MOVE IT ASSHOLE!

AUTHOR’S POV 

She rushed out to find Garrick beside an old stone well behind the storehouse.

“There's water,” he said.

Elena peered into the darkness. A faint reflection shimmered at the bottom.

“Did anyone drink from it?”

“No.”

“Good. Find a clean container. We'll draw a sample and examine it before anyone uses the water.”

Garrick pointed toward the storehouse. “We found tools, too. A hammer, nails, rope, a few cracked lanterns.”

“Bring everything usable to the hall. We'll need them for repairs.”

For the next several hours, the survivors worked.

The hunters inspected the surrounding slopes. Two carpenters examined the cottages. Others cleared the communal hall, dragged broken furniture outside, and patched the worst gaps in the roof with salvaged boards.

Elena treated sprained ankles, cleaned cuts, and checked the elderly man who had complained of chest pain during the climb.

By midday, she had barely touched her own water.

Then Garrick returned from the storehouse carrying an empty sack.

“There's no food.”

Elena looked up.

“Nothing?”

“A few sacks of grain. Spoiled. Some seeds, but they've rotted, too. We found no preserved food or anything else worth eating.”

“And the surrounding area?”

“We haven't searched everywhere, but the nearest vegetable plots have been swallowed by weeds.”

Elena closed her eyes briefly.

“How much food did everyone bring?”

“Not enough.”

The words settled between them.

Twenty-seven people. Little food. Uncertain water. Three damaged cottages and one barely usable communal hall.

And an illness that could turn a dying man into a violent attacker.

They had escaped the burning settlement, but escape was not the same as survival.

“Gather everyone,” Elena said.

The survivors assembled outside the communal hall, their faces drawn with exhaustion.

Harlan, a broad-shouldered man who had argued against leaving their former settlement, pushed to the front.

“We can't stay here. We need to go to a proper pack territory.”

Several people immediately agreed.

“An Alpha's supposed to protect his people,” Harlan continued. “There's a strong pack beyond the northern ridge. They have warriors, food stores, proper shelters. We should go there.”

“Did you contact them?” Elena asked.

Harlan hesitated.

“No, but they have a duty to protect werewolves.”

“And if they refuse to open their gates?”

“They won't.”

“You sound certain.”

“Because they're an established pack!”

A tired laugh escaped someone in the crowd.

Another survivor stepped forward. “I heard two neighboring packs have already closed their borders. They're turning people away because they're afraid of the infection.”

Harlan shook his head. “Rumors.”

“Perhaps,” Elena said. “But until we know otherwise, we can't build our survival around the hope that another pack will take us in.”

“So we're supposed to starve here?”

“No. We're going to find food.”

“And if we don't?”

“Then we'll search farther.”

Harlan threw up his hands.

“This is madness! You're a healer, Elena, not an Alpha. What makes you think you can lead us?”

The question silenced the crowd.

For a moment, Elena heard another voice in its place.

You will never be fit to stand beside me.

Then she looked at the frightened people standing before her.

They weren't waiting for her to become someone's Luna.

They were waiting to find out whether they would have food to eat that evening.

Elena stepped toward Harlan.

“You're right. I'm not an Alpha.”

He lifted his chin as though he'd won.

“But I'm the one who brought you here alive. I'm the one organizing the repairs, treating your injuries, and making sure we have a plan. If you have a better one, tell us.”

Harlan opened his mouth.

“Do you know where we can find food? Do you know whether the northern road is safe? Have you found another settlement willing to shelter us?”

He said nothing.

“Then stop demanding answers you don't have.”