Chapter 5
Clara did not answer. She took a slow, deliberate step backward, her heel catching on a loose stone. The man in the greasy parka took two steps forward, closing the distance between them with unsettling ease. He wasn't running; he moved with the predatory patience of a wolf cornering a wounded fawn. His gaze remained locked on the red backpack, recognizing instantly that the bright, clean fabric marked it as something valuable—something containing supplies that people would kill for in this new, brutal reality.
“Hand over the pack, kid,” the man said, his tone shifting from mocking curiosity to cold demand as he reached out a calloused hand. “You don’t know how to use what’s in there anyway. It’ll just weigh you down while you freeze to death.”
In the past, Clara would have frozen, looking around frantically for an adult to intervene, waiting for someone bigger and stronger to rescue her. But no one was coming. Her parents had proven that definitively hours ago. There was no safety net, no cavalry riding over the hill. If she wanted to keep the supplies that would keep her alive, she would have to fight for them herself.
Instead of backing away further, Clara planted her feet firmly in the muddy dirt. Her hand slid down to the side pocket of the red backpack, her fingers wrapping around the hard, metallic handle of a heavy camping flashlight she had slipped inside her father’s mudroom before they fled. It wasn't a weapon, but with a solid aluminum casing and heavy batteries inside, it would do considerable damage if swung with enough desperation.
“Stay back,” Clara said, her voice small yet steady, carrying a chilling lack of hesitation that seemed to surprise the man.
He chuckled, a dry, grating sound that lacked any real humor. “Cute. Really cute. You think a little flashlight is going to stop—?”
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He didn't finish the sentence. With a sudden, explosive burst of adrenaline, Clara whipped the heavy flashlight out of the pocket and swung it upward with all her might, aiming directly for his collarbone. The metal connected with a sickening thud, catching him off guard. The man staggered back, gasping in sudden pain and surprise, clutching his shoulder as he swore loudly into the mountain air.
Before he could recover his balance, Clara turned and bolted up the winding trail, her bare feet pounding against the frozen dirt. She didn't look back to see if he was pursuing her; she poured every ounce of her remaining energy into her stride, the red backpack bouncing rhythmically against her shoulders like a heartbeat. The trail grew steeper, the air thinner, but the adrenaline coursing through her veins kept the exhaustion at bay. She was running for her life, truly alone for the first time, and for the first time, she was winning.
