The Girl Who Kicked Ass (Death Fields 3)

“If he’s not going back to the infirmary he may as well stay.”

“I know things have been a little intense the last day or two, but now that the dust has settled I think we’re ready for the next phase in our plans.”

“Good,” I say, my eyes on the map. Red arrows point away from our location. A circle outside of Savannah signals his destination.

“We’re headed south. I want to secure the coast.”

Wyatt frowns. “South? We’re not targeting the Fort?”

“Not now,” Erwin says. “The risk is too high. If we focus on the remaining evacuation centers in the southern part of the state, we can add on to our existing army—possibly doubling our size. Then we can take on The Fort when we’re better prepared.”

I feel Wyatt’s eyes on my back but I don’t cave under the pressure. If I’ve learned anything from him it’s that sometimes it’s best to hold your cards and emotions close.

“What’s our anticipated start date?” I ask.

“We’ll need to move fast on this one. At least getting on the road while Chloe is licking her wounds. I’ve sent the rest of your team to scout ahead. They’ll report back in the next couple of days.”

“This all sounds pretty risky,” I say. “What makes you think she’s not already on her way here?”

He nods at the man behind me. “I have more than one fox in the hen house, Alexandra.”

“That makes sense,” I reply, because Erwin too, knows better than to lay all his cards on the table. Luckily for me, I’ve been paying attention.

*

The Center, or what’s left of it, is quiet after dark. There’s nothing much to do once the sun goes down, and people either head to their guard stations, back to the medical center, or go to bed.

I press my back against the wall of the main building and try my hardest not to fall into one of the massive holes created by explosives during the battle.

Easing the pack out from behind the bin, I hook the straps over my arms and start across the field. After the tanks flattened the fence line we had to put up a temporary barricade. It’s old school. Barbed wire, lined with clinking cans and bottles. Anything that will alert us to an intruder attempting to get into the Center. The area is technically clear from Eaters, but there’s no way to have gone through every home or to account for any recently infected.

The wire may be primitive, but it does the trick.

I wait in the shadows, counting the seconds until the patrol passes by. After they’re gone I have only a few minutes to cross over and not get tangled up. The patrol come and go, their low voices murmuring in conversation. I run for the exit spot I picked earlier in the day. The wire is taut and the chimes few. I stumble twice, once slipping on the edge of a hole, my feet shifting on the crumbing dirt.

I get to the fence and toss my bag over, flinching when it lands with a too loud thud on the hard ground. I freeze and look around, but the night remains quiet. I start the process of weaving my body through the barbed wire without shredding my skin.

My shirt snags on the back of my knee and I feel the sharp scrape of metal across the exposed part of my neck but I manage to get through in one piece. I’m sweating by the time I’m on the other side, but I snatch my bag off the ground and disappear into the tree line, leaving the Center and my team behind.

Chapter 20

I’ve never spent a night alone in the woods. Not before or after the initial Crisis. I remember feeling alone—mostly back when I was travelling with my mother--but just knowing another person was nearby kept a large part of the panic at bay.

I’m not worried about the Eaters.

I’m not scared of bobcats or wild animals.

The Hybrids? In a situation like this they would take me out in a blink.

I’m terrified for Cole and even though I said differently to Wyatt earlier, his capture takes up every available part of my mind.

He saved me and Wyatt, but at what cost? I don’t deny to myself that I pushed Cole and his fate out of my head when we went down in that bunker. I focused on healing Wyatt. I needed time to repair my relationship with my father. But I was only assuaging the guilt I had for not staying up top and fighting. Now, in the heavy silence of the apocalypse, there’s nowhere to hide.

Huddled now in the crook of two trees, I burrow into my jacket and the thermal blanket I stole from the bunker. I hold a gun in one hand and my hatchet in the other and allow myself to sleep.

*

I jerk awake. It’s dawn. Hazy with fog. The gun is still in my hand but the other is empty. Wet leaves stick to my palm. A noise woke me—a sharp jolt of fear runs up my spine. I gather my senses and weapons and look around. My eyes land on a pair of familiar boots near my feet. I suck in a breath and mutter a curse.