The Girl who Saved the World (Death Fields 6)

“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.”

Chapter Eight

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 dilapidated 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.

“How many?” he asks, moving by my side.

“I don’t know.”

/> He looks at Zoe and says, “Stay close.”

I can’t get a handle on the number coming our way and there’s nowhere to hide—just the fire and empty fields around it—thank God they weren’t closer to the woods. I can just see the eastern part of the state going up in flames.

Wyatt eases his back against mine and Zoe’s shoulders press close, making a triangle. “Don’t panic,” I tell her. “Just go for the kill. We’ll get out of this.”

She snorts. “Of course you’ll get out of this. You’re like, superheroes.”

Before I can tell her to shut her mouth, that we’re not comic book characters, I hear the sound I dread more than anything else: a long, painful howl that soon grows into a chorus louder than the blaze.

“What is that?” Zoe whispers.

“That, sweetheart, is a horde of Eaters. Welcome to the freaking apocalypse.”

*

“We can’t just stand here,” I tell Wyatt. “We need to pick a direction.”

“What if it’s the wrong one?” he shouts. His back is sticky against mine, the heat from the fire unbearably hot.

“Do you want to get pushed back into that?” I jerk my thumb at the fire.