Seth groaned and tried to blink. He wiped at whatever crusted his eyes shut, feeling a deep internal ache in his shoulder. As flakes swept away, he smelled iron. He sat upright as his vision cleared and light flooded his bleary eyes, a cascade of discomfort and warmth.

He sat in a sparse bedroom, a tautly inflated air mattress underneath him, a single scratchy blanket over his legs, crumpled in his lap. He could hear the TV in the next room through the simple silver-handled white door. News, he thought. Seth swung himself out of bed and winced as his right foot touched the floor. Pain flared in his calf and he looked down. He wore gray sweats, and the jeans he had worn last night were nowhere to be seen. Seth massaged his temples and groaned. Had he been knocked out?

No, Seth could remember the feeling of his knee driving through Patrick’s chin. He’d probably cracked teeth. Seth grimaced and forced himself to his feet from the bed, before opening the door and walking out into a poorly-furnished living room.

Nicole lounged on a futon, a sleeping bag rolled up by the foot of it along with a camping pillow. She wore lacy black panties and one of her dark-toned plunging v-necks. Seth couldn’t help but glance at her legs. “Morning, sleeping beauty,” said Nicole. “Had me worried for a bit.”

“Had… what?”

Seth looked at the TV hanging on the wall. Some local reporter talking about a mass shooting out in the country. Oh, shit. It all flooded back into Seth’s skull. The gunmen, them flying through the window. The chase. Losing Nicole. Being shot. Seth’s hand clutched at his collarbone where one of the rounds had impacted and he looked at Nicole with dark concern in his eyes. “How am I alive?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re a tough one, that’s how. And I know a few things about first aid.”

“A few things… I was shot three times!”

“You were shot in an important place once,” she said, ignoring him and watching the TV now. “Went clean through, just had to apply some bandages to keep you from bleeding out. The other two I took care of here if you want to look at the aftermath in the bathroom.”

Seth shook his head and looked at the TV. The date on the news said Monday. “How long was I out?”

“Whole weekend.”

“…and still missing is Northwest student Seth Blackwell, last seen by several other students fleeing into the woods. Andrea, back to you.”

Seth’s eyes widened, and the action of his facial muscles aggravated his headache. “I… I need water.”

“Kitchen to your left.”

Seth stumbled his way in and grabbed one of the empty coffee mugs sitting next to a coffeemaker still hot from brewing. He filled the cup with tap water and chugged, slurping down the life-giving liquid as fast as he could and then filling two, three, four more before finally settling to sip a fifth. He looked over to see Nicole watching him. “Have coffee too, you need it. And there’s not much in the fridge, but there is peanut butter and jelly and some bread. Eat, you need calories.”

“Thanks for…” Seth grabbed the bread off the top of the fridge. “Thanks for saving me.”

“Seems to be becoming a habit of mine.”

“What really happened in the truck?”

“You got lucky, that’s what.”

Seth threw two slices of bread in the toaster and took another sip of his water. “I saw the wreck. No way I lived through that. We were airborne.”

“Maybe you’re a cat and have got nine lives. Down to seven now, aren’t you?”

Seth stared at the toaster as it ticked away, warming up his toast. “And you were uninjured enough to pull me out?”

“Not a scratch on me. I was standing on the street, remember?”

“Cut the bullshit. I’ve been shot three times. What really happened? I know I died in the hospital.”

“Die is a pretty strong word.” Nicole sat upright on the futon and leaned toward him. “Some people are special. Maybe you’re special.”

“What, like superpowers?”

“No. God.” Nicole laughed derisively. “You’re not the first person to be clinically dead and come back from it.”

“With no brain damage?”

She shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Sure.”

DING!

Seth snatched the toast out of the toaster and began spreading peanut butter and jelly over it. None of this made sense to him. Not the wreck, not the shooters, nothing. “Why did those gunmen shoot up the party? They were clearly organized. They were looking for someone.”

A long sigh came from Nicole. “They were looking for me.”

Seth froze, his knife still in the process of spreading strawberry jelly. “Where’s your family?”

“Dead.”

Seth looked sideways at her, not turning his body from the counter.

“Those men, they were the ones who killed them. That was a year ago, and in England.” She suddenly seemed to drop a mask and her voice changed, revealing a clipped accent. “I’m not from here, Seth. I wasn’t born in America. I was born in Cambridge. I lived there my whole life until a year ago.”

“I’m sorry.” Seth set the bread and knife down. “Why did they kill your family?”

She looked back to the TV and leaned into the futon. “I… I don’t know, Seth. I’m trying to get answers.”

“How? Here? By going to high school and fighting?”

Her American accent resumed. “About three hundred miles north of here, there’s an American special operations garrison. I have my reasons, but I think these men operate out of there. I think my dad was involved with some really bad stuff, and my family paid the price.” A dark storm crossed her face, but the mask concealed it in an instant.

“What did your dad do?” The unmade sandwich sat forgotten on the counter.

“He was a professor. Pretty well-known one, too. He taught archeology.”

“So how-”

She stood up from the couch and faced him. “We’re done with this conversation, Seth. You’re awake. Get food in you. We need to leave this apartment, it’s only a matter of time before those hunters find us.”

“Hunters, what-”

“The shooters. Here.” She dug into her back pocket and tossed him a military patch. It was an arrowhead crossed by a sword and a hammer. It bore the words Hunter-33.

“Whatever unit they’re a part of, it’s called Hunter. The only reference I’ve ever found to it is a photo from the nineties from a family event at the base I mentioned. Someone in the background had this patch-”

“How did you even find that?”

“My dad was an archeology professor… I know research. Finish your food. The clock’s ticking, Seth."