The Girl Who Kissed the Sun (Death Fields 4)

As she changes, I notice Jackson tense by the front door. I call it a door but the glass was already broken when we got here although the lock was still in place. He slips into the shadowy space out of view and presses his back against the wall. Green does the same on the opposite side. I search for Walker but can’t find her, then I hear her shoes squeak on the hard, tiled floor.

“Get down,” she says quietly, a couple of rows over. I duck, dragging Jane down with me. “There’s someone outside. The guys went out the front door to check.”

I’m hit with dueling emotions. Fear—humans are worse than the Eaters out here. Everyone is paranoid. It’s best to stay entirely clear and we’ve done an okay job so far. But there’s a nagging kernel of hope that I’ve buried in my chest. Every time we encounter another human the same thought runs through my mind: Wyatt. Will he really

just let me go? Can he leave whatever we have together unfinished? I know it’s crazy. Suicidal. He doesn’t even know our destination. But I also know if anyone can find us, it’s him. It just depends on if he wants to.

“Did you get a visual?” I ask Walker.

She looks at me in a way that tells me she knows what I want her to say. There’s pity and annoyance in her eyes. I know the look because she’s been giving it to me since we started working together again. She grits her teeth. “No. But there are at least four of them.”

“What’s the plan? Out the back?”

“Yes, I think so. Those two,” she jerks her thumb at the guys up front, “will go out that door. We’ll run, or at least fight, our way to the Jeep. It doesn’t have much gas left in it but there’s enough to get away from here.”

Jane watches us while she laces her boots. She never has an opinion on these matters. She just wants to be somewhere safe, out of the fray. So far we’ve managed it—but we won’t be able to forever.

“Where’s your weapon?” I ask Jane. Walker took away her gun after a particularly careless situation in Tennessee that nearly robbed Jackson of a thumb. Now she’s allowed to carry a tire iron. She holds it up with both hands.

“Keep it visible. Even if you can’t—or won’t—use it, at least make them think you will.”

“Maybe we should just hide out in here for a while,” she suggests.

“Nope,” Walker says, heading toward the non-working exit sign in the back. I push Jane to follow her. Walker unlatches the back door and eases into the sunlight. It wasn’t warm inside but the wind slaps my face. There’s no one in the back alley. We break for the lot where we left the truck.

To my surprise I spot the flash of Green’s red hair at the front of the truck. They beat us back so maybe Walker was wrong and there wasn’t anyone out front, or if there was, they moved on. Walker skids on the gravel-strewn pavement in a hard stop and looks around. She holds her hand for us to stay still. “Where did they go?” she whispers.

“Who?”

“The men out front.” Her eyes are wild—paranoid--and I think she’s lost her mind.

“Maybe you were wrong?” Jane suggests.

“No.”

The hair prickles on my neck, my sixth sense tells me Walker isn’t wrong. She rarely is and I move into a defensive position with her, back to back. I try to get an eye on the guys but I can no longer see any sign of Green. Maybe I made it up? The alley is quiet other than the wind. Walker speaks quietly. “On the count of three, run to the truck.”

The numbers come out in a whispered rush and we race to the vehicle. I wrench open the passenger door and push Jane into the middle. I sit next to her, slamming my door. Walker’s in the driver’s seat and reaches for the keys under the floor mat.

“Find them?” I ask, trying to settle my nerves, but when I look up I freeze. “Walker.”

“What?” she snaps, keys dangling from her fingers.

“You didn’t make them up.” I nod out the front window where both of our guys have guns to their heads. Green has a busted lip, blood trailing down his neck. Jackson is being held up by the man behind him—clearly suffering from a head injury. Movement behind the car reveals three more men, weapons out, one pressed against each of our side windows.

“Shit,” Walker mutters, dropping the keys. “I really didn’t need this today.”

*

The men are filthy and I don’t like the way they look at me or the other women. One with bushy sideburns and an ugly scar near his eye touches my neck and my skin crawls. There’s no hesitation as he drags me from the truck and I manage to give him a knee to the balls. He slaps me in return, a sharp crack against my cheek, his breath heavy and reeking of liquor. From there things get even messier until I’m blindfolded and tossed in the back of a bigger truck. I feel the hard, metal gun barrel at the back of my head and the hot breath of my captor as he sits too close for my liking.

I know Jane and Walker are nearby. I hear their breathing and a small squeak from my sister. Walker lets out a string of curses before her words are muffled, then she gags. I can only assume they’ve covered her mouth to shut her up. I have no idea if our men are with us or if they’re dead on the street. We need a way out but before I can even think, the truck stops with a lurch and I’m hauled out by strong, grabby hands. Underfoot the sidewalk gives way to a smoother floor and the air is warmer. We’re inside.

I’m about to risk speaking—to ask where they’ve taken us—when I’m released and shoved forward. I stand and hit my head on something hard.

“Ouch,” I mutter using my now-free hands to reach above and remove the blindfold.

“Shit,” Walker swears as I’m able to see where we are. Any confidence we could get out of this quickly sinks to the depths of my gut.