“You haven't thought that it might be overreacting?” he asked, mostly reasonably.
I scoffed, though. “It's never been wrong before,” I said shortly. “I learned pretty early on that when something smells wrong, it’s best to avoid it. And it’s saved my life more times than I can count.”
At that moment, a bullet flew through the windshield of the cherry-red little convertible we’d been driving—something we’d picked up after our last run-in with Sally and her gang. Another bullet followed in quick succession, and the windshield exploded in front of us, sending shards of glass flying in every direction.
Will and I both threw ourselves down into the space between the seats, him on top of me in a futile attempt to shield me from the flying glass. I could feel the stuff slicing at my skin, though, and remembered suddenly that he was already wounded. His shoulder and ribs were bruised pretty bad—which couldn’t be getting better with the sudden movement he’d just made.
We both became as still as we could, though, hardly daring to breathe as we listened to the air above us. Waiting. Wondering if there was going to be another shot. Instead, we heard that same voice we’d heard earlier.
“Get out of the fucking car,” it boomed through the tension. “Keep your hands above your head and we won’t shoot again. Make any funny moves, though, and we’ll take you both out without giving it a second thought.”
I paused for a beat, trying to figure out whether we actually had to do what the voice was saying. But it didn’t take long to go right back to the realization we’d come to about two minutes ago.
The realization that we didn’t actually have any choice. Yes, we had a gun and I knew at this point that I wouldn’t hesitate to use it. But those guys in front of us had freaking tanks. And I was guessing they had a whole lot more than one gun.
Guns that were probably a lot more powerful than the one I was packing. Tanks that could run us over in half a heartbeat if they wanted to.
“Right,” I murmured. “So, I guess we’re getting out of the car with our hands up.”
I felt Will huff. “It does seem like that’s the smartest option, here. I don’t know about you, but I don’t exactly want to die today. And my shoulder hurts. If those guys come with a doctor, I’d sure be happy to meet him. Or her.”
He was right; his shoulder was just one more reason to give ourselves up right now.
Even when my instincts were screaming about how dangerous it was to do so.
“On the count of three, then?” I said.
“On the count of three,” he answered.
He reached over, grabbed my hand, and gave it a squeeze, and in that squeeze I felt all the things he wasn’t saying. That this wasn’t perfect, but that it might keep us alive a little bit longer. That it might give us what we needed to actually find safety.
That no matter what else, we were in this together. Just like we had been for the last two days.
“One, two, three,” I muttered.
We both sat up, our hands on our heads, and slid out of the now-battered car, our eyes on the supposed military crew in front of us.
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ALSO BY K. M. FAWKES
ESCAPE THE DARK
Dark Tides
Fearful World
Into the Ruins
Caught in the Crossfire
Do or Die
ENTER DARKNESS
The Longest Night
Dead of Winter
The Survivors
Thin Ice
First Light
AT ANY COST
Survive The Dark
Fight For Everything
Bleak Horizons
Survival of The Fittest | Book 2 | Shallow Graves Page 15