Chapter 85: Chapter 85 - Hunters
Iyisha woke to light slipping through the hall windows. Voices carried faintly from somewhere beyond the door. She stayed still, listening, letting the sound pull her fully awake.
She turned her head. The space beside her was empty. Malcolm was gone.
That part was familiar. He was always gone before she opened her eyes. Still, she remained where she was, staring at the ceiling, counting her breaths, wishing he had stayed just a little longer. The thought made her uneasy. Wanting him to stay felt like asking for something she could not afford.
When she finally moved, the first thing she noticed was how her body felt. Clean. Lighter. Her clothes were not the ones she remembered wearing. The memory of the night pressed back in, slow and unwanted, and warmth crept up her neck as understanding followed.
Malcolm must have done it.
She took her time before leaving the room. When she did, the hall was already awake. Fire on drums already lit. Food was laid out. Steam curled upward from metal trays.
She sat at the long table and rested her hands on the wood. People ate slowly around her. Voices stayed low. It looked like routine returning, but every movement felt careful, as if everyone was afraid of what might happen if they moved too fast.
Or talk too fast.
The noisy hall was gone.
"We have meat?" Iyisha asked quietly, almost afraid she had imagined it.
Mary nodded. "Five pigs died," she said. "Their hearts couldn’t take the stress yesterday."
Iyisha absorbed that in silence and nodded once, understanding the strange, grim logic of it.
She turned to Ester. "How are you?"
Ester smiled, small but genuine, the kind that took effort. "I’m better."
Iyisha returned the smile and took a bite of her food, chewing slowly, letting the warmth and salt settle her nerves. Around them, some people ate in silence, others murmured softly, exchanging fragments of normal conversation.
That was when Mary leaned closer.
Iyisha felt it before she saw it. A presence at her side. A glance that lingered too long.
Mary turned her head, eyes sharp, that familiar spark already there, the kind that meant she had noticed everything and filed it away.
"So," Mary said, casual, almost bored, like she was commenting on the weather, "how was your night. Did you do it?"
Iyisha inhaled at exactly the wrong moment.
The food went down the wrong tunnel. She bent forward as she erupted into coughing, eyes watering, face burning hot. Her hand braced hard on the table as someone thumped her back once.
"I’m fine," she managed to rasp, waving them off as she caught her breath.
Mary only watched her, lips twitching, clearly satisfied.
When she looked up, Mary was wearing a mischievous grin.
Ester was smiling. Really smiling.
Iyisha swallowed again. "We did it," she said quickly—then dropped her voice, leaning in just a little. "And we didn’t."
Mary snorted. "What does that even mean," she said. "Is he too big?"
Iyisha’s face burned instantly. She slapped a hand over her mouth, mortified. "Stop it," she hissed, half laughing despite herself.
Ester chuckled softly, shaking her head.
For a moment, amid the grief and the rationed food and the fragile quiet of survival, it felt almost normal.
Mary was still watching her when the sound of footsteps reached the hall, and the low noise of eating and murmured conversation thinned almost at once, as if everyone had learned to recognize that rhythm without needing to look up.
Mario stepped inside, and Iyisha felt the room tighten around him, shoulders straightening, movements slowing, the fragile sense of routine pulling back.
Her eyes searched without meaning to.
Elmer was not there.
The absence landed heavier than his presence ever had, settling cold in her stomach.
"Attention," Mario said, his voice even. "Starting today, this community will shift to one meal a day."
A ripple moved through the hall, quiet but sharp, forks pausing, heads lifting, the reality settling in without protest.
"We can survive this winter with what we have," Mario continued, unhurried, "livestock, stored grain, vegetables. Enough, if we are careful."
The room stayed still, listening.
"But if we keep consuming at the same rate," he said, "we will not be able to produce enough for the next winter."
Silence pressed in, heavier than before.
Iyisha leaned slightly toward Mary, her words slipping out under her breath. "Where’s Elmer?"
Mary rolled her eyes, unimpressed. "He got what he deserved."
Iyisha stiffened. "He was executed?"
Ester answered quietly, shaking her head. "He stepped down. Didn’t fight it."
Iyisha turned back as Mario went on.
"We need hunters," he said. "People who can go out. Track. Bring food back before we reach that point."
Iyisha’s breath caught as her thoughts leapt ahead, fast and unwelcome, landing on a single name.
Malcolm.
She knew he would go. Her fingers tightened around her fork as the room waited, and she found herself bracing for an absence that had not yet been spoken and praying for some miracle.
"We can’t leave the compound unguarded."
The silence that followed was deafening, sharp enough to pull everyone back to the memory of yesterday, to blood and shouting and the sound of something breaking that had not yet been repaired.
Iyisha’s head snapped up.
Elmer stood at the front, his gaze sweeping the room once, impersonal and resigned, as if whatever weight came with this decision had already been accepted. "Only a few will go out," he said. "The rest stay. We cannot afford another breach."
No one moved. No one spoke.
"We continue our work," Elmer went on, his voice steady. "And remember this. Those who go out are the ones who will save us for the next winter."
The hall seemed to forget how to breathe.
Iyisha felt it most, the pause stretching too long, her chest tightening before she realized she was holding air in.
"Aaron. Fenigan."
The pause that followed was deliberate.
"And Malcolm."
Iyisha’s fist closed around her fork until her knuckles went white.
His name rang louder than anything else, louder than the scrape of chairs, louder than the low murmur that finally broke through the hall. She kept her eyes down. She did not look at him. She could not.
Her chest felt too tight. Her breath came shallow and uneven as the weight of it settled, heavy and familiar, the beginning of another absence she had already feared.
