by Angel Lawson
“What did he say? Is he okay?”
“He’s with Cole. They’re looking into Hamilton and what this guy is all about. He said he’d find us when they know more.”
“It’s a big country, Wyatt. How are they going to find us out here?”
He moves his head so he’s looking at me and his nose brushes mine. His next words are against my mouth. “Do you think Cole will let you walk away like that? His radar on you may be stronger than mine.”
His words sting—as much from truth as anything else. I grip his side and speak louder than I should. “You know there’s nothing there, right? This isn’t some teenage love triangle.”
“I know how you feel about me. I think I even understand your relationship with Cole. Well, as much as I can. But whatever Chloe triggered in his head made him fixated on you. We can only use that damage for our own gain.”
I know he’s right, even though I feel an overwhelming sadness for Cole. The dream didn’t help. I shake off the mood and feel the scruff on Wyatt’s face. Two days in the Death Fields and the beard is growing back. I brush my fingers against his chin and pull his mouth to mine.
His kiss is hard and it takes me back to that night in our apartment, before the EVI-3. Before I killed Chloe. I like the way his hands push my hips against the tree but I pause, lifting my mouth from his. A tickle whispers in my ear—not him—but something deep in the forest.
“What?” he whispers.
“There’s something out there.”
“No. I checked.”
The hairs on my arms and neck rise in warning. This knowledge rides the high of adrenaline and the tug of accelerated instinct. I pull the gun from my boot and even though he doesn’t hear it—doesn’t sense it—Wyatt trusts me enough to follow. I take a step toward Zoe and nudge her with my boot. “Get up,” I whisper. “They’re coming.”
6
The girl isn’t quiet and she takes too long to get on her feet. Wyatt has her pack in his hand as she struggles with the laces on her shoes.
“What the hell?” he barks in a harsh whisper. “You never. Ever. Take off your shoes.”
This girl is going to get us killed.
It’s so bad, I think, grabbing her water bottle and pushing her after Wyatt, (who has already slipped further into the forest), that I wonder for the second time if that’s the plan.
Hamilton wants us dead.
True or not, they don’t know that the EVI-3 has lingering effects--which may include paranoia. I hear whoever is tracking us. I hear their every step, every leaf crunching beneath their boots, their breath and the smell of their sweat.
“They’re about a mile back but once they catch on to us it won’t take them long.”
Wyatt stops and we’re in a small cleared area. I can see his face better here. He’s thinking, plotting, and finally says, “We’ll wait here then. No use running if we’re going to get caught.”
“Wait for them?” Zoe asks. She’s breathing heavily. I hand her the water bottle.
Wyatt points to the nearest tree. It has a lower branch with a deep nook. “You’ll stay up there.”
She looks up at the tree. “And what are you doing? Getting killed while I watch?”
“Doing our job,” I whisper. “We’re bounty hunters. We don’t run. We hunt. You’re about to see what that means.”
The whites of Zoe’s eyes shine against the moonlight but Wyatt has already started to move. He stashes our bags in shrubbery and tucks another knife into his boot. He hands me a small gun that I push into the back of my pants. Despite her arguments, we hoist Zoe into the tree.
“Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.”
“What if they kill you? Do I at least get to arm myself?”
Wyatt blinks up at the girl. “You aren’t armed?”
“I left my gun in my backpack.”
“Jesus…” Wyatt curses and looks at me for help.
“Give her that extra knife. I’m not getting shot.” I pause. I haven’t had a chance to tell him yet who Zoe is and her relationship to Hamilton. “Well, at least not by her.”
He gives her the hunting knife and that seems to appease her. “Don’t drop it,” he warns. “Also, if you have to use it, go for the throat.”
The girl’s nose wrinkles in disgust but she seems content with the knife in her hand. I sigh and walk away from the tree. When we’re out of sight I stop and close my eyes. “They’re only about a half mile out. They should have found our campground. I think there are four of them. At least one female.”
“You can tell all of that?”
I nod, afraid of seeing his expression. Even though he didn’t want me to take the EVI-3, he hasn’t judged me since. “It’s like a feeling?” I try to explain. “Vibrations and smell.” I could break down how there are differences in the way the soldiers’ feet hit the ground or their scents, but I can tell he’s trying to be supportive and I don’t want to push my luck. “It’s weak though—nothing like what we experienced the night of the battle. And it’s not all the time. I don’t feel the heightened connection all the time, just occasionally, like maybe it’s connected to fear or—”
“Adrenaline,” he adds.
“Yes, I think so.”
There’s no time to analyze my body chemistry right now because the Hybrids are getting closer. Wyatt squeezes my hand before we split off, and I find the darkest spot possible and press my back against a tree.
The Hybrids move like animals, quick and agile. They’re focused like a hunter seeking prey. I listen and their footsteps go from being in a tight formation to slipping away from one another. They sense us ahead and plan on surrounding us in a tight circle. It’s a smart idea, but there’s a single flaw in their plan.
They don’t expect me.
I can’t see Wyatt in the dark but I hear his heartbeat. It’s steady—the man doesn’t get flustered. This moment, the blink before the battle, is when he’s at his best. He’s patient. Calm and calculated.
Wyatt’s heartbeat is dwarfed and comingled with the Hybrids’ as they approach. The super soldiers are the opposite—the jacked-up adrenaline makes their heart rates soar. The beat echoes in my ear like a drum and I do my best to focus on the other senses. The whisper of their feet over leaves. The swish of fabric. The sharp ting of their weapons. I count down in my mind, waiting…
Waiting.
Waiting.
A foot falls inches from mine and I squeeze the smooth, familiar handle of my hatchet with both hands. The Hybrid senses me a second late and there’s a brief second of realization.
“Yeah,” I say, lifting the hatchet over my head. “I see you.”
I step out of my hiding place and he’s caught a step off. That’s all I need to get first attack. Across the clearing, I hear Wyatt spring into action as I jab the butt of my hatchet into the Hybrid’s jaw. He fumbles and I flip the weapon, swinging the blade at his midsection.
The sharp metal catches fabric but he jumps back quick enough to avoid injury. My heel jabs into his foot and this time my blade catches his throat. His hands flail at his neck, blood seeping through his fingers. He falls to his knees and I tip him over with my foot before ripping the unused gun out of his hands.
I step over the body and find Wyatt fighting off two male Hybrids. I scan for the fourth but don’t find her. One Hybrid gets his hands around Wyatt’s neck, and the other unsheathes a massive blade. I aim the gun from my spot, something I never would have done before the injection and fire. The bullet zings through the air and both Hybrids turn in my direction while Wyatt slinks on his knees to the ground. The bullet buries into the head of one while Wyatt uses his leverage to flip the other over, stunning him before stabbing him in the heart. We make eye contact but a sharp cry echoes through the trees.
“Dammit,” Wyatt mutters.
We zig-zag through the trees, jumping over brush and fallen branches. Daybreak isn’t far away and the sky above had brightened enough that it’s easy to spot Zoe up in the tree. She’s on the
edge of the branch and not alone. The female Hybrid has scaled the tree and now sits in the crook.
“Don’t move,” I shout. The Hybrid doesn’t listen and there’s nowhere for Zoe to go but down. I shoot Wyatt a look. “I’m not letting Hamilton’s daughter get killed on the first night out here, got it?”
“Who’s what?” Wyatt asks, but he shakes his head. The understanding is clear. “I’ll give you a boost.”
He runs to the base of the tree and Wyatt gets down on a knee. I sprint as fast as I can, planting a foot in his clasped palms. He pushes up with all this strength, sending me flying. I collide with the Hybrid, toppling her out of the tree and falling hard and fast. I land hard on my back, her boot against my neck.
I take a punch in the cheek right as Wyatt hits her with a death blow to the head, the crack of the gun handle echoing off her skull.
I’m breathing heavily despite the enhancements, and Wyatt rubs the blood off his hands in the dirt.
“Are you okay?” I ask Zoe, who’s inching her way back to the trunk. She starts to shimmy down on her own and Wyatt rushes over to catch her before she breaks her neck.
When he steps away she has a massive grin on her face.
“What?” I ask, acutely aware of the dead bodies on the forest floor.
Zoe clasps her hands in front of her chest. “That. Was. Amazing.” Wyatt and I look at one another, but she keeps going, talking a mile a minute. “I’d heard you guys were tough. Like I knew it. The stories and the rumors. Other people thought it wasn’t true. But I knew it was. That’s why I had to come. I needed to see it for myself.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, unable to follow a single word.
A tiny frown appears between her eyes. “Don’t you know? You guys are legends. Alexandra Ramsey and Wyatt Faraday.” She turns to me. “You—you’re the girl that kicks Eater ass. And him,” she points at Wyatt. “He’s a Hybrid-killing legend—like a mixture between Spiderman and a ninja. Everyone knows about you back home. Everyone my father allows into New Hope has heard of the fights and the battles. Like the time you fought off a hundred Eaters, just the two of you.” She takes a deep breath, building steam. “You fought off the devil down south—the one that created the virus, and then your boyfriend turned into a Hybrid. Which had to suck, because, you know, because ouch.”
I shake my head and watch as Wyatt’s face turns a strange shade of red. “Who is saying all this? Where are you hearing it?” The stuff about Cole is pretty specific, although the Devil herself is living in New Hope. I can’t help but wonder if Hamilton knows exactly who Jane is and what she’s done.
“No one in particular. Just survivors coming in.” Again she smiles, toothy and wide. “Some of the kids have even written stories about it. We pass them around.”
I honestly don’t know how to respond, all this time we’d been fighting so hard to survive—so desperate to stop Chloe—it never crossed our minds that there were other people out there, living lives and doing the mundane, like listening to gossip and creating entertainment about us.
Wyatt, as usual, saves the moment. “Get your stuff. And don’t step on any of the bodies.”
In minutes we’re away from the scene and headed toward the next spot on our map: The meeting place with the other teams.
Zoe walks ahead and Wyatt grips my arm. “Why didn’t you tell me she’s Hamilton’s daughter?”
“I just found out. I swear—I knew something was up but didn’t have time to talk it over with you. Walker is being weird. She’s totally buying into this Safe City concept.”
He grunts. “Don’t keep secrets from me, Alex. It’ll get us killed.”
I don’t fight him—he’s right. “What do you think we should do?”
“For now? Hunt down the Hybrids. Obviously they’re still hunting us, but from there I’m hoping Paul can get us some details on Hamilton and what this guy is up to.”
I follow him through the woods but I’m pretty sure Paul isn’t the only one Wyatt has questions for. Walker may have to answer a few of her own.
“What the hell is that?”
Wyatt’s been in a foul mood since the Hybrid attack and it doesn’t get any better when we spot the sign the next day. It’s plastered to the front of a gas station, using patriotism invoking colors and graphics. The colors are bright, which is what caught my attention. Everything post-crisis is faded and worn. The sign has bold reds and blues.
Wyatt, Zoe, and I approach the sign and I read it out loud.
Wanted!
Who: Soldiers from the Southern Army
Crime: Treason
Kill on Sight! Bounties given for proof in Safe Cities.
-Executive Order Issued by Colonel Hamilton, New Hope
Beneath this, in small print, is a list of identifying factors. Dark eyes, aggressive behavior. There’s a warning that they are armed and dangerous. What qualifies as proof is vague.
“I guess my dad sent out the propaganda teams,” Zoe says running her hand over the fresh ink. “He was pretty excited about it.”
“The what?” I ask.
“He had this big idea to push out ahead of the bounty hunters like us and get word out to the survivors. It’s also an intimidation tactic or something. He thinks it will rattle the Hybrids.”
“You’re not a bounty hunter.” Wyatt clenches his jaw. “And nothing rattles a Hybrid.”
“How many of these teams did he plan on sending out?” I ask, starting to grow worried. If they’re roaming the Death Fields alone they may be in serious danger.
“I don’t know. Maybe ten. They were hand-selected from New Hope’s Select Security Guard.”
“Jesus,” Wyatt mutters.
“How long ago do you think they were here?” I ask, scanning the area. There are faint tire impressions in the dried mud near the road.
“At least a few days.”
“What’s the big deal? They can take care of themselves,” Zoe declares. The sun has hit a hard angle and she’s wearing wide black sunglasses.
“Do you remember that attack last night? I don’t care how special those security officers are, if I hadn’t picked up on them miles away we would have been ambushed.”
The girl tilts her head and I really wish I could see her eyes. “Miles away?”
I swallow and Wyatt says nothing, just watches stone-faced. “I’m exaggerating. After a while you know the difference between a deer and a super-soldier. I’m sure one day, if you survive out here, you’ll be able to do the same.”
Her jaw drops. “If I survive?”
“What?” I ask. “Does that hurt your feelings?”
I take a deep breath and walk back toward the road. Wyatt isn’t far behind but I am surprised to hear him talking quietly to her. If anything, he should be more pissed than I am.
I feel his fingers tug at my elbow. I yank away and snap, “What? Am I being too mean?”
“A little. It’s not really her fault her dad is an idiot.”
Fair enough, there have been times I didn’t want the blow back of being Jane’s sister. “I don’t like where this is headed,” I tell him.
“Me either, but we may need her. Keep your enemies close and all that.”
I sigh. “I’m twenty. I don’t think I should have this many enemies.”
He reaches out and tugs the back of my ponytail. “The good news is now we have a place to start.”
“With the propaganda team?’
He nods. “I’m thinking if we can find them, we’ll find our Hybrids.”
I shake my head and look down the long, desolate road. “Hopefully they’ll still be alive.”
7
The pool of blood on the asphalt is the first sign of trouble. The next is a roll of propaganda posters in the weedy grass. Zoe picks it up and then drops it quickly.
“Gross.” Her hands are coated in blood.
“Shut up,” I bite out in a hiss. Wyatt jerks his chin toward a small row of trailers, each one more dilap
idated than the last. My adrenaline spikes and in a blink the Mutt takes over, sending my senses on overdrive.
“In there,” I whisper, gesturing to the blue, metal trailer. The roof is a solid sheet of rust and the grass surrounding it is knee length, except where it was recently bent by someone walking through it. The shell of a small sedan hides in the overgrown weeds. I look at Zoe. “Get in that car and don’t make a sound.”
For once, she doesn’t argue, but it’s probably more that she doesn’t want to step foot in that trailer than actually being afraid. Her heart rate accelerates but I don’t catch the scent of fear on her skin. She’s an enigma but not one I can crack right now.
“You take the front,” Wyatt says. “I’ll hit the back.”
I nod and take a step forward, aware of the bloody handprint on the aluminum door. I’m listening, trying to catch on to something—a wisp—a clue. What I inhale isn’t blood or sweat. It’s gasoline.
I look up at the trailer and see the wavy ripple of gas and shout, “Wyatt, run!” a mere heartbeat before the building emits a heavy creak and explodes into a ball of fire.
The heat rolls against my back, singeing the hairs on my neck. I run to the car, praying Zoe is safe inside. Wyatt must have had the same idea because we crash into one another hiding behind the trunk from the raging fire, ducking from falling debris. The sound of bending metal sets me on edge and I say, “They’re all going to blow. I’ll get Zoe.”
“I’ll get her,” he says. “You make sure this isn’t an ambush.”
The fire has built into an inferno, a cyclone thrusting into the sky. Glass shatters, drawing my attention back to the car where Wyatt kicks the cracked window in before dragging Zoe out. I clutch the wooden handle of my hatchet, alert and ready as I head back to the road.
The fire has created a glow that lights up the area for miles. Even if the Hybrids or Mutts or Eaters were nowhere around, they will be soon. Our location has been announced to the surrounding area.
Footsteps echo off the asphalt and a quick glance back tells me it’s not Zoe or Wyatt, who are just emerging red-faced and drenched in sweat from the grass. I hold up my hand and in a heartbeat Wyatt has his gun in his hand.