Hiya! I’m here as Holly today. Hunger, my latest story, is now live! Yay!
I don’t know about you, but this past year has made me worry about the future. And maybe dystopian stories aren’t what the world needs right now, but it was where my mind went, so I put those thoughts into a story.
In Hunger, society, as we know it, collapsed five years ago. Kegan is surviving. He’s put systems in place. He has a garden and knows how to preserve the food he grows. But one mistake, and he won’t be eating.
Gareth didn’t see the collapse coming. There were problems, but he figured they’d solve them. Five years in, he’s not doing so great. But then one day, he hears a rooster crow. If there is a rooster, there is food. And if that food happens to belong to Kegan, well, too bad for him. Gareth is hungry.
Read the first chapter below!
Hunger
Hunger is a funny thing. It makes people act in ways they never believed they’d do.
Gareth Cadell always believed he’d be a winner if society ever collapsed. He’s big and strong, and he knows how to handle himself. He never considered the food issue, though. When things get too dangerous in the city, he leaves, but he hadn’t realized how quickly starvation would set in. Which is why, when he comes across Kegan, he can’t allow him to keep all his food for himself.
Hunger is a dangerous thing. It turns good people into unpredictable ones.
Kegan Ashida never believed he’d live this long after the collapse. He’s nothing special. He’s capable of killing if he has to, but he’s more likely to take care of someone than to harm them. It doesn’t mean he’s willing to surrender. He’s worked hard to build up his pantry, and he won’t allow anyone to steal his food.
Gareth doesn’t want to hurt Kegan. It’s not his fault Gareth is hungry, and if he’s being honest, he’d rather kiss him than harm him. Maybe bribing his way into Kegan’s home and heart is the better way?
Buy Links:
Chapter 1
Kegan Ashida drew his bow. The tip of the arrow shook more than it normally did, and he winced as the muscles in his arms protested.
He did his best not to notice, not to remember why he was sore all over today.
The man approaching moved cautiously, studying the solid plank fence Kegan had built around his garden, and then tried to hide behind brushwood and a few berry bushes.
He’d done a pretty good job. It was rare for someone to find him—usually it was only those who already knew he was here. Which was bad enough.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Something he never did when aiming a weapon, but fuck.
The more he studied the man, the surer he was that he was military. His clothing was black, but Kegan thought it was tactical gear.
Parker wore similar clothes but in camo. Did it mean he’d told a man from another group, division, unit, whatever their different branches were named, to come here?
Yesterday had been a crappy day, and as always after Parker’s visits, he was jumpy the coming days—jumpy until he could fool himself into believing Parker wouldn’t be back again.
He always came back.
And yesterday, he’d brought friends.
Kegan shuddered. Normally, he got away with a blowjob, a fee to pay for Parker not telling people he lived here, for Parker not to ruin things for him.
In the beginning, it had been a trade for real. Parker had brought him things from the city, which was more like a town these days, but they still had supplies Kegan couldn’t get hold of.
About two years after the collapse, Parker had caught Kegan shooting a rabbit and had followed him home. Kegan had been too wrapped up in his guilt about having killed a poor bunny to pay attention.
Stupid.
He hated killing animals, but he had to eat.
Parker had followed him all the way to the house and had knocked on his door shortly after Kegan had washed the blood off his hands.
The first couple of times, Kegan hadn’t minded too much. Sure, trading his mouth for a box of matches or a box of Ziploc bags made him feel all kinds of dirty, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t blown strangers in a dark corner of a bar for the fun of it before the fall of society.
Then things had changed. Parker had grown more demanding, and instead of giving him things, he’d demanded things in return for not destroying what Kegan had built.
As long as it had only been Parker, he could handle it, but yesterday, it hadn’t only been Parker.
Three men had come knocking after dark, and Kegan had fought.
He lowered his shaking arms and blew out a breath.
Parker had often threatened he’d bring friends if Kegan didn’t do what he wanted, but he’d never truly believed him. The first time he’d said it, Kegan had worried, but then nothing happened.
Parker had come around somewhat regularly for about three years, and it wasn’t until yesterday he’d made good on his threat.
Nausea climbed his throat, but before he could pay it much attention, one of his stupid roosters crowed.
He cursed under his breath and drew the bow anew. He needed the roosters. Eggs were important for his survival, for his friends’ survival, and you didn’t get new chickens if you didn’t have a rooster. He tried to keep the number low, but he couldn’t risk being without. And the ones he didn’t keep made a good source of protein.
The man’s head whipped around, his eyes scanning the fence.
Had he come because he’d heard the roosters? He looked as if he were searching for a bird rather than the gate into Kegan’s garden.
If Parker had sent him, wouldn’t he have told him where the gate was?
Long seconds went by, and Kegan kept his bow aimed at the stranger. He was taller than Kegan and pretty buff. The clothes he wore hung loosely on his body. They most likely hadn’t back when society still functioned. He had that look. Military. He would’ve been the picture of health. Strong and agile, and oh so deadly.
To think he wasn’t deadly now would be stupid. It was right there in the way he moved. Lethal.
The rooster crowed again, and the man turned.
Kegan stopped breathing as their eyes met.
Fuck.
* * * *
Gareth Cadell froze. How had he missed the man aiming a bow at him?
He didn’t breathe, but mentally he was laughing at himself. So fucking stupid.
Slowly, he raised his hands, palms up. The people living out here were few and far between, and most of them were out of their minds. Gareth should know; he’d opted for a life outside the walls.
Granted, he’d only been out here for a few weeks and had yet to stop in one place.
The first years after the collapse, he’d stayed in the city, stayed with his unit. Who better to stick close to when society fell apart than the people in the special forces?
Stupidly, he’d always believed he’d do well in a situation like this. He was strong, he was good with a knife, amazing with a gun, and he could kill a man with his bare hands before they knew he was in the same room as them. Okay, maybe not since he’d have to touch them if he was taking them out without a weapon, but still. He only needed a few seconds. Which was one of the reasons he’d always believed he’d excel in a post-apocalyptic scenario.
The problem was it never ended.
A mission had a beginning and an end. Get in, get the job done, get out, then recuperate.
Now there was no recuperation. He was living in this fucking nightmare every second of every day, and it was disappointing to realize he wasn’t thriving.
He’d figured it out pretty early on, but in the beginning, there had still been hope. He’d believed the politicians and people in power would find a solution, but no. The entire country had been shattered into tiny little territories, like miniature countries or kingdoms or whatever.
The leaders in every region made up their own rules.
They’d still have use for the military. Gareth could’ve stayed. He had stayed. For five years, he’d guarded important buildings and important people, or poor farmers outside the walls who only wanted to be left alone. He’d been fed when there was enough food, but he’d also been watched.
Men like him didn’t survive long in these new cities with their new rules and new brands of punishment.
Gareth could pass. No one looked at him and thought queer. But when you lived with the same people for years, shared sleeping quarters, showers, every waking hour, some noticed how his gaze never lingered on the women who visited the base. They noticed how he never picked anyone up when they were off the clock, and rumors had started to circulate.
It wasn’t safe anymore. It had never been. But maybe it would’ve been better to stay than to be killed out here by a man with a bow.
Gareth looked into his dark, dark eyes. He had no idea what ethnicity the man was. His skin was white, but not the same shade as his. It was the eyes and maybe something else that made Gareth think he had some exotic blood in his ancestry.
It didn’t matter.
The man’s lip was split and swollen, and there was a bruise on his cheek, mostly hidden by shadows. He was clean-shaven, which was unusual to see these days. His dark, almost black hair was cut short on the sides but curled a little at the top of his head. Pretty. Which didn’t matter since Gareth would be dead in a few seconds.
He was so fucking stupid. For years, he’d killed people for a living, and now he’d been too distracted to realize someone was aiming at him.
Then the rooster who’d lured him here crowed, and the man winced.
Gareth could have rushed him. Depending on how good he was with a bow, Gareth could maybe have dodged the arrow and taken him down. Maybe.
Another crow sounded, and Gareth chanced a raised eyebrow. There was more than one rooster.
“How much for a rooster?” His stomach growled at the prospect of meat.
The man narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“They’re your roosters, yes?”
Maybe there was more than one person around. Maybe those who lived outside the walls did so in clusters. It was hard to survive on your own. You had a much better chance in a community.
He looked around as much as he could without turning away from the man. Were there more bows aimed at him? Guns?
“You’re trespassing.” The slight tremor in the man’s voice had Gareth lower his hands a fraction. He still held them up, didn’t want to trigger a shot by being careless, but if there had been twenty arrows aimed at him, he believed the man’s voice would’ve been steadier.
Gareth studied him. How to play this? He could still die here, but if the man had wanted him dead, wouldn’t he have let the arrow fly by now? And the prospect of meat made him dizzy.
“I can trade for a rooster.” When he’d left the city, he’d had ten chocolate bars in his backpack. Now he was down to two. Hunger was a funny thing. He’d stolen the chocolate from the canteen. How they’d gotten hold of it in the first place was a mystery, but Gareth had taken them for situations like this.
People couldn’t buy chocolate. They couldn’t make chocolate. Which meant some people were willing to die for chocolate.
“I’m not trading. You’re on my land. Walk away, or I’ll feed you to the wildlife.”
My land. Not our land.
Gareth sized the man up again. He was shorter than Gareth, had a slimmer build, but looked to be better fed. He most likely needed less food than Gareth did. Another thing he hadn’t considered when he made himself out to be the winner in the post-apocalyptic game.
He was six-two and had the brawn to match—or he’d had the brawn to match five years ago. It took a lot of fuel to keep his body in top shape.
The man was about five-ten. He wasn’t scrawny. There was a good set of shoulders on him, and he looked well-muscled.
Why did he get stuck studying the guy?
“A chocolate bar for a rooster.”
Ofelia Grand 