The Girl who Saved the World (Death Fields 6)

“Alex?”

“Yeah?” I look up at Mary Ellen’s face and suddenly she seems very, very young.

“I’m pregnant.”

*

There’s not enough time for me to process Mary Ellen’s announcement before Sophia has returned, asking us to follow her to the council meeting. A hundred scenarios flip through my brain about the pregnancy; the biggest is who would bring a child into a disaster like this? Between the Eaters and Hybrids and people living on the fringe I can’t imagine the burden. I don’t speak my concerns and try my hardest to keep the thought off my face. Instead I say, “We’ll figure something out.”

“I’m worried about the EVI-3. I didn’t know when I took the shot.”

Great. Add mutant baby to the pile of things to worry about.

Mary Ellen cleans herself up and I meet the others in the living area. Wyatt studies my face and asks quietly, “You okay?”

“Just girl stuff.”

He raises an eyebrow and my cheeks blush. He’s not an idiot. “Not my girl stuff. Hers. No big deal.”

Lies lies lies.

By the time we reach the council meeting I think I’ve regained my composure and to be honest, Mary Ellen looks fine. Relieved, even. I guess telling someone made her feel better and she’s had longer to accept it. I’m still reeling.

Sophia brings us to the courthouse and stops at a door that still has the tag ’Courtroom A’ tagged to the w

all. “Everyone that enters the city has to come across the review board. It’s just for basic safety. Some survivors are a bit erratic when they arrive. We don’t kick them out but it’s important people get the help they need,” she says. “I’ve briefed them on what you’ve told me already and the council is eager to hear about your experiences. The trickle of survivors slows with each passing week. There are not many people still living out there.”

“Oh they’re out there—they’re just content where they are,” I say. “Or they have no idea you’re here.”

“We’ve had to be careful about alerting the wider area of our existence.” I don’t blame her. Chloe would have steam rolled over this place in rage-fueled heartbeat.

“Smart.”

She peeks in the window and says, “They’re ready. Follow me.”

There’s a circular table at the front of the room across from wooden benches. Eleven members of the council sit behind the table, a variety of ages and cultures. Their shoes are visible and I note they’re mostly sneakers or boots. One man has a knife strapped to his thigh. I feel a sense of relief. No one who understands what’s happening outside the gates wears shoes you can’t run and fight in or walks around unarmed. Already these people seem more together than the officials we met in New Hope.

We file into the front row, confident in our unity. We agreed in the apartment we would find out what the council knew about the outside world—about Hamilton and the Hybrids. I get the feeling they’re not clueless but until you experience it yourself, it’s hard to judge. Hamilton lives in a glass house. His ideas are dangerous.

“Welcome to Winston-Salem,” the woman at the center of the table says. She has light brown skin and thick black hair, streaked with white, pulled into a tight bun at the base of her neck. Her eyes are a vivid green and there are deep lines that claw outward, giving the air of someone much older. Life hasn’t been easy for this woman. “I’m Roberta Perez, chairperson of the council. It seems you’ve had quite the journey.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jude replies. He has the best manners and most unassuming nature. We voted him spokesperson. “We met one another in Augusta. It’s been a long journey.”

The men and woman glance at one another and Ms. Perez speaks again. “Our scouts tell us anything south of Columbia, South Carolina is impassible.”

“Possibly,” Jude says again. “It’s been a while since we left that area. Conflict was high at the time. Different groups vying for territory.”

“What kind of groups?” a young man with a thick beard asks. His name tag says Ethan.

“Militant groups,” Jude says. “There were a few former military groups around as well as people that took up arms.”

No one utters the name PharmaCorp.

“Were you part of one of these groups?” Ethan asks.

“At one time or the other. It was best to stick with larger community—for protection and safety.”

“Mr…” Ms. Perez looks at Wyatt. We may have asked Jude to be our spokesperson but it only takes a moment in Wyatt’s presence to understand his authority.