Nothing Left to Lose

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Devon held out the last of the supplies for Libby to pack in her bag. "I think you need a bigger bag. I could ask around, see if I can get you one of those huge knapsacks."

"Stop that!" Libby said, her voice caught between chuckle and groan. "I'll be fine." She tilted her head, flowing locks of curly dark hair easing over her shoulder. "If you stop worrying."

"I could still cancel the meeting," Devon continued, trying to scrape his office chair closer. Its wheel bearings were busted, and it refused to slide across the floor more than a few inches at a time. "Lee doesn't have to know--"

"That you twisted your ankle falling down some steps?" Her eyes rolled upwards. Brilliant but stubborn, just like most men. Luckily, persuasion was one of Libby's stronger skills. "You can't wander around the woods on that leg. There might be...I dunno." She tapped her palms together. "Rocks! Really big rocks. And dead logs filled with...with creepy crawly things." She illustrated them with her fingers, flexing and unflexing her knuckles like flailing spider legs.

"And very deep holes for me to trip into, break my spine, and kill myself?"

"Exactly! And what if a guard spots you? Ezekiel's a buff guy but I don't think he'll carry you piggy-back."

"Stranger things have happened Libby, especially when Ezekiel is concerned. I've asked him to watch over you. It's now a question of whether or not he'll agree." After a moment's thought, Devon added, "He'll be there. He's never refused one of my requests before."

Libby absently traced the edge of the tabletop with her finger. "He doesn't trust me."

"Correction. He doesn't know you. Big difference."

"But, we're practically brother and sister anyway. You're like 'Dad' to both of us."

Some secret thought made Devon's eyes unfocus for a moment. When he settled his gaze on Libby again, he became more animated, energetic. "You'll need a compass. I'll find one." Devon got up in small, steady increments, testing weight on his weak ankle. He could--quite possibly--walk around...

Libby gasped, immediately reaching underneath Devon's arm. "You won't heal if you keep irritating your leg like this."

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Libby."

"Break your leg probably," she answered with a playful smirk. "So where's this magical compassing device you want to give me?"

She trembled with cold and not a small amount of fear, the compass in her palm dutifully showing north. Absolutely meaningless without any visible landmarks. The storm rolled over her so swiftly there was no time to prepare for it. The wind playfully flicked the map from her grip, carrying it far away and depositing it at the far edge of a rapidly rushing river. Libby didn't pursue, afraid of getting caught in that powerful flow of water.

Freezing rain pelted the nylon fabric of her tiny tent, and thunder boomed and echoed across the surrounding hills. Libby curled up even tighter, what little body heat she had seeping away with each passing moment. The sleeping bag had a tear in it, and though she tried to lay her weight on the gash to keep it closed, it still let the chill in.

The rendezvous point seemed days away, and this short jaunt from Valhalla Sector had suddenly transformed into a near-impossible undertaking. More worrying for Libby was Ezekiel. Her protector, the man Devon said would be there to help her if she got into trouble, was missing. Devon promised, and a man should never make promises he didn't intend to keep.

It broke her. The betrayal. The lie. The howling wind mocked her innocence. She'd survived alone for long after the Death, living from day to day. Hand to mouth. Never trusting anyone for longer than it took to swallow a few bites of food. What happened to that girl? The one fascinated by fire? The one who burned things when she didn't get her way? The frustrated little girl with the clever mind that Devon wished to cultivate?

They had tamed her. The old bastards at Valhalla saw her intellect, and desperate for new minds, they captured her, stuck her in a cage. Food and shelter and all the books she could devour. Why leave? Why run away when there was a daddy so close by?

Ezekiel wasn't coming, and neither was Lee. Devon was kept under lock and key at the labs. And even if Devon could leave, his leg made him crippled and vulnerable.

No one was coming to get her.

"Devon? Devon? Come in."

"Understood."

Little Lost Libby. Little Lost Libby.

Sometimes, she wanted to watch them burn.

"Little lost lamb."

A stranger's voice. She flinched awake, eyes wide and doe-like. The storm no longer raged outside.

A man, crouched at the entrance to her tent. All in black from head to toe. His gaze consumed her, as perfect and pure as spring lightning. It singed the depths of her soul.

"Couldn't help but notice yer alone, little lamb." The man's voice, its cadence, mesmerized her from the start. "Flock wander off without 'cha?"

She shook her head.

"Don't suppose yer shepherd's around either. What is this world comin' to? Can't rely on the people you trust most. Tsk, tsk, tsk." He didn't cluck his tongue to make the noise. He just drawled it. "Tissk-tissk-tissk."

Libby gathered her sleeping bag around her, carefully feeling around for her gun. "Who--who are you?"

"Who'm I?" The man considered, raising a leather-gloved hand to his chin. "Well, that's an interestin' question, isn't it? Suppose it depends on who's doin' the askin'. I've been called 'Sir.' Also been called 'bastard' at times. Never quite understood why. Might say I'm a kinda shepherd too. Big flock." He spread his hands wide, friendly-like. "Little lamb," he added warningly, his finger pointed at Libby's hidden hand. "Yer not thinkin' of usin' that, are you? You never shot a livin', breathin' human before. Reckon yer not lookin' to start, either."

"You...you think I won't?" She raised the gun, her grip limp.

"Not like that, yer not." He bared all of his teeth, his lips wrenching apart and upwards in a gesture that on a normal man could have been a smile. But the stranger's face, its hollowness, lent the grin an underlying menace. He crept closer to Libby, crawling along the ground like an animal, hungry and hunting.

She froze. Little Lost Libby. The gun was no longer a shield; it was a burden, hanging dead and heavy in her useless hand.

"Here," he eased close to her, stretched out his hand, caressed her skin. "Take the grip." He set her hand correctly as he explained. "Shove it in the heel of yer palm and hold it tight. Squeeze it like the Devil's after it. And you know when He's got eyes on you, He won't ever give up." He tugged at Libby's wrist, his grasp firm and unyielding. "Finger off the trigger. Bullets are more precious than gold, little lamb. Don't you forget that. Best be careful how you spend them."

"This way?" Libby said meekly. Without warning, she cracked the pistol against the man's mouth and rolled away as he recoiled in pain.

"Little lamb's got a big bite," the man said, chuckling through the agony, almost as if he enjoyed it. He ran his tongue at the corner of his lips, clearing off the blood trickling free from his gums. "You need a more deserving flock." That grin again, this time tinged with red.

"What are you trying to say? Who are you?"

"Like I said, little lamb," he said with crimson teeth. "I'm a shepherd."

"I-I'm not a lamb." Her voice was quiet but steady. "My name is Liberty Kaufman. Libby."

"And you, Libby, are you searchin' for the freedom promised in your name?" He thrust his hand forwards, beckoning for hers in return. "Then said He to those which believed on Him, If ye continue in My word, then are ye My disciples indeed; And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free. "

"Devon? Devon, come in."

"You know what, Devon? I think I'm gonna be just fine coming back by myself."