She looked at him, surprised. Tomorrow we work on hand-to-hand, Ethan said. If they get close, the gun won't save you. You need to know how to break a man's nose, crush his throat, take his weapon. You need to be mean.
I can be mean. I know. I saw you spit in Creddy's face. Ethan almost smiled again. That was stupid, but it took guts.
My mother used to say courage and stupidity look the same until the end. Your mother was smart. She was, and she died anyway. Ayla's voice was quiet. They all did.
The fever took most. The soldiers took the rest. I am what remains. Ethan didn't know what to say to that. So he said nothing.
The days blurred together. Ethan taught Ayla how to move in a fight, how to use her size and speed against bigger opponents, how to stay low, stay fast, stay alive. He taught her how to reload a rifle in the dark, how to set a tripwire, how to turn everyday objects into weapons. She learned quickly, faster than he expected. And in the evenings, after the training, they would sit by the fire and talk.
Not about the past, not about what was coming, just small things. The weather, the horses, the way the stars looked different out here than they did anywhere else. It was strange having someone around. Ethan had spent so long alone that he'd forgotten what it felt like to share space with another person, to hear someone else breathing in the next room, to wake up and know he wasn't the only living thing for miles. He didn't hate it.
On the 20th day, Ayla finally hit the center of the target. Ethan didn't say anything, just nodded. That night, she asked him the question he'd been waiting for. "Who were they? The ones you lost."
Ethan stared into the fire. For a long time he didn't answer. Then quietly he said, "A wife, a daughter. They were in Kansas." I was fighting in the territories.
When I came home, the house was ash. They told me it was raiders. Apache, they said. Burned the whole settlement. Ayla's face went still.
And you believed them? For a while. Ethan's voice was flat. Then I started asking questions, started digging. The more I dug, the less the story made sense.
No survivors, no witnesses, just ash and bodies, and a militia patrol that happened to arrive 5 minutes too late. "Vance?" "Vance." Ethan's hands tightened. I can't prove it, but I know.
I know the way you know a storm's coming before the first drop of rain. He burned them out to make room for the railroad, called it collateral damage. "Why did you not kill him?" "Because I wanted to." And if I started killing everyone I wanted dead, I'd never stop.
He looked at her. So I ran, built this place, tried to bury what I was. And it worked, until you showed up. Ayla was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, I am sorry.