She was so engrossed in opening the rusted shut first aid kit that she didn’t even realize she had been found until it was too late.
A blur of brown fur was all she saw before a cold, wet nose pressed right into her cheek. Stunned by the sudden appearance of a dog, she went from terrified to amused in the span of a few heartbeats. The excited dog nuzzled her face and neck before taking a few happy steps backward and sitting. His tail wagged wildly even as he sat, and he panted in the most adorably goofy way.
Movement directly to her right tore her attention away from the dog. She instantly reached for the pistol tucked into the holster on the right side of her pack. Her fingers wrapped around the grip, but she maintained trigger discipline, keeping her finger straight. With her weapon in hand but still hidden, she watched as a hunter and another dog, this one smokey gray with dark spots and big, floppy ears, came toward her.
A woman.
Fully aware that women could be even more dangerous than men, she kept her hand on the pistol, ready to draw and fire. The woman coming toward her wasn’t trying to be sneaky. In fact, she seemed to be actively trying to be noticed as she waved her hands. Her long black braids bounced against the front of her brown jacket. A dark green knitted cap covered her ears, and the wooden handle of a hatchet bounced against her thigh with every step. She smiled in a friendly way and tugged off her gloves as she walked closer, stuffing them into the pockets of her jacket.
Maisie was taken aback when the women began to sign while she spoke. She blinked, thinking she was mistaking the hand movements or simply seeing what she wanted to see, but no. The woman was communicating clearly and easily.
“Sorry about Clove,” she apologized profusely. “He’s young and still learning to behave around new people.” She frowned at the dog and said something that Maisie couldn’t make out while simultaneously signaling the dog to come to her side and heel.
Shocked that this woman was fluent in the most common form of sign language in this part of the galaxy, Maisie almost cried with relief. Then, a terrifying thought struck her. Was she a hallucination?
Worried that was the case, she asked the woman just that. The woman laughed and knelt down near her. “I’m real,” she signed. “Pepper and Clove are real, and you’re real.” Her gaze moved to Maisie’s bloody hand, and she frowned. “And you’re hurt.”
“I slipped,” Maisie explained, her gaze moving to the second dog, Pepper, who sat primly behind her mistress. “I cut my hand on the rock.”
“Ouch.” She made a face. “May I?”
Maisie nodded and let the other woman take her hand. The woman’s eyes widened at the sight of the metal cuffs, and Maisie tried to tug her hand free. The other woman was stronger and held tight. Instead of disgust or fear at learning that Maisie was a prisoner, the woman seemed concerned. “Were you in the camp?”
Maisie swallowed hard and reluctantly nodded. “Yes.”
“You managed to escape just in time.” The woman reached for the bottom of her jacket, taking hold of it and her clothing underneath. She lifted it higher, all the way above her navel, and then pushed down the top of her denim pants to reveal a red feather tattoo. “I’m not your enemy. I can help you.”
Maisie’s heart leapt with joy at the tattoo. Despite being raised her entire life to distrust anyone who fought against the Splinters, she had never actually done so. She had always sensed that the side her parents had chosen was wrong and had been fascinated by local groups who allied with the Harcos to fight against them. “You’re in the resistance?”
The woman nodded. “I keep an eye on the camp. I came out to check this morning after the worst of the storm passed. I had hoped there were survivors.” A glimmer of sadness flashed across her dark eyes. “Your tracks were the only ones I found so I followed them until I caught up to you.”
“The others left in trucks.” Maisie thought it best to leave it at that and not mention the two men she had killed. “They went down the mountain before the flood and landslide, but I’m not sure if they made it or not.”
“I don’t know either. I’m sorry.”
“What’s your name?”
“Fay,” she said.