The Girl who Saved the World (Death Fields 6)

“Have you always been this dramatic?” she asks, without a trace of humor. But I forget she wasn’t with us the last six months, during the imprisonment and torture. Walker doesn’t truly know us anymore or who our real enemies are.

“Good luck,” I say to her because I don’t feel like getting into it. “You’ve got your map?”

“Yeah, marked with the meeting spot.”

I walk toward Wyatt and Zoe, both itching to get started. Again, it feels like a goodbye, but this time I may be ready for it.

“What was that all about?” Wyatt asks. He’s squatting on the ground, tying his boot lace into a double knot. He reaches for mine when he’s finished and does the same.

“Just getting a little more information.”

“Anything useful?”

Zoe watches our exchange but her feet tap with restlessness. “Nothing much. Come on, let’s get out of here. Night will come soon enough.”

*

I jerk awake, the sound of the forest pulling me from sleep. I was thick in a dream—my black pistol clenched in my hand. The crack and deafening ring of a gunshot splintering Chloe’s skull. Her face morphs at the last minute to Cole and my heart hammers in fear until I feel smell the dirt and decaying leaves of the woods. I blink away the darkness and my eyes adjust enough to see Wyatt pressed against the nearest tree. We camped out after getting lost the day before and finding ourselves too far away from shelter before night fell. Zoe sleeps next to me, curled up in a sleeping bag, and I look to Wyatt to see if I should wake her. His eyes, reflecting the moonlight from above, connect with mine and he shakes his head at the same time his shoulders relax.

I stand and step over the girl, nearly losing my footing. Wyatt reaches out and grips my arms, lifting me over Zoe, right into his chest. In a flash he’s got me pressed against the tree and my heart rate—which was already sky high from the dream—jumps a notch. He lowers his mouth to my ear and I brace myself—not realizing how much I missed his touch over the last week.

“I found something in the apartment,” he says, which is not what I expected. I push my hand under the bottom of his jacket, seeking warmth and closeness. I wait for him to continue. “It was a message. From Paul.”

“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.”

Chapter Seven

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.