The table creaked as Saul rested his weight on it. His hands were clenched together as he processed what was just told to him. His eyes twitched and stared to the ground; his breathing becoming shallow.

            Witch responded only with a seething glare. Underneath her mask, her lips spread into a scowl. Her claws resting in front of her, raked the wood as her hands balled into fists.

Angel looked genuinely hurt; her worried expression downcast, unable to meet her friends. Her hands met together and rested on her lap where they began to fiddle with the yarn of her sweater.

Stitches realized he didn’t ease them into the news easy enough, “Listen, it won’t be like last time, it’s just a short trek. The ash raiders from that night are mostly dead right?”

No one responded.

“That night was a fluke, normal raiders never group up in numbers that big. Think of the advantage we’ll get going first while everyone’s still recovering!”

Again, the table was quiet.

Stitches sighed, “I promise, we won’t be in a situation like that again.”

“How the hell would you know?” Witch’s voice shook, “You don’t know a thing about the ruins, none of us do!” her thumb began carving its way into the table as she contained herself, “The only thing we learned, is that we’ll all die by the hands of monsters as we exhaust ourselves in a hopeless struggle.”

“Don’t say that!” Saul gulped back tears, “We aren’t dying…”

“Tsk,” Witch looked even angrier, “You aren’t brave, you’re a delusional coward,” her antennae shook as she became more agitated, “You’ll die like one too, with tears and snot covering your face when you finally understand.”

“Bullshit!” Stitches stood, his hands shaking the table as they slammed down onto it, “I was skewered through the chest by a spear that night,” he pulled his shirt down to show the scar Angel mended, “while I was staining the ash below me with my blood, I saw all of you. I saw you struggling against the grip of death that had all but consumed you.”

Angel looked up confused; she wasn’t paying attention until the sudden shake.

“You think normal people can do what you did out there? You think normal people can fight through pain and exhaustion to latch onto a world that wants them dead? We aren’t people who die! We proved it that night! We survived that ordeal and we’ll keep surviving! We spit in the face of shit like logic and fate!”

Saul’s voice tiredly interjected, “We got lucky, nothing more,” he glanced at Witch before returning his gaze to his hands, “If that truck hadn’t come through, what would we have done?”

Stitches, “We would’ve killed them all ourselves.”

Saul’s expression soured, “Don’t give me that shit.”

“Then why the hell did you jump off the fence with me?”

His brow furrowed; he didn’t have an answer.

“You telling me you intended to give up and die with your grip locked so tightly around those swords?”

“I jumped because I didn’t want to leave my friends,” Angel interrupted, “Are you sure we’re friends?” her voice quietly forced out the words, “Do friends make decisions like this without even asking us first?” Her eyes locked onto Stitches ready to analyze his response.

Already prepared for Angel trying to read him, Stitches walked to the kitchen preventing her from seeing his face, “Don’t get me wrong, we don’t have a choice,” He lied as he collected some glasses and juice for the table, “I was hoping to soften the blow.”

He didn’t want to use that card but she forced his hand.

Angel strained her ears as she stared at his back. She sighed and turned back, unsuccessful in detecting his lie, “You could’ve at least tried to get us more time…”

“You could’ve at least included us at all,” Witch’s mandibles flicked under her mask, “I’m great at negotiating with humans,” she pushed away the glass Stitches placed in front of her.

“You know how people are around here; everyone’s favorite game is screwing with someone below them in the hierarchy,” Stitches poured himself a glass, “Until we earn our way up, we’ll just have to deal with what’s given.”

“Unless we die,” Angels tone darkened, “How long do you really expect us to survive here? Maybe we should consider all of our options…”

Stitches didn’t want to acknowledge what she was suggesting, “I already told you, we’re not dying.”

“Logic dictates otherwise,” Angels eyes became serious, “None of us can tell the future, by simple chance we could all succumb to the ash.”

“I’m telling you, we won’t allow that to happen,” Stitches leaned onto the table, “I won’t allow it to happen.”

Angel combed her hair over her ear as her pupils analyzed his subconscious movements, “Prove it to us… Show us why we should trust you.”

Stitches procured his knife from his waist. It had been well polished and oiled, but the stain of ash and blood still darkened the original sheen.

The table cricked as he plunged it into the wood. He leaned forward causing the wood to crackle as the blade twisted in.

“We’re making a pact here and now. With it, we swear ourselves to each other, not just for survival, but to chase those dreams we shared at the bar.”

Saul stared at the knife, “That was just friendly conversation…”

“No, it wasn’t,” Stitches scratched away some burnt skin from his palm, “I could see it in your eyes when you described your feelings. None of you have any intention of living for the sole sake of drawing breath,” he averted his eyes, Unlike me, he thought.

Witch tugged at her hoodie, annoyed with herself at revealing something personal.

“With this contract, we take our cursed fate and turn it around. We live life to the fullest we can live it. We do it together.” The wood chipped as he pulled the knife away.

His fingers moved sluggishly gripping the knife. As the blade bit his skin, it shook with tension as he pulled it across. Blood spilled from a wound made deeper than intended.

Saul cringed at the apparent pain but Stitches hands were still quite numbed.

Angel gasped and reached forward to heal his injury.

Instead, Stitches placed the handle in her fingers, “With this we’ll be closer than siblings.”

She took the knife confused. Her brow furrowed as she pondered the dripping blade resting in her grasp. Her head turned up curiously towards Stitches as he responded with a nod.

She grimaced and held the blade in her fingers like a scalpel. She carefully and surgically drew a thin red line across her soft milky flesh. The crimson underneath slowly seeped up and began pooling in her palm.

Witch narrowed her eyes, “You two can’t be serious, you’re just making a mess.”

Saul took the knife next, his worried expression twitching as he tried to force it away. He brought the knife to his hand but hesitated. His eyes glanced to Angel and Stitches who stared contently back at him. His eyes closed and he began twisting the knife through his tough skin. When blood finally oozed from the wound, he pulled the edge through, opening a scar like the others. He smiled at his success and flipped the blade in his hand before presenting the handle to Witch.

 She sucked her teeth, “This is stupid, what the hell are you all thinking?” she mumbled taking the knife. She held it in her hands, her expression becoming rather meek. She looked back up towards expectant eyes and shrank back a bit. Not one to resist peer pressure, she sighed and stuck the edge through a split in her carapace.

“Ow,” she grunted as red began leaking from under the hand plate. She tossed the knife to the table, “Now what?” she whispered.

Stitches lay his hand across the table and gripped the others as they reached for it. His fingers crackled as they twitched into motion, squeezing the blood from the others together. Drips of crimson decorated the wood beneath them, pooling in the knife marks of the table.

“No matter what, we have each other’s backs,” he looked into the faces staring back at him, “No matter what, we make this life worth living.”