The man's eyes flick to the woman, casting a knowing look as she nods, pulling out a rag. "Hand me your weapons, and you're free to clean," the woman states. Begrudgingly, I hand her my bow, quiver, and knife, which she straps to her back and belt, then gesture for my siblings to follow suit. Felix and Octavia cast worried glances my way before complying, handing their weapons to the young man who straps Octavia's bat and Felix's machete to his belt. Finally disarmed, the woman gives me the cloth, gesturing to the creek and allowing me to approach.

With all eyes on me - the strangers likely watching to see if I'll run again, and my brother and sister likely watching to see if I'll launch a surprise attack - I crouch by the water, soak the rag, and begin to dab it across my face, careful of the still open gash in my head and neck. Luckily, my wounds have nearly stopped bleeding so much and are in the very beginning stages of scabbing over, though it still won't be a good look to enter their camp. 

'Alright, Cass, we gotta play nice with the circus freaks for a bit,' I think. 'We'll go to their little camp, play ignorant, and if they're telling the truth, they'll let us go, and we'll never have to see them again.' I inwardly groan as I catch the woman watching me like a hawk. 'That's assuming they don't think we're a threat and decide to kill us first…' 

With my face significantly less bloody, my siblings and I are allowed to pick up our travel packs, and the strangers lead us through the woods, away from our camp. They guide us through the trees, doubling back to the clearing where they have Felix heft the deer onto his shoulders, and Octavia grab the sack of squirrels. The woman takes the lead as we leave the clearing, and it's not long after that I realize that she had a pistol tucked in a concealed holster on the back of her belt this entire time. 

'She could have just shot me right there in the woods and left me to rot,' I think. 'They've gone out of their way to talk to us, I almost feel bad for breaking her nose.' 

The woman in question says, "Hurry it up back there; we don't have all day."

'Almost,' I reiterate as I roll my eyes. 'I almost feel bad about it.'

Several minutes pass as the strangers usher us through the woods, and we eventually find ourselves on a well-worn dirt road. Judging from the lack of tire tracks and hoof-prints, it would be safe to assume that they don't scout nearby towns for supplies. The longer we walk the dirt road, the more quiet chatter I can pick up over the hushed whispers of the trees. As we clear the bend in the road, through the branches and bushes before me, I finally spot a large hand-painted wooden sign hanging above an equally large gate made of logs and sheet metal, the sign above reading 'Camp Cottonwood.'

Upon our approach, the woman leading our merry little group gives two short whistle blasts, catching the attention of two guards who poke their heads above the tall wall. They eye us cautiously, glance at one another, and disappear over the wall. A heavy clunk later and the turning of giant gears, the gates slowly swing open. 

A summer camp lays before me, bustling with other survivors. Dozens of cabin buildings stand erected in a semi-circle surrounding a massive clearing where a huge old log cabin sits. Off to the side stands a few greenhouses and a small field where a few people are tending to crops, though now they are primarily busy staring at my family and me as we are ushered through the gates. Behind the cabins lies the river that feeds the creek my family and I were previously camped out at, and lining the banks of the river are a few newer crudely built structures that resemble a stable. As the gates close behind us, nearly everyone in the camp pauses in their daily activities to gawk at my family and me, hushed, worried whispers filling the awkward silence. 

Most notable is a gentleman with shaggy salt-and-pepper hair, squared shoulders, and a disgruntled tilt to his jaw that only seems to deepen as he approaches. "Who the Hell are they?" he demands, glaring heavily at me and my still-bloody face. 

"Guests," the young man replies as he attempts to steer us away from the angry old man, but the massive, angry wall merely steps into the stranger's path. 

"Leon ain't gonna like this," the old man growls. "I sure as Hell don't." 

The woman leading us scoffs. "Then it's a good thing you're not the one in charge, isn't it? How about instead of complaining, you take this deer and sack of meat to Butch, where you can tell him all about how much you don't like it? We're in a bit of a hurry." 

Grinning, the young man heaves the deer off my brother's shoulders and plops it into the angry man's arms, who sputters as he catches the hefty quarry. 

"Yeah, and while we're at it," the young man grunts, giving a short whistle to a small group of onlookers who had been watching us with sour faces, "your buddies here can take their weapons to the armory until they're ready to leave again." 

The older man blinks, his face reddening as two of his friends approach with confused looks. "Now hold on just a-"

"Sorry," the woman interrupts, "but like I said, we're in a hurry. I'll let Leon know you took care of their gear." 

Not even giving the older man a chance to argue, the woman pushes my bow, quiver, and knife into the hands of one of the men they had called over while the young man deposits my sister's bat and brother's machete into the arms of another. Without another word, the woman pulls me after her as the young man gently nudges my brother to follow the conga line of confusion toward the large log cabin in the center of camp. 

As we approach, I hear someone from a group of campers mutter, "Who are they?" 

"Surely not Widow's," another replies, crossing her arms. "Those two may be reckless, but they aren't stupid." 

"Did you see the cut on that girl's head? It looks like Dani gave her one hell of a beating." 

A scoff answers, though the returning comment is lost in the sea of whispers from the surrounding campers, most of whom are staring and pointing at us like some sort of parade through town. 

'So much for trying to look presentable…'

My siblings and I are ushered onto the porch of the log cabin, where two guards dressed in a mix of military and hunting gear greet us silently, one of which opens the door to allow us through. 

The inside of the cabin has been stripped of what makes it homey, save for a lush couch set that sits around a heavy coffee table, the area occupied by a group of guards chatting tensely amongst one another. 

"What do you think they're up to?" I overhear one of them ask. 

Another guard, more grizzled than the younger two, replies, "There's no telling; Hughes says he spotted their camp to the east, but he couldn't make out how many of them there were." 

"That's ominous," a third shivers. "Do you think they found us?" 

The first sighs, shaking his leg as he fiddles with his gloved hands. "If they did, wouldn't they have attacked by now?" 

The trio of guards go silent once they spot us entering, staring at me specifically, and I begin to wonder if my wounds have started bleeding again.

'Are they hiding from the Widow's here? That would explain the strangers' hostilities and the paranoia about checking over for marks.'

We're led up a flight of stairs and down a short hallway to a set of heavy double doors, where the woman finally pauses, takes a deep breath, and knocks. 

A deep, resonating voice answers with, "Come in."

The woman opens the door to a large study, where inside, a tall, muscular, middle-aged man stands at a heavy oak desk that sits strewn with papers. Dressed in casual military fatigues, his dark eyebrows furrow at the map he's leaned over before he finally sighs, bringing his attention to my family and the two strangers who brought us here. A deep, old scar marks his face, running from his chin up to the side of his nose, a chunk of his upper lip and right nostril missing from the wound. His wavy dark hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, and black circles mark the dark skin under his eyes. 

"Danielle. Josh," he greets the pair with a nod, his eyes trained on me. The strangers stand at attention on either side of my family and me, nodding in return. "I see you brought guests." 

"Sir," the woman - Danielle, I guess - nods. "We found them camped out in the woods a mile west of us, where we found this one," she gestures to me, "wandering the woods." 

Attempting not to roll my eyes merely results in me flicking my gaze briefly up at the ceiling, but the gesture doesn't go unnoticed by the older man, who I can only assume to be Leon. 

"I also see that there was a scuffle between the two of you," Leon eyes us, his gaze flicking between the cut on my face and the heavy bruising on Danielle's nose. "Are they clean?"

"Yes, sir," Danielle replies. "We checked this one in the woods before she ran off," she gestures to me. "After following her back to a small campsite, we checked the other two before bringing them here."

"Good," Leon replies, standing up straight as he walks around the table to stand before us, leaning against the heavy desk and crossing his arms. "Now, explain these wounds to me, Danielle. Did she attack first?" 

Danielle and Josh exchange nervous glances before Danielle sighs. "Technically, yes." 

Leon narrows his eyes at her, and she flinches under his gaze. "They either did or they didn't. There are no technicalities in a fight. What happened?" His cold, dark eyes are trained on the tense girl. If she stood any stiffer, I could easily mistake her for a statue.

Danielle gulps before she speaks. "Josh and I were on patrol this morning, as you ordered. We came across their camp in the woods early this morning, next to the creek, and noticed this one slipping away while the other two slept. We wondered if they were Widow's and followed her into the woods. We… stepped in when she approached our border with her weapon drawn.

Barely containing a scoff, I mask it as a tiny sneeze, attracting Leon's attention again. 

Leon raises his eyebrows at me expectantly.

I glance between him and the two who led us here, repeatedly reminding myself that if we want out of here quickly, we must play nice, and I clear my throat.

"Sorry," I start. "Allergies. What happened was that I was out hunting this morning, tracking a doe a few seasons old, and your man over here dropped from a tree and stole my breakfast."

Octavia mutters, "Damn drop-bears…" 

I continue. "Not long after that, the other one - Danielle, was it? - put a knife to my throat, demanding that I disarm." Danielle stiffens at the sound of her name, her eyes trained on Leon, though her lip slightly curls at the adenium. "Seeing how I was minding my own business and trying to provide for my family, I'm sure you can imagine what that looked like for me." 

"And where is the deer in question?" Leon asks. 

"They gave it and a couple of squirrels I caught to some grumpy old man when we came in and told him to hand it to some guy named Butch, I think."

He turns back to Danielle, who takes a sharp breath when he tilts his head at her expectantly. 

To her credit, Danielle looks guilty as she says, "I had asked her to drop her weapon since it was still aimed at Josh. Rather than listening, however, she chose violence."

Jaw clenching, it takes everything in my power not to wring her neck where she stands for trying to downplay her role in all of this. Instead of acting impulsively, I breathe deeply as I watch Leon. "I'm sure if they had waited until after I shot the deer, they would have seen first-hand that I was just out there hunting for breakfast." I flick my gaze toward Danielle, who is giving me a side-eye. "I would have been much more willing to talk to you two if you had approached without the display of aggression." 

"You were armed and headed straight for our camp," Danielle argues through gritted teeth. "We had to think about the safety of our people. There was no way for us to know who you were."

Leon clears his throat, the sound alone snapping Danielle back to attention with her back stiff as a board. "It sounds to me like this is simply a misunderstanding, then," Leon states, turning to my siblings and me. "I apologize for Danielle and Josh's rash behavior and for the distress they've caused, though I do hope you understand our position. Strangers in this area rarely mean well, and we must ensure the safety of our people to the best of our abilities. For now," he stands up straight and walks back around his desk, sitting at the rolling chair and leaning back. "Danielle, take our guests to the Shed and tend to their wounds. Come see me once you're finished. Josh, you are to accompany her until further notice."

Danielle gives a quiet affirmative as she nods to him, ushering us out of the office and back out into the hall, while Josh simply nods, closing the door behind us with a resonating click.