"Adam, Ben! Open up, it's your auntie. Have you eaten yet? I just steamed a few brown rice buns—come out and get them!"
The door creaked open, revealing Chad and Deb with tear-streaked faces. Aunt Doreen stared in surprise."What's wrong, little ones? Did I come too late? Were you hungry?"
She hurriedly pulled out the brown rice buns, still warm and covered with muslin, from the basket and handed them to the twins. Then she turned to Adam and Ben and said,"Your stepmother isn't back yet, and I don't know when she will be. In the meantime, you'll be eating over at the old house. She left me a few copper coins for grain and asked me to take care of you four."
Adam's head snapped up in shock. "She left money for us?"
Didn't she just run off and abandon them?
Aunt Doreen nodded. Seeing the twins busy munching the buns and forgetting their tears, she muttered with a scoff, "That stepmother of yours is really just like your father—skin thicker than the city walls. Just left a few measly coins to feed four mouths. Who knows how much I'll have to cover out of my own pocket?"
"She's been gone four days already. Who knows how much longer we'll have to wait? Those mountains are no easy place to navigate, and if a frail woman like her got—"
She stopped herself just in time. The four kids were staring at her wide-eyed, wild and wary, as if daring her to say one more bad word about their stepmother—they looked ready to bite. Aunt Doreen shut her mouth.
Clicking her tongue, she shoved the last two buns into Adam and Ben's hands and reminded them,"Come to the old house for meals, morning and evening. I don't have time to deliver food every day—I've got plenty to do at home."
She muttered under her breath, "Still so protective of her," then picked up her empty basket and left briskly.
Truthfully, she did have a lot of chores to finish. She'd been so busy she nearly forgot these four mouths to feed, which is why she'd arrived late.
As soon as Aunt Doreen left, the four kids, who'd just moments before looked forlorn, instantly beamed with joy. Munching on the still-warm buns, they thought, She didn't abandon us. She even asked Aunt Doreen to look after us.
"She's definitely coming back with something good," Ben said as he looked up at the clearing skies—deep blue and endless. His voice brimmed with certainty. "She's so strong. She can do it."
"Yeah." Adam looked northward at the endless stretch of mountains and hills. The corner of his lips curled up.
"Hurry and eat. Afterward, boil some water and wipe your faces. You're filthy," Adam urged his siblings.
The three younger ones grinned at him sheepishly. They'd been tending the fire indoors, and their faces were sooty like little tabby cats.
Deb finished eating first. She sat primly on the doorstep, waiting for her brothers to heat the water so she could wash her face first.
The little girl stuck out her feet and tilted her face up so her big brother could clean her properly, muttering,"Mommy loves clean little darlings best. I'm gonna be her clean, obedient baby."
After tidying up the little ones and tucking them into bed to keep them from catching cold—since it was still chilly despite the clear skies—Adam finally cleaned himself up.
Then, seeing that the outdoor stove had been dirtied by rain and fallen leaves, he and Ben silently picked up brooms and began to sweep the yard.
No one used to teach them cleanliness, so everything had always been filthy.
But now, someone did.
She told them to rinse their mouths and wash their faces morning and night, to wash their feet before bed, to clean their bowls thoroughly after every meal, and to keep the stove tidy—so they wouldn't get sick from what they ate.
She even taught them how to braid straw rope, and explained every new thing that came along.
From her, they learned that taro wasn't some poisonous monster, but a lifesaving staple.
She was the pillar of this home. With her around, they felt secure.
Adam's hands stilled mid-sweep. He was stunned to realize that after just a few short days with their stepmother, he'd started to rely on her.
He hadn't even thought about their father—the man who'd been taken away.
For a brief moment, Adam even thought—If life could just go on like this, that'd be nice. Maybe it's better if that man never comes back.
"Adam?" Ben called, snapping him out of his thoughts. He'd been calling several times with no response.
"Were you thinking about our stepmother too?" Ben asked, a little shyly.
Adam blinked and gave a vague nod, afraid his brother might notice the dark thoughts he'd just had.
But then a wave of guilt washed over him—was he being unfilial for thinking that?
Ben murmured, "I wonder how she's doing right now…"
The sunset bathed the sky in red. Adam glanced toward the northern mountains once again.
"Achoo!" Clara, perched in a tree, failed to suppress a massive sneeze.
It shook her enough that her grip on the knife faltered, nearly costing her balance when the black bear she'd been tracking suddenly reared up.
The bear lunged—one swipe could've knocked her clean off the branch—but Clara's combat reflexes, honed in the apocalypse, kicked in. She twisted away just in time.
Unfortunately, that dodge gave the bear an opening. It leapt up onto the tree and landed just a few feet from her. Now, they faced off, standing eye to eye on the same branch—less than two meters apart.
Clara didn't hesitate. She drew an arrow, nocked it, and shot!
They say archers are helpless in close combat. That's just because they're not trained well enough.
In the apocalypse, mutated beasts didn't care about distance—they'd appear right in your face out of nowhere.
When ammo ran short, Clara had to master close-quarter archery. It wasn't as powerful as long-range shooting, but it could still stop an enemy in their tracks.
And when facing humans, that unexpected close-range arrow often gave her the edge.
The arrow struck the bear.
But it wasn't a deep wound—just a graze to its hide. Instead of fleeing, the bear roared in fury and lunged.
Clara had been waiting days for this bear. Now that the rain had stopped, she'd laid her traps—but to her dismay, the bear didn't fall for them. The moment it saw her, it sensed her strength and turned to flee.
No way she was letting her prize get away. She loosed an arrow and hit it square in the rump, enraging the beast and drawing it back to her.
And so, they'd clashed in this sparse forest for over a dozen rounds, back and forth.
Now, with the bear lunging at her from just a few feet away, Clara swapped to her sharpened short blade. Behind her was the end of the branch—too thin to support her weight.
Retreat was not an option. She wouldn't retreat.
With a swift side-step and bent knees, she braced herself and drove nearly all her strength into a single strike—aimed straight at the bear's only vulnerable spot: the pale patch on its belly.
"ROAAARRRR!!"
The bear's agonized howl shook the mountains.
One moment, it had been full of murderous fury. The next—it crashed from the four-meter-high branch with a dull thud.
Clara hooked herself to the branch with one hand, blade still in the other, then launched herself downward—driving all her weight and momentum into the wounded beast.
A short, strangled cry followed.
The bear now had half a knife handle jutting from its throat. The blade had plunged deep, piercing through to its spine. Blood seeped from the back of its head, soaking the black earth beneath it.
The black bear died, unwillingly.
Kneeling on its body, Clara yanked out the blade, wiped the hot bear blood off her face out of habit, and grinned wildly.
With this beast, winter would be a lot easier to survive.
(End of Chapter)