The Girl Who Kissed the Sun (Death Fields 4)

“They’re not-unprotected. There’s a reason they’ve stayed alive this long. I suspect they’re good hunters, but it’s not a formal system. The Hybrids will take them quickly.”

Parker looks up the hill—where the dome of a silo breaks into the sky. “What’s in the other buildings?”

“Pre-crisis, this was a massive farm,” Jude explains. “There are multiple barns—some with livestock. Others with stores and equipment. There’s a large functional greenhouse which is pretty ingenious, if you ask me.”

“So they could have lived here for a long time if the Hybrids weren’t coming.” Parker adjusts her ponytail until it shifts into something like a bun. I glance at Davis and find him staring at her.

Jude rubs his chin. “I think so.”

“That sucks.”

I stand and dust off my knees. “We’re running out of time. I say we get started.”

“For the record,” Parker says, “I still think we should knock.”

“Noted,”

I say. “And denied.”

She flips me her middle finger.

We stash our packs beneath a bush and cross over the fence line at what we’ve determined is the weakest point. The stream makes it hard to cover the ground without damming up the flow of water and that gives us a gap to breach. I take the first step into the creek, feeling the cool water soak through my toes, and wade downstream. One by one, we follow the exact same route through the barbed wire. Wet and muddy, we make it through to the other side.

Paul slips away from the group. He’ll wait near the fence in case the Hybrids get here before we leave. His mixed up chemistry makes him faster than the rest of us, making him the best to leave at a distance.

It’s early morning, just before daybreak, and a light fog hovers over the fields. It’s a peaceful sight, really. Spring is near and the grass is turning green and the trees have little buds growing at the ends of their branches. The metal roof of the barn glints with the sunrise and I take an indulgent, brief second to bask in it.

A rifle cocks behind me and I snap back to reality. Davis stands behind me messing with the gun, not realizing he destroyed my moment. No matter, we have work to do and I take the lead, rushing toward the house.

The clapboard is rough against my hand as I catch my breath. One by one the others follow until we’re a dark speck of a line against the wood. Shrubs buffer the house and Davis tramples a flower garden with his massive boots. I nod, waving him on. He and Parker will go in the front door. Me and Jude, the back. We split into opposite directions, snaking around the house.

Lamplight warms the windows and the shadow of a person flickers across the window, moving with quick efficiency. The scent of bacon, oil, and fried eggs fills the air and my stomach churns with hunger. We crouch beneath the window, guns raised.

I count down with my fingers. Three. Two. One.

On quiet feet I leap up the steps and storm the door, kicking it at the handle. The door swings in, slamming into the wall, a stack of dishes shatters to the floor. Booby-trapped.

Another crash sounds from the front of the house, like splintering glass. I step on the shards, crunching them under my boot. I turn left, into the kitchen, and find myself face-to-face with a woman with gray hair braided over her shoulder, holding an AK-47. It’s nicer than mine.

Jude crunches in behind me, hands up, another long rifle aimed at his back. Shit.

I don’t lower my gun, not yet, and Davis appears in the doorway behind the woman, hands up. Parker follows, there’s no mistaking the irritation on her face. We’re surrounded.

“Put the gun down, son,” the woman says, her voice gravely with age, and I reluctantly lower my weapon. One of the other women grabs it from my hand. “Thank you.”

“We’re not here to hurt you,” I begin, but whatever leverage I may have had has zapped out of the room. “We’re here with a warning. You’re in danger.”

“Is that so?” Lines crease in her forehead, but she never lowers the gun. I’m waiting for her to shoot us. Feed us to the pigs that made that bacon or maybe just eat us for dinner when she says in an easy tone, “Well if that’s all you wanted to do, you should have just knocked.”

Chapter 6

“Now,” she says, with that strange, friendly tone. “Help clean up this mess and I’ll fix you some breakfast.”

“What?” Jude asks, eyes wide.

“You heard me.” She nods at the broken plates all over the floor. “The broom is in that closet.”

With an incredulous expression, Jude does as he’s told and the woman turns to the wood burning stove under the window as though this is a normal day—a normal moment—at their farm. A bowl of eggs sits on the counter along with greens and a slab of cured meat. Children’s plastic dishes are stacked in the sink and the drawings taped to the refrigerator haven’t escaped my notice.