It was midnight when I saw Peter Gauthier last, hard rain swept against the autumn pacific breeze, cold and shivering as I stared at his second-story window, begging him on the phone that he should come out and talked to me. I guessed I had hoped for some reassurance—that we would be okay—and people like Carson, or Natalie, or even Logan Hardy could not come between what we had.

Perhaps I was delusional, thinking my life had finally grasped the kind of romance as I had seen in the movies, but Peter was the one who understood how the world worked all along.

I remembered how he opened the window in his gray shirt and jeans, eyes red and puffy. I remembered how my heart swelled that finally, after days without a word, without seeing him wandering the halls of our school, I got to see him at last.

He did not say anything.

He didn't have to; I knew the look of someone who did not want anything to do with me anymore. The next day, I learned that he was moving out east for some military boarding school, unfollowing all my social media profiles, cutting me out in the cold like that night without a word and a goodbye.

The split-second image swarmed my mind as I stared at the behemoth standing in front of me. I couldn't believe it was Peter at all. He had changed the past year and a half drastically. His muscles had filled, his chest had broadened, his face had hardened yet distant, no longer the shy, skinny tall kid who sat at the back of the class, well-liked by everyone, even the popular kids. I swore he had grown a head taller than the last I remembered him, making me doubt my sanity. This couldn't be him.

"Watts," Peter whispered.

It was him.

"When I saw Aria back there, mentioning some friends, I thought, man, what luck, huh? Karma has found my way at last. But I thought it'd be that ball-headed dick Carson, or that bitch Natalie, or even that asshole-shmuck Logan. I didn't realize it'll be you following me. It's kind of a bummer."

I caught my jaw off the ground, trying to maintain my composure. "Um, surprise, I guess."

"I never imagine you to be friends with Aria Cho. You hanging with them now? After what they did? You have some bullshit amnesia or something?" He seethed.

"I never forget. Why would I?"

"Good. I'm glad we're on the same page then. Are they here with you? I know your mom's an alumnus from Columbia, so I assume you guys came from New York. That's some superpower luck, escaping the bombs."

"You can't distract me."

"Well, Nat's been going on and on about going to Columbia U. over Insta, same with Carson, so, I assume they're here. They haven't posted an update for weeks now. I didn't realize it was because they're quarantined."

"They're dead."

"Ah, that sucks. Sick people got to them?"

I didn't answer.

He shrugged. "Well, they got what they fucking deserve, at least. You know, they're the ones who posted that video that almost ruined my life, so I hope they died very painfully. But it just fucking sucks that here I am, so eager to reunite with good old Carson and Logan again so that I can finally punch them on the face until they bleed and beg right on my feet. Ha! I've dreamt over that every day. That, and also slice off Natalie's perfectly smug face—her pride and glory. Ha! What a bitch."

I shifted on the spot. If Logan heard all of this, I didn't know what he would do if he were here. Peter seemed eager to carve him a new one. I realized he held tighter to grudges more than I did. "I've never known you for a sadist," I said.

"People change. You learn a thing or two about yourself when your so-called friends betray you and push you far enough. Or when your own family looks down on you that they fucking shipped you off to conversion therapy disguised as a military school, and never even had the audacity to ask how I felt."

I had no words. However, he was wrong with the latter. I was there, waiting, but he didn't bother to talk to me.

Peter continued, "Well, it turns out packing a bunch of guys together in the middle of nowhere is one long gay year of self-discovery."

"Um, uh, I'm proud of you?"

Peter let out a chuckle. "Ha! I miss that. Your ...wit. You know, your voice still rings in my head every time I think about your mouth wrapped around my cock."

I winced, gritting my teeth. "No, thank you? Now that I think about it, I've had better."

"You're a funny man," he said. "But I'm a soldier now, and orders are orders. Every civilian must be within the city walls or the refugee camps. Martial Law. I have to take you and your group in."

My grip on the knife tightened, and somehow, under the moonlight, he had caught my movement, giving him plenty of time to dodge my throw with a quick duck to the left. The knife landed clean on the bark of the tree behind Peter. I hissed a slew of curses, thinking: Now you stuck the landing? Fuck physics.

"What the fuck, Watts!" Peter gasped.

I only had a second to react, and I barreled toward him. Peter jerked back, not anticipating the charge. He was a good six strides away, but Peter was faster than I thought. I did not want to shoot him yet, needing it to be a clean shot, and he did well keeping himself out of sight. If he dodged the first bullet, the other soldiers would be on our location with me pinned to the ground. I couldn't have that. I still had my hand around the pistol's trigger.

I rounded the tree he had jumped and hidden behind, also sprinting right at me and almost catching a fist right on my cheek. I crouched down, felt the air where his fist had swung an inch above my head. I threw an upper punch where I knew it hurt most. My open palm connected to his crotch, heard his muffled yelp as he drew backward, but I must've missed the right jewels because he recovered quickly.

"You flying son of a—!"

"Shit!" I ducked another punch.

I lost my pistol in the scuffle. He tried to throw a fist, also a slap, but I kept my mind light on my feet. As long as he did not hit me, I was still in the game, but my time would eventually run out for a clever approach. I could not take him down by dodging all night when he could quickly call for backup. I needed to keep his mind preoccupied with me long enough to find an opening.

He threw another punch, and it caught my shoulder. I stumbled, regained my balance as my heels dug deep into the earth. That wasn't a hard punch he threw. Was he holding back? Why? Couldn't he see I'm trying to hurt him? He might be testing me.

No matter. If Peter was having doubts, I could use that to my advantage.

He drew his rifle, pointing toward me.

So, that's how it is? I grinned. He was going to threaten me with a bullet instead. Well, I am not going to grovel on the feet of Peter Gauthier.

Those pathetic days were over.

I sneered and lunged forward. Too late to judge the distance and weighing my chances, but I was thankful I caught the barrel just in time before he had his finger on the trigger. I pushed it against his chest, the stock and barrel digging into his torso. We wrestled, his fingers loosened away from the trigger. With my added weight, he faltered, his back slammed against the maple tree, acorns and twigs falling against our heads and shoulders.

I caught the knife lodged on the tree's trunk three inches from his head. I put all my weight with my other arm, pushing the rifle on his chest harder, while I took the knife's hilt with the other.

I swiftly pulled out the blade, drew my hand back, and brought it down toward Peter's head. A split dodge and the blade sank back inside the trunk an inch where Peter's right eye used to be; the maple sap started leaking out of the hole, down to the hilt's blade.

Peter grunted. Perhaps he thought I wouldn't dare do it. Well, he did not know me at all. Just like him, I had become a new man, a different person than he remembered. Right now, he was the enemy, no matter what our history, and we both knew we had to do the same thing against each other. People can change in a year, am I right, Peter? No. He was not the Peter I grew up with, nor the man I used to like. He was different.

I tried to pull the blade out, but it dug in too deep, and I realized I couldn't pull it out in time when Peter's mustering his strength.

Peter saw it, too. Eyes narrowed, lips widening into a grin, and I surmised he was no longer holding back.

His hands slumped against the rifle, catching me by surprise when he feigned to grab his own knife sheathed at his belt, thinking that he might shank my open right side and stabbing my kidney. That would be a death sentence. I turned to protect my right, but that was all he needed.

He grabbed my collar, and with the rifle thrown free to the ground, he brought his knee up to my stomach.

I curled inward, swore as the wind was knocked off of me. My hands both reached out, grabbing fistfuls of his uniform, but I couldn't do anything, pitifully throwing fists that he easily dodged. I thought he might drop an elbow on my back, but Peter lurched forward, wrapping his big hands around my throat, and took me off my feet.

I was right. Peter was strong, and I struggled against his grip, thought the oxygen was quickly slipping out of me. Was this it? Was he going to choke me out of unconsciousness?

My weight suddenly shifted. Air rushed down my throat, and I found my world spinning as he carried me down onto the ground.

My back slammed against the undergrowth, twigs, dried leaves, and dirt sticking against my uniform and my back. We were heaving and grunting with me sprawled on the ground while Peter sat on one knee and the other pressed against my chest. We swore and threw punches, but he still had an arm—one hand!—around my throat while he did all he could with the other to knock me out. White spots filled my vision, and I had to bring my arms against my side to protect my head.

Peter lifted me back, slamming me against the earth again, hoping it would disorient me. My grip slipped away from his arms, trying desperately to pry his fingers around my throat. I wanted to breathe.

Peter suddenly let out a roar.

In my haze, I managed to grab one of his curled fingers and pulled. I didn't entirely break it, but the quick pull managed to knock and overwhelm his senses.

I snapped back into attention, trying to remember the few spars I had with my dad about what to do. I was in a chokehold, in the supine position, and I needed the attacker off of me fast. What do I do?

In a split second, I saw his throat, the arm connected to my throat, his slightly bent elbow, and his open wrist.

It became clear.

I saw his open neck and shoulders, how he tried desperately to arch his back, putting his face far away from my nails. I couldn't reach that far with my arms, but I still had my legs free. I might not be able to throw a strong punch, but my legs were a different matter.

I swung both my legs over, raising my hips upward, and swiftly wrapped my legs around his neck and shoulders, carrying out a triangle chokehold. If my legs were more muscular and stronger, I could break his neck in this position right now, but I doubt I'd be able to do it.

Try.

Fuck it. I heard my dad inside my head, "Think of your legs like scissors, Bren. Now squeeze."

I squeezed my thighs.

Hard.

Peter's face contorted from the quick shut of his airways, shocking his system, but the fuzzy feeling would go away quickly. As I surmised, I wasn't strong enough for the job. He tried to stand up from his crouch, thought running away from my grip would give him a chance. I realized he was trying to shake me off, but I'm not letting him. He was tall, and he could easily lift me off the ground again, and my legs' hold around his neck would slip.

I needed to make a move.

With an open palm, I cuffed his bent elbow upward. Elbows were a complex hinge joint and allowed greater flexion but an inferior extension, especially when his arms were on slight pronation. An upward force was enough to stress injury on the joint. It's basic anatomy, and I'm glad I paid attention to biology.

Peter let out a painful sob.

His grip around my throat eased, and I grinned. I quickly unwrapped my right leg off of his throat as Peter let out a hacking wheeze. I buried the sole of my boot on the earth with my right leg and used it for support to push my entire body off the ground, bringing my other knee against his torso. I arched my back, drawing my head farther and farther from his loosening fingers.

His grip finally loosened. As he's forced to lean forward, I slapped hard against his ear, disorienting him, and then pulled on his earlobe like yanking a keychain.

He cried out. "Ahh! Fuck!"

I pushed off the ground again, letting go of his ear as I swiftly grappled around his wrist and his elbow and hauled him into the air, rolling over upside down. Arms flopping, already falling, Peter had no enemy but gravity, and it had become my ally.

I spun around, fists clenched, and quickly pounced on him, bringing my weight on his torso. I sat on his chest, not allowing his arms to have any free rotation in this position, my knees blocking his elbows. Peter panted underneath me, deciding to bring his arms over his head to counter my blows.

I grabbed the pistol in his holster, pulled it out, and switched the safety off.

I jammed the barrel below his chin.

"Move, and I'll shoot," I said.

I didn't expect Peter to smile. I had cut his upper lip, and he licked the seeping blood out of the wound. He smacked his lips like he had put on lipstick.

I rested my boots on both of Peter's sprawled arms, pinning his hands to the ground.

He said hoarsely, "you haven't been on top of me for a long time, have you?" It took me aback how calm he was about the situation.

"Shut the bullshit."

"Wow, the universe must be laughing at us. What are the chances, huh? Maybe we are meant for each other, Brendan James Watts."

I winced. What the fuck is wrong with you? "I said, shut it. The way I see it, you have two choices: You can help me out, or I can make this a lot worse for you." I drew the blade and rested it just below his balls.

Peter didn't even flinch.

"What was that move you just made?" He asked me suddenly.

"Peter, you're not the one with the gun and a knife here. Shut up."

"No, I wanna know. That was cool what you did. You seemed to have improved immensely. Did your dad teach you that? Back then, you can't wrestle me to the ground."

Brazilian Jiu-jitsu, I wanted to tell him, but I kept my lips sealed. I hardened my jaw instead, trying hard not to blow off on him.

"Well, it was impressive. I thought you told your daddy you wanted to be a doctor instead of a soldier. It's funny finding you wearing Miller's uniform. It suits you."

He was different from the Peter I remembered. He was not this aloof and apathetic. What had they done to him? He was trying to put me off, I realized, letting my mind get distracted to read the tag on my uniform, but I never left my eyes off of his own. I pressed the gun's barrel harder.

"No bullshit. I mean it," I said. I took the earbuds attached to his ear, fished out the CB radio from his pocket, and threw it off to the side. I also picked up his knife and carried it with my other free hand.

"Tell me how many you are, the weapons you have, and I might let you live. You've got Payne and Haskell. Then, Ramos and a guy that starts with a K. How many?"

Peter looked surprised when I mentioned their names, but he wasn't biting. "I know you, Watts. You're not going to shoot me."

"Unfortunately for you, I'm not the same guy who sucked you off three times a week. That boy's long gone. So, spill."

He shrugged. "Shoot me, then. They'll know your location, and my men will make your friends miserable. You're alone out here. Your rescue attempt failed."

"I'm not alone."

"Then, where are the others? You'll take me down a lot faster with more people, but I don't hear anything. Strange."

"Shut. Up."

"But it still doesn't change the fact that you could be infected. You're inside the red zone, which means I have to take you and your friends to the refugee camp. It's safer that way."

"You know what the camps are like. It's a shit show. We're better off here."

"But you want to be inside the walls, else why camp out here when you can just drive out west," Peter said, and his smile widened. "Ah. But You know the rest of the army will be waiting for you there, so you have a better chance getting out through Albany."

"Shut up, of course, we do!" He's trying to gouge me, prying for mistakes. I focused more on him, his body, and any movements he made. "And if you can help us with that, then we'll appreciate it—from a friend to another."

"Bullshit. Why would I help you when you swore you'll pop me right here?"

"Then, be. Fucking. Useful. For once in your life," I hissed.

"What's the rush? The waiting time by the gates too long for you?" He sneered mockingly. "I could make an exception for you."

I snorted. "I don't think your buddies will take it kindly if you are gay. They want women more in their little harem."

"Oh, quite the contrary. They know I'm bisexual. West Point is open like that. As long as I'm stronger than them, they'll leave me be. Plus, they're very open to the concept that a hole is a hole."

"Still, no, thank you. Unlike you, I've seen the infected. They're coming."

"I'll deal with it when I see it."

"Oh my god, could you please take this fucking seriously!"

"It was a code, you know," he said, changing the subject and still unbothered by my threats.

I paused. "What code?"

"Feigned search; 1-minute distance. Never have a man alone in the dark. That's the rule."

My eyes widened as his smile grew bigger.

"If I were you, Watts, I'd start running."

I realized our conversation was a play; Peter was buying time.

A twig snapped from our north, and a flashlight blinded my vision.

Shit.

"Freeze!" Haskell shouted.

I grabbed hold of Peter's collar and brought him to his knees, his back acting like a shield. With my position compromised, Peter freed his hands from my weight and grabbed me. I twirled the gun around and brought the butt of the grip on his head. Peter slumped forward, unconscious, letting out a soft moan. He was still alive as I caught his fall.

Haskell couldn't shoot me without also hitting his squadmate. But Peter was heavy, and I almost lost my balance as I took a cautious step back.

"I said, freeze, asshole! Hold your ground!" The soldier screamed. "Pete! You alright? Talk to me."

Peter didn't respond.

I realized Haskell was alone, with Payne probably hanging back and guarding the others. I didn't want to use the gun, but I had no choice. Stealth was no longer the game. I raised the pistol, too late to aim, and fired blankly. The bullet hit the ground just behind the soldier, who ducked quickly into the bushes. I shot there twice, hoping I'd hit him. The gunshots would alert the others, but I wished I still had time to get to Payne before this Ramos and the other guy came running and overwhelming me.

I needed to take care of Haskell.