Three

by Kristen Simmons

  Billy raised the gun overhead. He fired once. Twice. The sound shattered the silence. Nearby birds took flight, their wings making a jumbled thwap sound. I hadn’t realized I’d ducked until the warm mud oozed between my fingers. Rebecca whimpered somewhere behind me.

  “Put it down, Billy,” ordered Chase.

  “Or what?” Billy’s voice was eerily calm. He did lower the gun, but there was something different about him, something that gave me chills.

  He placed the gun in his waistband and gave me a strange look, as if I were the crazy one because I was on the ground.

  No one asked him for the gun.

  “You’re nuts, you know that, Fats?” asked Jack. He cracked a smile for the first time since before the tunnels had fallen. “You would have liked it in Chicago.”

  “Yeah,” Rat said with a nod. “Yeah, he would have.”

  We moved on.

  CHAPTER

  4

  IT was just after sunset when the second transmission came through. We had practically collapsed in the small clearing, collectively famished and exhausted. I’d tried to connect with the mini-mart again, but no one had answered. Either the battery in their radio had finally crashed, or they’d simply turned it off to save power.

  When the blinking red light on the transceiver turned green, the others jumped into action. They gathered around where I knelt, creating a canopy of faces that looked down on me expectantly. With a surge of adrenaline, I unraveled the cord to the handheld microphone, dialed the knob to the correct frequency, and pressed the RECEIVE TRANSMISSION button.

  “Go ahead. We’re all here.”

  A wave of static came over the line.

  “Is it too redneck to say you look sexy operating a radio?” Chase said quietly enough so that only I could hear. I was glad to see some of the worry erased from between his brows.

  “You should see what I can do with a nightstick.”

  He smirked, both of us remembering the time I’d clocked him in the side while swinging blindly to defend us from thieves. The expression disappeared as Tucker’s voice came over the line.

  “Find anything yet?”

  The marshland was alive with the buzz of insects and the croaking of frogs, and the others tightened the circle around the radio and me so they could hear.

  I pressed the button on the microphone. “Not yet. Did you get to Grandma’s house?”

  “They should be in Virginia,” said Chase. “That’s where they said they were heading first. Somewhere near Roanoke.” Sean nodded.

  “Yeah. But she’s not home.”

  The anxiety settled over us, heavy and palpable. My mind flashed to the Wayland Inn burning, to the Chicago tunnels bombed. Was our team’s first stop already discovered, or was there simply no one there?

  “What’s that mean, not home?” asked Jack. He gestured for me to hurry up. “Ask already.”

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  “Not sure,” Tucker answered. “The house is still there, but no one’s inside. Our friend with the dental problems went to ask some questions.”

  “Truck,” said Jack. “That has to be who he’s talking about.” Truck, the big musclehead carrier we’d met in Chicago, was missing a few of his front teeth. He and Jack were friends.

  “How long has he been gone?” I asked. Chase nodded his encouragement.

  There was a long pause. So long I thought maybe the line had been disconnected.

  “Awhile. He said he’d be back by now. The other driver went to look for him.”

  Tubman, the other carrier who we’d met in Knoxville. This seemed like a bad plan—Truck and Tubman were the people who carried messages between the resistance posts. If they were gone, the rest of the team wouldn’t know where to go.

  “Something’s wrong,” said Rat.

  “Any signs of trouble?” I asked.

  Another pause.

  “Got to go,” Tucker said hurriedly. “I’ll call tomorrow at dawn.”

  “Wait. What’s going on?”

  The line went dead. After a moment, I let the microphone fall into my lap. For a few seconds, no one said anything, then everyone spoke at once.

  “Should have gone with them,” Jack was saying.

  “Bad idea,” said another guy. “They’ll be strung up for this, you know they will.”

  I had a sick feeling in my stomach. Chase took the microphone from my lap and wound the cord around the handle.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  He shook his head, his expression dark. “I think we need to move on.”

  He was right; exhausted as we were, it did no good sitting around stewing over Tucker’s call. We had to press on, even if it was only to verify there was no one who’d survived. We had to get back to the mini-mart. People were still depending on us. I kept the radio close though, just in case Tucker decided to call back.

  At the end of the clearing was a raised walkway—left over from the national park—that crossed over a marsh to the woods on the other side. The boards were rickety, missing in chunks, and the handrails were mostly disintegrated.

  Billy climbed the first step. It groaned beneath his weight.

  “Hey, Fats,” said Jack. “Send a lightweight to test the bridge. You break it, no one’s getting across.”

  Billy stepped back, grinning. “Rat, you’re up.”

  Something stirred in the water. When I held my breath I swore I could hear the snap of jaws.

  Rat swore. “Why don’t we just go around?”

  “Scared the swamp monster’s gonna get you?” chided Billy.

  “Bunch of babies.”

  It was Rebecca that had spoken. She pushed between Billy and Sean and hoisted herself up the steps, relying mostly on her braces. Sean went after her, but when he grabbed her arm she shook him off.

  “See?” She was breathing hard when she reached the top, and shoved the sweaty hair back from her forehead. “It’s fine.”

  I bounced on my heels, waiting for Sean to follow, but he didn’t. He grumbled something I couldn’t make out, but stayed put as she took a few careful steps out over the water.

  I wanted her to stop, for someone else to do this. It was risk enough without her stiff legs and uneven gait; she wasn’t even strong enough to react if her footing gave way. This wasn’t the right time to prove herself, and I was just about to go after her myself when I saw the grim determination in her face. She needed this.

  It took a great deal of restraint to hold myself back. I scarcely breathed as I watched her take each careful step over the rickety boards. She made it ten feet, then twenty, and then went farther, and farther, until she was halfway across. There, she stumbled, and I bit down hard on my lower lip as one leg fell through a gap to her knee. A board came loose and splashed into the water below, but before any more followed, she caught herself on the braces, and hoisted herself back up. She took another step, as if it had never happened.

  I almost cheered. Somehow this had become a test, and she was beating it.

  “Looks like gimpy’s useful after all,” said Jack.

  “Yeah, as gator bait,” snickered Rat. Billy’s shoulders jostled as he laughed along.

  I was so infuriated that I didn’t see Sean lunge across me to tackle Jack until it was too late.

  Too late to shove myself out of the way, I was sideswiped by a stray punch and fell back, scraping my hands on the pebbly ground. Beside me, Sean pummeled Jack with his fists, his face contorted with rage. When Chase tried to intervene, Rat and one of the others shoved him off to the side, and soon they were shoving each other, exchanging heated words.

  “Stop!” I tried to rise but a scream, high and terrified, drew my attention back to the bridge to where Rebecca was now fifty yards out. I feared she’d fallen, but she was still upright—at least until a moment later, when she collapsed against the boards and curled into a ball.

  “Rebecca!” I called, but Sean had already detached himself from Jack and was scrambling up
the stairs. I followed him up the first two steps before the wood bowed and gave way beneath his right foot. He grabbed the guard rail, barely staying upright. Pieces of mushy wood splashed in the water, eight feet below him.

  Rebecca screamed again, and my blood ran cold.

  Something was wrong. From where I was I could see her, hugging an upright post, her head down close to the deck. A moment later a crack split the air; its reverberations slapped off the water.

  Someone was shooting at us.

  “Ambush!” I heard Jack yell. I tore my horrified gaze away from Rebecca, stuck on the walk, to search for Chase in the sudden commotion behind me. I couldn’t find him.

  Male voices, raised in confusion, belted out conflicting orders. Ducking low, I sprinted back toward the woods, dropping the bag with the radio in my rush to find cover. Rat, face pale with panic, shoved past me, sprinting down the trail in the direction we’d come. I dove behind a fallen tree, and flipped onto my belly to peer out from beneath it. Chase was across the clearing, back pressed to a tree trunk. His gun was drawn and his face tilted skyward, and I braced myself for the possibility that the MM had found us and sent their bombs.

  There was too much coverage from the canopy of leaves for a clear view of the darkening sky. The shadows had grown long and deep and played tricks on my mind.

  Gunshots followed, yanking my gaze back to the ground. Three, in quick succession: Pop! Pop! Pop!

  Rebecca screamed again. Sean was trying to crawl toward her, but he was too heavy—the planks beneath him kept breaking.

  “Hold on!” he shouted to her.

  I was light enough to follow her; it had to be me.

  I strained my eyes for any sign of our attackers. Was it soldiers? We could have come across anyone here in the swamps—holdouts from the evacuation, refugees, even the survivors. In the failing light no one would be able to see anything. I cursed Billy for firing his gun earlier in the afternoon. He’d given our attackers the advantage. He’d drawn whoever it was right to us.

  In the clearing our belongings were scattered across the ground. Billy lay in the center, curled in a ball, arms wrapped around his head. Jack had ducked behind the walkway’s broken steps. He fired his weapon in the direction of the swamp.

  The reeds were moving, the water rippling to the shore. The whole marsh seemed to bend to the breeze making it impossible to tell where our attackers hid, but from the sound of the sloshing water they were close, maybe twenty yards away. Moving closer by the second.

  And then a black, shapeless shadow clinging to a support beam below the bridge burst over the edge of the deck and wrapped itself around Sean. I made out the figure of a man, and the flash of something metal, but before I could scream for Sean to watch out he dragged them both into the swamp with a huge spray of water. There was a struggle, and the black murky shell bubbled and churned, and finally went still. Sean didn’t surface.

  I opened my mouth to call his name, but no sound came out. One breath, two, and I heaved myself up. Something whizzed by, implanting in the dirt right in front of me, and I staggered back. I looked down, but all I could see was a small gray pebble.

  I hit the ground hard, Chase’s body sheltering mine.

  “Get back,” he growled in my ear.

  A male cry, and from under Chase’s arm I saw a body fall. Jack. In his surprise, he released the gun, which went skidding across the ground in my direction. He landed on his side. A knife was lodged in his leg, and he grimaced at it for one full second before baring his teeth and pulling it free with a grunt and the sickening sound of tearing skin.

  The light was fading, aiding the ambush. The hollow clacking of reeds came from the water and was met by the crash of breaking branches behind us in the woods.

  Two, then three shadowed bodies sprung from the bushes and leaped on Jack, taking him by surprise. Our attackers were shrouded in dark clothes, their faces caked with mud so that they blended with the night. One kicked him hard in the chin and he fell back, out cold.

  We were surrounded.

  Chase leaped up and ran toward the water, where a limp figure was being dragged through the brush at the shoreline. I thought I caught a glimpse of the blue printed T-shirt Sean had been wearing earlier. A moment later there was a splash, and Sean was crawling weakly toward dry ground.

  Rebecca’s name ripped from my throat, but was met with no response.

  Grabbing Jack’s arm, I tried to pull him backward into the trees, but he was too heavy. Desperately, I crawled forward, fingers digging through the sand for his gun. It had to be close—I’d seen it fly this way. Someone jumped over me. A second later Billy cried out in pain.

  My hands closed around something thin and metallic. Not the gun—my fork.

  And then I froze. A cold, blunt barrel pressed against the back of my head. Legs straddled me, boots near my hips.

  “Get up.”

  I gripped the fork tightly. My gut turned to ice.

  A fist wound into the back of my shirt, and heaved me up like I weighed no more than a child, the man’s thick forearm wedged under my chin, momentarily cutting off my air supply. A bright white frame outlined my vision. I gasped.

  “Hold!” he called into the dark. Something muffled his words; did he wear a mask? I could feel the stoop in his posture—he had to be a foot taller than me. He smelled rank—of mud and sewage.

  I turned the fork in my grasp. Points down.

  Gradually the fighting stalled. My captor must have been their leader.

  “Why are you following us?” he asked.

  I bucked against him and tried to tuck my chin beneath his arm. “Get your hands off—”

  His grip tightened.

  “Survivors,” I gasped. “We’re looking … for survivors … from the bombs…”

  “Let her go.”

  I could see only Chase’s shadow, but knew the sound of a slide chambering a round.

  My captor twitched. “Come closer,” he said.

  “Shoot him,” rasped Jack. “Shoot him now!” He huffed as someone hit him in the gut.

  Chase took a step forward, the roll of his boots over crackling leaves deafening to my ears.

  “Let her go.”

  I couldn’t see his face, so I knew he couldn’t see mine. My only hope was that he would be ready.

  I lifted my arm, and with all my strength slammed the fork down into the man’s hip. With a grunt of pain he released me and fell back, and in that second Chase charged and took him to the ground.

  They scrapped, rolled, a black mass of shadows in a night gone quiet. With a sharp intake of breath, Chase was thrown to the dirt beside me. For a moment I thought he’d been injured—he didn’t rise. He didn’t move. He leaned back on his elbows, eyes wide with shock.

  The man rose before us, taller than Chase, gripping his hip with a wince. His clothing and skin were painted with mud; his eyes were glowing black beads. In his hand was a screwdriver, not a gun. The blunt end protruded from his fist.

  Hot blood spiked through my veins. I crouched low, ready to pounce, eyeing the fork still lodged in the side of his thigh as it bobbed with each tiny movement of his leg. He removed it with a hiss and dropped it on the ground.

  With the back of his hand the man yanked down the filthy bandana that now hung crookedly off of one ear. A clean patch of skin was exposed, gleaming with sweat.

  My mouth gaped open.

  A twisting snake tattoo stretched from the right side of his collar to just below his jaw, and though it had been years since I’d seen his face, it was one I would never forget.

  “Did you stab me with a fork?” asked Chase’s uncle.

  CHAPTER

  5

  “CHASE can stay with us. He doesn’t even know you!”

  My mother’s grip tightened around my shoulders. She breathed out my name, almost a warning but too soft.

  “He knows me, don’t you, nephew?” Chase’s uncle leaned against our living room wall as if to hold it up. He pr
obably could, too. He was big enough. “I came to your birthday party.”

  Chase stood in front of the couch, where he’d been for the last fifteen minutes, since Jesse had arrived. He was still wearing the green T-shirt he’d had on when the cops had told him his parents and sister had been in an accident, two days ago. It was wrinkled now; the collar was all scrunched up.

  “I was five,” he mumbled, staring at the feet that had grown two sizes since summer. “That was nine years ago.”

  “Well. Time flies when you’re having fun.” Jesse flicked back his long, loose hair, and beneath it appeared the black ink tattoo of a snake, twisting up his neck.

  I stared at it. “Chase’s mom said you went to jail.”

  “Ember.” My mother tried to pull me back, but I jerked away and attached myself to Chase’s lanky arm. He looked down at me with a small smile, but the arm I was holding tightened against his body as I squeezed.

  Jesse grinned. Grinned like I was funny or something. It made my stomach hurt. I didn’t like him at all.

  My mother cleared her throat. “We’re both attached to Chase, Mr. Waite. We’d be happy to work something out so he can finish school with his friends.”

  Jesse snorted. “No offense, lady, but he’s better off with family.”

  * * *

  CHASE and Jesse stared at each other, just as shocked at finding each other as I was.

  “What are you doing here?” I finally blurted.

  This seemed to snap Jesse out of his trance, and he gave a quick order to his team to withdraw.

  His dark eyes found mine. They were similar to Chase’s in shape, but hard and cold. His hair was still long, and matted with mud and twigs, as if he’d lived out in the wilderness for years.

  “I know you,” he said. “You’re the neighbor girl.”

  The neighbor girl. I wished I still had the fork.

  He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts and offered Chase a hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Chase took it, and found himself smashed in Jesse’s embrace. His arms hung loosely at his side, then surrounded his uncle’s back, not quite touching him.

  “My nephew!” Jesse called into the now silent night. I stood by awkwardly as Jesse pulled Chase back and laughed. “You came. You remembered.”