Chapter 143: I know who you really are

The road stretched on longer than it should have.

Cherie shifted in her saddle, her hands still a little stiff on the reins. The horse beneath her moved steady, but every step still felt unfamiliar. The quiet around them pressed in harder than anything else. No jokes. No back and forth. Just the sound of hooves hitting dirt and the wind brushing past.

It was wrong.

The way things had been earlier, with Saul and Jackson talking, laughing—it felt like something from a different life now. Like she had imagined it.

Her eyes drifted forward.

Saul was a few paces ahead, his back straight, his posture steady. He had not looked back once.

Cherie exhaled quietly, then nudged her horse forward.

It took a bit of effort, but she caught up, bringing her horse alongside his. For a second, neither of them spoke.

“So,” she said finally, glancing at him, “you gonna give me the cold shoulder for the rest of this trip?”

Saul did not answer right away.

He kept his eyes on the road, hands steady on the reins. Then he glanced at her.

A small smile formed, but it felt forced. It sat on his face without meaning anything.

“I’m not as petty as my brother.”

Cherie let out a short breath, almost a laugh.

“…Good to know.”

The tension eased just a little, but it did not go away.

Saul looked forward again.

They rode like that for a few seconds before he spoke again.

“Do you really think it could be true?”

Cherie frowned slightly. “Hm?”

“My brother,” he said. “Do you really think he’s alive?”

She studied his face for a second. There was something there he was trying to keep buried. It was not just hope. It was fear of being wrong.

“I don’t see why not,” she said. “He’s got your genes. Must know how to hold his own.”

She tried to keep it light.

It did not land.

Saul’s expression tightened, the faint smile fading completely.

“He’s always been the most timid out of all of us,” he said. “Even when he tried to act tough. You could see right through it.”

Cherie stayed quiet.

Saul’s grip on the reins shifted slightly.

“I left,” he continued. “Went off to college like everything was normal. Like the world wasn’t about to fall apart.” He let out a dry breath. “Came back thinking I could just…pick things up where I left them.”

His jaw tightened.

“I was there when it happened,” he said. “When everything went to shit.”

Cherie felt her chest sink a little.

“I saw them coming,” Saul went on. “I saw the panic. Heard my dad yelling orders. And I just…stood there.”

His voice stayed level, but it carried weight.

“I could’ve grabbed him. Could’ve dragged him out. Could’ve done something.” He shook his head once. “But I didn’t.”

The horses kept moving, slow and steady.

“I let him down, Cherie,” he said. “Simple as that.”

She watched him for a moment, then looked ahead.

“You don’t know that,” she said.

He let out a quiet scoff. “Yeah. I do.”

“No,” she said, firmer now. “You don’t.”

He glanced at her.

“You think you froze because you didn’t care?” she asked. “Or because you were scared out of your mind and didn’t know what the hell to do?”

Saul did not answer.

“That doesn’t make you useless,” she said. “That makes you human.”

He looked away again.

“That doesn’t bring him back,” he muttered.

“No,” Cherie said. “It doesn’t.”

A pause.

“But if your brother’s still out there,” she added, “then sitting here blaming yourself isn’t gonna help him either.”

The words hung between them.

Saul’s shoulders shifted slightly, like something had loosened just a bit.

They rode in silence again, but it felt different now.

Not as empty.

Just…heavy in a way that made sense.

—

The camp had gone quiet, but it was not peaceful.

Most people had crawled into their tents after Bill’s speech, trying to convince themselves that things were still under control. The lanterns swayed lightly in the cold night air, casting slow, uneven shadows across the ground. The fire at the center of camp crackled low, surrounded by a handful of figures who still had the authority to decide what came next.

Harry watched all of it from inside his tent.

He sat there with his back against the fabric wall, knife in hand, opening and closing it over and over again. The soft click echoed louder in his head than it should have. His face was tight, jaw locked, eyes empty in a way that did not match his age.

Across from him, his mother lay on her side, watching him.

She had not said anything in a while. She did not need to. The way he moved, the way he breathed, it told her enough.

Finally, Harry stood.

He pushed the tent flap open and stepped out into the cold.

“Harry—” his mother started, but her voice died before it could reach him.

He did not stop.

The air bit at his skin as he walked toward the fire. Each step felt heavier than the last, but he kept going. The closer he got, the louder the voices became.

“…we can’t just sit here and hope things calm down,” one man said.

“They won’t,” another replied. “Not after tonight.”

“And that’s exactly why we need structure,” Bill said. “People are already shaken. If we don’t keep things tight, this place falls apart.”

Harry stepped into the edge of the firelight.

One of the men noticed him first. He nudged the person beside him. The conversation slowed, then stopped entirely as more heads turned.

Bill was mid-sentence when someone tapped his shoulder.

“Billy.”

Bill turned, annoyance already on his face, but it faded when he saw Harry standing there.

Harry’s fists were clenched at his sides.

“Why’d you lie, asshole?”

The words cut through the camp like a blade.

A man near the fire immediately stood. “Watch your fucking mouth, kid—”

Bill raised a hand, stopping him without looking.

“Sit,” Bill said quietly.

The man hesitated, then lowered himself back down.

Bill looked at Harry again, calmer now, almost curious.

“Lie about what?”

Harry took a step closer.

“My dad,” he said, his voice shaking but loud. “Harold. You said he stayed behind. You said he chose to.”

His breathing grew heavier.

“He didn’t. You made that call. You told us to leave him.”

Silence.

The fire popped, sending a brief spray of sparks into the air.

A few people exchanged looks. Someone shifted uncomfortably.

“…is that true, Bill?” a woman asked.

Bill rubbed his eyebrow slowly, like he was thinking through his answer.

Harry watched him, something loosening in his chest for a second. A small, stupid hope.

Bill looked back up.

“These people don’t want a liar leading them,” Harry said, firmer now. “Step down.”

That did it.

Bill’s expression changed.

Not loud. Not explosive. Just…cold.

“For you to take my place?” Bill asked.

Harry frowned. “That’s not what—”

“You think you could do better?” Bill stepped closer. “You? You got a plan? You gonna keep everyone fed? Safe?”

Harry opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Bill smiled, but there was no humor in it.

“Harold’s son,” he said, glancing around at the others. “That’s what this is, right? Bloodline matters now?”

A few people shifted again, uncomfortable.

Bill stopped right in front of Harry.

“Think you’re a man now?”

Harry held his ground, even as his chest tightened.

“Prove it to me.”

Before Harry could react, Bill’s fist slammed into his face.

The crack echoed.

Harry stumbled back, hitting the ground hard. Blood spilled from his nose immediately, hot and thick.

A few people flinched. One man half-stood again, then froze.

Bill stepped forward and kicked Harry in the stomach.

Harry folded, choking on air.

“Get up,” Bill said.

Another kick.

“Get the fuck up.”

Harry tried, barely managing to push himself onto his knees.

Bill grabbed him by the collar and yanked him upright, then drove another punch into his gut.

“Put your hands up, boy,” Bill said. “Or did Harold not teach you that part?”

Harry raised his arms too late. Another punch slipped through, snapping his head to the side.

Blood dripped onto the dirt.

Bill grabbed a fistful of his hair and forced his head up.

“You think you know better than me?” Bill said, his voice low now, controlled. “You think you get to question me after everything I’ve done for this camp?”

Harry winced, gripping Bill’s wrist, but he could not pull free.

“I’ve dragged your ass out of more shit than you can count,” Bill continued. “Remember the barn? When those things chased you into the woods? Who went after you?”

Harry said nothing.

“Wasn’t your daddy,” Bill said. “Wasn’t your brothers. It was me.”

He shook Harry’s head slightly.

“I’ve been the one keeping you alive. Me. And this is how you repay me?”

Another punch. This time to the jaw.

Harry dropped again, barely catching himself.

Bill crouched down in front of him.

“Listen to me real careful,” he said. “You don’t get to question my decisions. Not when you don’t understand what it takes to make them.”

Harry’s vision blurred. His ears rang.

“You think I wanted to leave him?” Bill went on. “You think I don’t know what those things would do to him?”

His grip tightened on Harry’s shirt.

“I made the call because if we stayed, we all die. Your mom dies. You die. Everyone dies. That’s leadership.”

Harry’s hands trembled against the ground.

“Next time you open your mouth like that,” Bill said, his voice dropping even further, “I won’t stop at a few punches.”

He let go, shoving Harry back.

“Show some respect,” he added. “Or next time, I let the world teach you instead.”

Bill stood up, brushing his hands off like nothing happened.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

Harry stayed on the ground, blood dripping from his nose, chest rising and falling unevenly.

His mother stood at the edge of the crowd, frozen.

The fire crackled.

And for the first time already, everyone was realizing exactly what kind of leader Bill was.

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