off and slowly moved to try to ease the tension. Slowly, I put my hand on his shoulder and moved him forward. There was no exit wound, but the bullet was sitting underneath the skin on his back. I could see it.

  I sat back and took the knife out of my pocket. I could see the spot on his neck where I had nicked his skin. “I’m sorry,” I said, slowly looking away from it. I grabbed gauze from the box he had unpacked. I pressed a square hard against the wound and started to pack it. He winced upon the first impact and gritted his teeth.

  “I attacked you first. If you knew better, you would have killed me.” My eyebrows dropped as I finished packing the wound. I sat back and looked at him. Was that an insult? Who did he think he was? I could still finish the job if he really wanted me to. “You have a good heart, Amelia.” I had almost forgotten I told him my name. Still, there was tension in the air. I had the high ground at least. He was already injured, and I had all the weapons. He wasn’t going to hurt me. I had the chances, and I took them, but he never took any opportunities that he had. He was protecting this little girl, too. My instincts were telling me to kill him now, that he was a danger to me and my plan, but I couldn’t do it. Instead, I gripped the knife and leaned him forward again.

  “I’m going to cut it out,” I pushed past my gritted teeth. The way he was speaking to me made me sound weak. I slowly started to slide the blade across the bump in his skin, then I lightly squeezed my fingers around the bullet to ensure it would stay at the surface. With no warning, I dug the blade into his skin a little deeper. Immediately, blood started to pool around it and pour out. I couldn’t see a thing, but I kept cutting in the direction I was initially going and applying more pressure. The bullet slid out, and I stopped, picking it up and dropping it alongside the knife. I grabbed the rest of the gauze and held it there until I could tie the gauze with a bandage. He sat back, releasing a slow breath as if easing the pain with it.

  “Without holding a gun to your head," He released another sigh before his breaths were steady again. "I'll ask you. What are you doing here?” I wiped the knife off on the black portion of my sleeve as he spoke to me. I could feel the cold starting to ease through my layers. I couldn't imagine how cold he was either.

  “They took some people from me, and I'm going to get them back,” Slowly, I sat down as the car hit a bump. I slammed down on the ground a little harder than I expected. “Nothing more, nothing less.” He slowly bent one of his knees up and rested his arm on the top of it. “How can you trust me after I've already shot you?”

  “Same way you’re trusting me to not shoot you, either,” I squinted.

  “I don’t trust you.”

  “Exactly.” I felt like I should laugh. That’s something I would have done a long time ago, but I didn’t. I was too on edge. I stared at him as he cracked a slight smile. He wasn’t as tainted by this way of living by his expression. My thoughts of the things I used to do were the ghosts of me now, but here he was, smiling at his own remarks.

  “Dalton, are you sure this lady isn’t a soldier?” I turned my head quickly to the little girl as she spoke. Maybe a little too quickly, for she shrank back into the crate she was balled up in. He reached his hand out, and she took it after a little coaxing. I felt another ping in my heart, but this time I didn’t know why.

  “I’m sure, Rosie. She’s not a soldier,” He replied in a calm tone. He immediately switched his voice when speaking to her. His whole body language, too. He was good with kids. I couldn't help but wonder how he ended up in this situation.

  “But look at her," Rosie started to protest. "She has a gun!” By instinct, I had set my gun back in my lap. It lay there comfortably. It knew it belonged, and I hadn't even noticed. “Her face looks like a soldier. She doesn’t talk much,” I lightly dropped my eyebrows. I looked like a sad, confused dog as she spoke. Dalton looked at me as I stared at her. He was just as confused by my reaction.

  “Rosie, I promise she’s not a soldier. How about you go eat something, alright? We have about eight more hours on this bus." She nodded and scurried off to a different crate. Soon I could hear the crinkles of a wrapper. He always kept her eyes on her, as if just watching her was going to keep her safe. He tracked her with his eyes. Once she was out of sight, he looked back at me again. I stared at the ground, my hands around my gun. I had shot two people today, and they took Jacob. If Dalton were dangerous, he would have killed me, and Jacob would be stuck in there forever. It would be my fault. What was I going to do if I were put into that situation again? If I were stuck between good faith and saving the people counting on me? I would have to kill someone to save my family. I needed to be ready. “Where did you come from, Amelia? Are you from the South?” I immediately shot my eyes up to him as he spoke.

  “Yes,” I looked behind me, watching the snowfall mixed with the powdered snow being flung up from the tires. I had to make sure nobody else was behind us.

  “I can tell. The South has been a harsh place for the past two years. I don’t blame you for fighting so hard,” He pulled a bottle of water out from a box beside him and offered it to me. I looked at it, then looked away. “Your friends were taken by the soldiers. They should be heading to Nebraska. What’s your plan, exactly? Penetrating one of the last army bases in the nation won’t be easy." He talked a lot more once he was comfortable.

  “I’m just going to go in there. I’ll shoot whoever I have to,” I tightened my grip on the gun. The thought of killing someone with it was etched on my skin. I carried it everywhere, but I never wanted to use it.

  “You must care a lot about people who are just your friends. Why would you risk your life to get them out of there? They’re safe. Stuck, but safe. It’s not so bad.” I looked back up at him.

  “These soldiers killed people and took their children? Whatever they’re doing with our generation, they will never be safe with those... monsters. My friends are my family. That's the only thing left worth fighting for." He cracked a smile again.

  “I was testing what you knew," He started to scare me a bit. Each one of his words and moves was calculated. It added up to a bigger picture every time. I needed to be careful not to underestimate him. "You’re right, they took a whole generation. What they do with them is the bigger question, and so is what you think you’re going to change by getting them out.” I shook my head and set my gun down to take my hair out. My neck was getting cold. I didn't answer his question as I undid my braid and ran my fingers through my hair. Rosie came walking out soon after, and I grabbed my gun at the sudden movement. Dalton moved just as quickly and grabbed the barrel to shove it to the side. I looked at him, taken aback, but he was calm. “You’re from the South,” He pushed the gun back into my hands. “You all can be just as bad as those monsters, as you call them.” Rosie walked by, barely paying attention to us as she went back to her blanket. She had applesauce on her shirt. I stood up and walked to the tailgate. I sat right by it and stared out behind us. I don’t know how the drivers knew where they were going, but we were going to get there eventually.