by Angel Lawson
Davis waited outside the gates of Winston-Salem until we were on the move again. He tracked us like a shadow and when I asked why he didn’t reveal himself sooner he shrugged and said he knew we needed some time alone.
We no longer work on specific dates—not out here. The cities keep time and have current calendars but on the road things begin to blur. Davis is convinced though that we’re right on target for meeting back with Cole.
“Do you think he found them?” Wyatt asks as the horses walk down the road. It’s been a peaceful day—unseasonably warm. A pair of hawks soar overhead.
“I’m sure he found some. If they’re willing to cooperate—that’s the bigger question.” Davis tilts his head down the road and at the top of the exit ramp, two figures stand watch. “Think that’s the welcome wagon?”
Our horse twitches, spooked by a sound from behind. I look back and spot a handful of men and women, all dressed for battle, trailing us. Their uniforms are ragged, but familiar.
“Wyatt,” I say, tugging on his back. He turns and grimaces.
Davis gets our attention. Down the exit ramp, two people have turned into a dozen more. “Shit,” he mutters.
“Something tells me those aren’t the good guys,” Wyatt says with regret.
“Maybe it’s just the Mutts,” I say, hopefully, but my senses tell me otherwise and I pull the gun from my holster, checking it for bullets.
“Head left?” Davis says. Wyatt nods and he twists the reins in his hands to force the horse into the forest lining the highway. Cooperating for once, probably in fear for his life, the horse sprints ahead and the hooves of both animals turn into thunder. The people on the road, both ahead and behind, shout and set off after us. I wrap my arm tight around Wyatt’s waist, trying not to fall off.
We’re close and a flock of birds bursts from the treetops at the very moment figures emerge from the forest. A row of them, wobbly on their feet, brains burning with infection.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Wyatt sounds like a man inconvenienced.
“Push through,” Davis shouts, because that’s what this has come to. Who is the least dangerous? Right now it’s the Eaters.
We charge forward. Wyatt uses all his strength to hold on and direct the horses, who lurch and jump with fear. Davis removes the blade slung across his back, pulling it out to slice the throat of the Eaters blocking our escape. I lean over the edge of the horse do the same with my hatchet, chopping at hands and necks, listening to the painful wail of the infected.
“I’m so sick of this,” I shout, kicking a woman with long, graying hair in the head. Her frail neck snaps. “If it’s not one, it’s the other. Or, you know, on an extra special day, it’s both.”
We take them down easily, their feet getting caught in the muddy earth. As time passes the infected begin to decay and although still deadly, with the vaccine and their slowing movements, they’re little more than a nuisance. The biggest danger is because they hold us up more than anything else and when we have a bunch of Hybrids on our tail—it makes them deadly.
“We need to push through,” Davis says once we’ve disposed of the final Eater, his skull cracked and then trampled by a hoof. Both horses move deeper into the woods but sound of the approaching soldier’s shifts, moving farther away from us. Sudden gunfire explodes and I clench Wyatt by the waist, turning to get a better look.
A battle rages, but not toward us.
“Hey,” I say, getting him to slow. I feel something in the air. Sense it. “Something’s going on.”
“Not anything we need to be a part of,” he declares.
“No, wait. Get to that clearing.” I point to a break in the trees. The sunlight shines down and I can see the twist of the highway behind it.
Davis and Wyatt exchange glances, but I grab the reins out of Wyatt’s hands and dig my heels into the horse’s side. He darts forward quickly, on edge from the Eaters and gunfire. We emerge in the space in the trees and down below we have a better view of the fight. Black-masked Fighters challenge the soldiers tracking us.
“It’s the Mutts,” I declare, feeling the hum of camaraderie. Even though I feel the hold of the EVI-3 slipping away, I have a connection. “They’re here.”
A single figure emerges as the leader, charging toward the heart of the battle. I recognize his stature; wide set of his shoulders and the wisps of golden hair. Before we can act, a massacre unfolds. He moves like a whirlwind, breaking necks and shinbones. He spins on a dime, landing every punch. He dodges bullets and blades, anticipating his opponents’ every move.
Cole is a deadly force and it’s easy to see the rage and pain fuel his movements. There’s not an ounce of insecurity or the slightest wavering. I’ve never seen someone fight like this, other than Wyatt, but this is different.
Wyatt fights with a purpose.
Cole fights because he doesn’t know what else to do.
“Jesus Christ,” Davis says. “When did he learn to do all that?”
“When Chloe imprisoned us,” I hear myself answer, unable to tear my eyes away. “We fought daily but I know they beat him after our training was over too. He had to learn to defend himself.”
A breeze gusts over the road ahead of us and Cole stands among the dead, the other Mutts several feet away, cleaning the blood from their hands. I slide off the horse, my feet sinking into the soft ground, ignoring the sound of Wyatt calling my name.
The Mutts watch me carefully as I approach, stepping gingerly over the bodies. Cole, with blood smeared across his cheek, glances my way, his dark eyes hard and distant.
“Hey,” I call when I’m close enough. “Are you okay?”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. The blade of a red-stained knife hangs from his fingertips. I know Wyatt has followed me. I know Davis has him in his sights. One inch and they’ll take him out—because how do you come back from what we just saw?
“Cole?” I ask.
“No,” he says, voice tired and defeated. He looks at his hands. At the blade. Down at his blood-covered boots. “I don’t think I am.”
20
We wait a day for Paul to return.
Cole disappeared into the woods after the slaughter and came back scrubbed clean and wearing a new outfit. His boots were the same, but the toes had been washed and there was only a faint tint of red on the leather.
The crazy look in his eyes was quelled. At least for the moment.
I sit on a rotted tree stump by a small, trickling stream. The Mutts had been congregating for a week or so and had created a small camp. One man, who was missing an ear, told us that they felt safer in the wilderness, away from the towns. I watch him tear small pieces of charred squirrel meat with his fingers before gnawing on the bones. I’m not sure if this type of isolation is a good signal. Safety? Or are they just losing their humanity—another step toward being feral?
“How many did you round up?” Wyatt asks once Cole rejoined us at camp. I offer him a can of tuna only just past the expiration date. Wyatt’s asking about the Mutts that Cole found who are willing to fight Hamilton.
“Forty-eight. But I think at least three didn’t survive that attack.” He removes a multi-tool from his belt and cuts off the lid. Then he opens a section designed like a fork and digs in.
At least he still uses utensils.
I fall asleep quickly—feeling a small sense of security with so many fighters around. A nudge wakes me in the morning and it’s Cole, kneeling over me in the gray light. “He’s back,” he whispers.
I rub the sleep from my eyes and glance over at Wyatt’s bedroll. It’s empty and I remember he’s on morning watch. “Who?”
“Paul. And he brought reinforcements.”
I scramble from my sleeping bag, wincing at the pain in my back from the hard ground. That’s another reason for staying in town. Beds.
“I should get—”
“He’s talking to him now.” He jerks his head. “Come on.”
The oth
er Mutts are in various states of sleep and waking up. We step around the majority and follow a small, newly worn path out of the camp and down the small creek.
“How far away are they?” I ask once we get to a second rise.
“They came in a little bit south. Come on, I’ll show you.”
I have a dozen questions to ask but he takes the hill in a sprint and I fall behind, unable to keep up with his long legs. Halfway up I get an uneasy feeling. Mostly because he’s acting pretty normal. Is that his plan? Lull me into complacency and then kill me?
I’m about to turn and run for it but run where? Back to a Mutt-filled camp? I swallow my fears and climb over a rock that gets me to the top of the hill. Cole waits at the top. A strange smile on his face. I frown. Or maybe it’s just strange to see a smile on his face.
I follow his eyes and look down. A large parking lot sits below us and a building, big and industrial-looking, is almost a mile away. Vehicles fill the lot, but they’re not in organized positions—not like the ones closest to the building. No, these are military green, stamped with US identifiers. National Guard. Army. Marines. Two have flags hanging lank from poles but I can tell they are red, white, and blue.
“He found them?”
“Yes, and because they were so close to the Georgia state line they were well aware of the Hybrids. A couple of Jane’s original Fighters escaped West during the Coup.”
Cole goes first, quickly descending the hill. I come in faster than I’d like. A dozen soldiers watch me tumble in. I trip over a root near the bottom and land with a thud. Wyatt emerges and I give him a threatening stink eye if he even dares help me off the ground.
These people have no idea who I am—but I’m not some girl that needs help off the ground.
Wyatt backs off and waits as I stand, brushing my scraped hands on my pants.
“Guess that injection is finally wearing off.”
I hadn’t thought of that. “Maybe so.”
Paul, dressed in black head to toe, walks over. I give him a fast, tight hug.
“So it’s true? You brought an army?”
“Yep. And they know about everything. A few guys—good ones I thought we’d lost along the way—managed to get to Birmingham and they know about everything.” I must not look convinced because he adds, “The good and the bad, Alex. They know all of it.”
“And they’re willing to work with us?”
“Birmingham has struggled to get on their feet. Besides the original setbacks of the Eaters and infected citizens, they had to spend a huge amount of time sealing the city. The main supervisor over the emergency procedures died in the first wave of victims. The backup facilitators were unprepared. They have limited power and water management but they did secure the border. Their walls are strong but their infrastructure is weak.”
“Wow.”
“But they’ve also already had to survive Hybrid attacks. Chloe must have sent some of her people west while she was looking for us. But Alabama’s military is strong. Rebuilding is the issue. I think it’s been a hard road, like we all have had. But, they’re doing well now and it’s actually a pretty nice place. We’d all be welcome there.”
“Winston-Salem may not be so easy. Hamilton has laid some groundwork and what we told them didn’t seem to convince them.” I don’t say that it may have made it worse.
“Well,” Paul says, scratching his chin. “At least you’ll have back up when you go back in. The Bama Brigade is also willing to send in some people for a conversation about the Mutts.”
Bama Brigade. Seriously, only Alabama. Wyatt nods at the guys loitering in the parking lot. “What do they want from us?”
Paul gives a tired but knowing smile. “They’re hoping some of us will go back with them. They need help protecting and building the city. They have a long way to go.”
“The first bridge we have to cross is getting the council in Winston-Salem on board. They’re better than Hamilton but he’s convincing. Very persuasive. He’ll tell them what they want to hear,” I say.
Paul sighs and glances at Wyatt. Davis is over with the group from Birmingham, filling them in with Cole.
“Let’s get everyone together and work out a plan. We’ll get on the road ASAP,” Wyatt says. Paul nods and leaves to tell the others.
“You think this can work?” I think of Ms. Perez at the Council. She was tough but fair. The others are just afraid enough to want someone like Hamilton in charge. I’m going to need to get to her first.
Wyatt confirms what I’m thinking. “I think it’s a matter of who gets there first.”
21
We make no attempt to disguise ourselves or vehicles on the way back to Winston-Salem. We may be considered fugitives but our motives are clear. We’ve got nothing to hide and hopefully Perez and the other council members will understand that.
The road is mostly clear, other than blockades put in place by the city’s military. We can move around them but it takes time—time that we don’t have. After we get through the second one, we all agree it’s a problem.
“We avoided these on the way down by coming on foot and later horseback,” Wyatt explains.
“I don’t want to leave the vehicles behind,” Paul says. They’re packed tight with ammunition. “If we do we’ll have to take time to hide them. We absolutely can not let Hamilton’s people get ahold of them.”
I scratch my neck. “You think they’d find them this far south?”
“I think Walker will cover her bases,” Davis replies.
Walker. She knows us. She knows how we operate. Hell, she trained me. “Then what do you want to do?” I ask.
Davis and Wyatt exchange a silent look, mentally going over a plan. They’ve always been in sync like this. Silent but deadly. Wyatt nods at his friend and says, “Me, Davis, and Alex will scout ahead. You guys strip the vehicles of whatever you can carry. Stash the rest around town. If things go south we’ll come back this way, gather the trucks, and either fight or run.”
Paul frowns at the idea of running but eventually gives his agreement with one addendum. “Take Cole with you.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”
“You’ve seen him fight,” Paul says. “If something happens he’ll be an asset. At the very least give one of you a chance to get back to us.”
Wyatt and I are accustomed to working with Cole but Davis hesitates. He still remembers him as the vicious Mutt Chloe created. In reality, Cole can be much, much worse but he’s also a proven asset. “We can use him,” I say to Davis.
“He won’t hurt Alex,” Wyatt says.
“It’s not Alex that I’m particularly worried about,” he says, but rubs his cropped hair. “But whatever you think. You guys know the situation better than I do.”
“I’ll go tell him,” I say as Wyatt gets out his worn paper map.
Cole is standing off to the side, leaning against a concrete barricade. He’s alone and I’ve noticed he doesn’t socialize well with the others—including the Mutts. This may be part of why Paul wants him to go with us. To keep him away from the others. Cole has a strange energy.
“Hey.” I lean next to him.
“What’s the plan?”
“We’re going to scout ahead. Me, you, Wyatt, and Davis.”
He snorts. “I’m sure the other two are pleased about that.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Wyatt’s okay.”
He glances over at the men hunched over the map. “I guess so.”
“It’s crazy to think that maybe we’re near the end of this, you know?”
“Do you think that?” His entire body is tense. Like at any moment he could crack into a million pieces. Something’s holding him together but I’m not sure what. “Like really? That there will be an end to all of this?”
His voice isn’t mean. If anything he sounds, beneath the exhaustion, sincere.
“I think we can get to a place where we can move forward maybe. Get the vaccine out to everyone.”
“V
accinating the whole country would be a massive feat,” he says. “It would take years, don’t you think? We don’t even know what it’s like out there. It could be so much worse.”
“Or maybe they got their shit together better? Look at Birmingham? Winston-Salem? We had no idea they even existed. There could be some other amazing places out there.”
He looks down at his hands. “I’m not sure I’d know what to do in this body without a fight ahead.”
It’s a pipe dream, I know it. But I’m also tired of fighting. I’m too skinny and bruised and my body aches all the time. I glance sideways at Cole. “One way or the other, this is my last battle.”
“That’s what you really want?”
“Desperately.”
He gives me one last look, his eyes dark and intense. He heads over to Wyatt and the others. I know in my heart that my words are true. I also know that his are too. I have Wyatt. A family that is still alive. I have hope for something better.
Cole has none of that.
We start the final trek to Winston-Salem loaded with weapons and ammo from the Birmingham troops. Davis loads and reloads his magazine, testing the feel of the gun. I took what I needed. Another gun, two flash grenades, but my trusty hatchet hangs by my side. The weight is familiar. The handle is smooth and worn from my hand.
“I can’t believe you still have that,” Cole says, walking up to me. His voice is quiet. We’re scouting the same side of the road together. Davis and Wyatt are shadows on the opposite side. Occasionally I see the flash of Davis’ massive frame as he leads the way.
“I’ve lost it a few times but it always manages to come back to me.”
“Like Indiana Jones’ hat.”
I blink, having no idea what that means. My reaction gets a smile from him though and he shakes his head before wandering off. The scenery slips from suburbia to the burned-out section of town Wyatt and I escaped through earlier. The idea is to go back in the way we came out—through the guard entrance in the back. It worked once and Wyatt figures it should again. Wyatt and I will go back in and try to get a meeting with Perez and the council. Davis and Cole will return to get the others.