Page 106 of Unhinged Omega

Finally, I spot what I'm looking for. A cluster of bushes, their branches heavy with small, dark berries. I approach cautiously, examining the fruit. Blackberries. I pluck one, rolling it between my fingers.

"These should be safe," I murmur, more to myself than to the Knight. I pop the berry into my mouth, savoring the burst of tart sweetness on my tongue. It's not much, but it's something.

I start gathering handfuls of berries, wishing I had something to carry them in. The remnants of my robe are barely holding together as it is. The Knight watches for a moment, then to my surprise, he starts mimicking my actions. His metal hand is too clumsy, the sharp claws destroying the delicate fruit, but his human hand is able to collect more than I can hold in both hands.

We work in silence, the only sounds the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional frustrated growl from the Knight when he accidentally crushes a berry. Before long, we've stripped the bushes bare.

I turn to the Knight, holding out a handful of berries. "Here," I say. "You should eat too."

He stares at the offered fruit, then back at me. There's an intelligence in those glowing eyes that unnerves me. Heunderstands more than he lets on, I'm sure of it. But he makes no move to take the berries.

"Come on," I coax, feeling ridiculous. I'm trying to hand-feed berries to a giant mutated alpha with monster jaws. What has my life become? "You need to keep up your strength."

Still nothing.

I frown, a new thought occurring to me. Maybe he can't eat them. Those razor-sharp teeth certainly look more suited to tearing into meat than delicate berries. A shudder runs through me as I remember the way those teeth sank into my neck in my dreams, the phantom pain so real I have to resist the urge to check for wounds.

What if he only eats...

I swallow hard, pushing the thought away.

Nope. Can't think about that. Not now.

"Fine," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "More for me, I guess."

I retreat to our makeshift shelter, settling down on a bed of leaves I'd gathered earlier. The Knight follows, ducking his massive frame to fit under the lean-to. He sits across from me, those eerie blue eyes never leaving my face as I eat.

The berries are a poor excuse for a meal, but they take the edge off my hunger. As I eat, I try to plan our next move. We need more substantial food, and soon. But I have nothing to make snares with, and even if I did, I haven't seen any signs of wild animals. This part of the forest seems eerily devoid of life.

Another problem. Fire.

The nights are bitterly cold, and while the Knight seems to radiate heat like a furnace, we need something better in case he decides to wander off. And I'm sure he's cold, too, however warm his skin is.

"We need to gather wood for a fire," I announce, brushing berry juice from my hands. "Dry wood, if we can find any."

I stand, ducking out of the shelter. The Knight follows again, a looming presence at my back. Together, we scour the surrounding area for suitable firewood. It's slow going—most of the fallen branches are damp or rotting—but eventually, we gather a decent pile.

I arrange the wood into a small pyramid, stuffing the center with dry leaves and smaller twigs for tinder. Now comes the tricky part. I've never actually had to start a fire from scratch before. In the Capital, everything was automated. Fireplaces lit themselves with the push of a button.

Mom taught me how, but I'm not sure about the finer details of this particular lesson. How hard can it be, though?

Very hard, as it turns out.

I spend what feels like hours rubbing two sticks together, trying to create enough friction to spark a flame. My hands are raw and blistered, my arms aching from the repetitive motion. Sweat beads on my forehead despite the chill in the air.

"Come on," I mutter through gritted teeth. "Just fucking light already."

The Knight watches in silence.

I glare at him, blowing a strand of hair out of my face.

"Don't suppose you have any hidden talents for firestarting?" I snap.

He tilts his head, and for a moment, I think he might actually respond. But he doesn't. I'm actually not sure hecantalk with his jaws like that. He can sure as hell roar and snarl and growl.

I turn back to my task with renewed determination. I will not be defeated by two sticks and some leaves. I am Cosima fucking Maybrecht.

Just as I'm about to give up and resign myself to a cold night, a tiny spark catches in the tinder. I freeze, hardly daring to breathe as I nurture the fragile flame. Slowly, carefully, I add more kindling, coaxing the fire to life.

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