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"You no eat people."
A-Fu drops the water bucket at my feet. Won't look at me. Dawn's just breaking, the whole camp moving like kicked ants—horses snorting, kids crying, someone yelling about a lost wheel bolt.
He saw me three nights ago. Blood all over my mouth.
"You eat people, I tell," he says. Mandarin. Quiet. "You understand?"
I swallow. "I understand."
He walks off.
I stand there like an idiot, hands shaking, waiting for him to turn around and shout it to the whole camp.
He doesn't.
"Mrs. Lim!" Garrett waves me over, red face shining with sweat. "Harness on the lead mule's fraying. You got time?"
I nod. Keep my head down. My English is bad enough that nodding works.
The mule tries to bolt the second I get close.
"Whoa, whoa!" Garrett grabs the lead, eyes narrowing at me. "What'd you do?"
"Nothing," I say.
"Mule see snake." A-Fu's suddenly there, coil of rope in hand, pointing at nothing. "There. I move already."
Garrett squints at the dirt. Shrugs. "All right. Mrs. Lim, just... stand back."
A-Fu stays between me and the animal until Garrett's gone.
Then he looks at me. Dead in the eye.
"Good," he says. Drops the rope. Walks away.
I finish the harness with hands that won't stop shaking.
---
We roll out an hour later. Twenty-three wagons heading west. I'm in the back of the Harpers' supply wagon, mending a torn saddle, trying to look useful.
Amy Tucker won't stop staring at me from the wagon ahead.
She's eight. All elbows and big eyes.
"Mrs. Lim?" She leans out, one hand on the frame. "You want some jerky?"
I shake my head.
"You didn't eat breakfast."
I shake my head again.
"You sick?"
"I'm fine," I say.
"You don't look fine. You look... pale."
Her father yells at her to sit down. She disappears.
I exhale. Except I don't need to breathe. The air just goes in and out because I tell it to. Like remembering how to walk after your leg falls asleep.
Everything works. Nothing feels right.
The wagon hits a rock. I don't sway. My balance is too good now.
That's another thing that's wrong.
---
Midday. We stop for water. I stay in the wagon.
Amy climbs in without asking.
"Hi."
I stare at her.
"My papa says you're from China. Is that far?"
"Yes."
"Is it pretty?"
I don't know how to answer that. The village I grew up in was rice fields and muddy roads. "Different," I say.
"Do you miss it?"
I should. I know I should.
But the only thing I miss is being alive. Being hungry for food instead of blood. Sleeping because I was tired, not because the sun makes my skin itch.
"Sometimes," I lie.
She pulls out a biscuit. "Here. You didn't eat."
I look at it. Smells like flour and lard and nothing. My stomach doesn't react.
"I'm not hungry."
"You gotta eat something."
"Amy!" Her father's calling. "Get over here!"
She leaves the biscuit on the crate. "You can have it later."
I throw it into the brush when no one's looking.
---
Dusk. Fires lit. Someone's cooking beans and salt pork. The smell makes my teeth ache.
I stay at the edge of camp, checking wheel spokes. The sky's going purple and red. I can see every shade, every shift. It's too much.
Footsteps behind me.
I already know who it is by the smell. Sweat and horse and tobacco.
Luke Hardee. Bounty hunter. Signed on two days ago. He's been watching me since.
"Mrs. Lim." His voice is slow. Careful. "Where'd your husband die?"
I blink. "Railroad."
"Which camp?"
"North." I wave vaguely. "Don't know name."
"You got papers?"
"Lost. In fire."
"Convenient."
He tips his hat. Walks off.
I stand there until my hands stop shaking.
---
Midnight.
Everyone's asleep except the watch. I slip out and head into the brush.
I need to feed. The rabbit blood from two nights ago is gone. I can feel the hunger sitting in my chest like a stone.
I find a jackrabbit near a dry creek bed. It doesn't hear me coming. I'm fast now. Faster than I should be.
I break its neck and drink.
It's not enough.
It's never enough.
I bury the body and head back.
That's when I see him.
A man. Lying on the ground near the supply wagons.
Not moving.
I freeze.
He's on his back. Arms spread. Eyes open. Staring at nothing.
I walk closer. Crouch down.
No wound. No blood on his clothes.
But his skin's gray. His lips are blue.
I touch his neck. Cold. Stiff.
I lean closer.
Sniff.
Nothing. No blood smell. Not even a trace.
My stomach drops.
Someone drained him.
"Hey!" A yell behind me. "Who's there?"
I stand up. Too fast.
The guard's running toward me, rifle up.
"I—"
He sees the body.
"Jesus Christ." His face goes white. "What the hell happened?"
I don't answer.
Because I don't know.
But I know one thing.
Whoever did this wasn't me.
And that means I'm not the only monster in this camp.
The guard's staring at me now. Rifle still raised.
"Step back," he says. "Slow."
I step back.
He moves closer to the body. Kneels down. Touches the man's neck.
"Cold," he mutters. "He's been dead a while." His eyes flick up to me. "What were you doing out here?"
"I heard something," I say. "I came to look."
"In the middle of the night."
"I couldn't sleep."
He doesn't believe me. I can see it in his face.
"Stay right there," he says. Stands up. Cups his hand around his mouth. "Garrett! We got a problem!"
Voices. Movement. Lanterns bobbing in the dark.
Garrett comes running, half-dressed, rifle in hand. Two more men behind him.
He sees the body. Stops.
"Who is that?"
"Tom Brewster," the guard says. "One of the drovers."
Garrett crouches down. Touches the man's face. His hand comes away and he wipes it on his pants like the cold is catching.
"What killed him?"
"Don't know," the guard says. "No wounds. Nothing."
Garrett looks at me. "You find him?"
I nod.
"You see anyone else?"
I shake my head.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
He stands up. Looks at the guard. "Get everyone up. I want a headcount. Now."
The guard runs off.
Garrett turns back to me. His eyes are hard. "You didn't hear anything? See anything?"
"No."
"Then what the hell were you doing out here?"
"I told him. I heard something. I came to look."
"In the middle of the night. Alone."
"Yes."
He stares at me for a long moment. Then he shakes his head. "Get back to your wagon. Don't leave it till I say."
I turn to go.
"Mrs. Lim."
I stop.
"You're a long way from home," he says. "And you don't talk much. Don't eat much. Don't sleep much." He steps closer. "I don't know what you are. But if I find out you had anything to do with this..."
He doesn't finish.
He doesn't have to.
I walk back to my wagon. Climb inside. Sit on the crate of nails and wait.
The camp's awake now. Voices everywhere. Lanterns swinging. Someone's crying.
I press my back against the wagon wall and close my eyes.
A-Fu was right.
I shouldn't have come here.
But it's too late now.
Because whoever killed Tom Brewster is still out there.
And when they find out I'm here—
When they smell me—
Footsteps. Right outside the wagon.
I open my eyes.
Luke Hardee's standing there. Hat tipped back. Eyes like flint.
"Mrs. Lim," he says. "We need to talk."