The hours since the raid on the swap had passed swiftly and strangely for Otto. After he was knocked out and bound, the world exploded into gunfire. It was a minor miracle that he hadn't been hit by a stray bullet and hadn't given a thought about who was fighting who or why until much later. In his dazed state, he struggled to his feet and ran into the night, his hands still tied behind his back.

Once he had time to think, he knew he was going to die. It was just that simple.

Otto's arms ached horribly and he had lost feeling in his hands. He had tried without success to free himself by grinding his wrists against a jagged piece of concrete but he had merely torn the flesh from the base of his palms. He could neither see nor feel what bound his wrists. He nearly threw his back out stretching to slip his hands under his feet. Even if he found his way to where he had stashed food, he could not open a jar or can, could not feed himself, could not pull a blanket over himself, could not build a fire to keep warm.

The question of Otto's death wasn't if or even when, but how.

Exposure would kill Otto in a few days but he feared something quicker and more violent. He would be good sport for a single dog, easy prety for a pack. He had never been nimble and running over uneven ground with tied hands behind him? Impossible. He could not climb or crawl. He could not defend himself against attacks. Death was inevitable.

Unless.

After that first frigid night Otto was tempted to end it himself. Dehydrated and weak, he stumbled through the ruins, half-delirious. He kicked his way through a broken door and promptly passed out. When he awoke, it was dark and cold, and he was shivering badly. His body wanted to do nothing other than lay there and let the numbness overtake him, but a nagging voice in his head asked Is this really it? Are you really quitting? The nagging won out and he forced himself to his feet.

He crept through the shadows delirious and uncertain of what he was looking for or why, when he saw a flicker of firelight and headed toward it. Perhaps if the scavengers didn't look too savage, he could trade items in a cache or two for his freedom. But when he got closer he saw not the drugged out junkies he feared, but rather a group of four he guessed to be a family—parents and two young teens, a boy and a girl. They sat huddled beneath heavy blankets before the roaring fire. The man Otto presumed to be the father sat with a rifle across his knees.

Otto ducked behind a concrete pylon and cleared his throat. He muttered a prayer to a God he didn't believe in and called out. "Hello?" Then louder. "Hello? Otto needs help. Badly."

Silence followed for several seconds and Otto repeated his plea.

"Show yourself," came the stern reply.

With a groan he hoisted himself to his feet and called out, "Otto's here," as he slowly approached the fire. He would only be a shadow against the night.

"Show me your hands!" the man called. Otto saw that the woman and children had disappeared. Hiding.

A ragged, exhausted laugh escaped his lips. "Hands are tied. See?" he asked, and turned and began walking with his back to the firelight. With great pain, he raised his hands and did his best to wiggle his fingers.

"Keep coming," he voice said. "Slowly."

Otto felt the barrel in his back and closed his eyes. The man tugged Otto's hands to see if they were attached and Otto yelped in pain. The man spun him around by his shoulder. Otto remembered saying, "Otto can pay," before falling forward into the man's arms.

He awoke beneath a mountain of blankets with a dark figure putting a mug of warm water to his lips. Tea? His eyes fluttered open. "He's awake, dad," a girl's voice said as she scurried away.

His arms and hands ached worse now that they were free. He spent several minutes clenching and unclenching his fingers, relieved that they still worked. The family sat on the far side of the fire, staring at him. On the ground beside him was a thin plastic coil. "That what was done it," the father said. "Thought you might want to throw it in the fire yourself."

Otto stroked his wrists and worked up a smile.

Without them asking a question, Otto introduced himself and began talking. First he advised them to lower the fire and block the light better since he saw them from a mile off, and told them in the city you didn't want to be so easily seen. The father blinked at that and dutifully did as he was told. The family worked quickly and efficiently with little discussion. That was good.

With the fire cut down by half they crowded into a tighter ring. Otto asked, if they didn't mind telling, from what direction they'd come, and the mother said twenty miles west of Prairieville and had just arrived to the city that afternoon. A long trip, Otto said, and they gave him tired, rueful smiles as they dished him a bowl of beef stew.

When they asked him the same, it seemed that the hot food thawed out his jaws. Otto stared into the fire and started talking. He told them about what it took to survive in Rivertown, how little people had to get by. He told them about the junkies and the MPD and all the people in between. He told them about how things seemed to be changing, and about how large the swap had gotten, and about the strange things the blonde woman was talking about before it all went wrong. He told them about Devlin and Erik Torreon and Jackal. Then, without knowing why, he said he had once been a young man in his twenties when the world fell in, that he had a wonderful wife and the most beautiful two kids a man could hope for. He told them about the lean years and some mean things he'd seen and how he hoped the world would find its feet again someday but he had long stopped trying to figure out how.

He felt a sudden rush of shame when he realized how long they had let him talk, uninterrupted. Hours? The two children had fallen asleep.

"Apologies for rambling," he said meekly. Then, "Tomorrow if you want to walk with me a bit, I can repay you for your food."

The father looked at him for a long time saying nothing. "Thank you for your stories, Otto. We're glad to have met you. You're exhausted. Rest. Sharee and I can take turns standing watch tonight. But I'd like you stay with us longer than tomorrow. Maybe we can travel together awhile. Just a thought. Mull it over. Sleep on it. We can talk more in the morning."

The woman turned her head sharply as her husband spoke and he patted her knee without looking at her. Otto glanced at the two of him and then at his hands, again feeling strangely humbled.

Otto didn't know what else to say, so he curled up beneath the heavy blankets. He thought about the offer for all of three heartbeats before he drifted off into a deep and dreamful sleep.