The Girl who Saved the World (Death Fields 6)

Hamilton wants us dead.

True or not, they don’t know that the EVI-3 has lingering effects--which may include paranoia. I hear whoever is tracking us. I hear their every step, every leaf crunching beneath their boots, their breath and the smell of their sweat.

“They’re about a mile back but once they catch on to us it won’t take them long.”

Wyatt stops and we’re in a small cleared area. I can see his face better here. He’s thinking, plotting, and finally says, “We’ll wait here then. No use running if we’re going to get caught.”

“Wait for them?” Zoe asks. She’s breathing heavily. I hand her the water bottle.

Wyatt points to the nearest tree. It has a lower branch with a deep nook. “You’ll stay up there.”

She looks up at the tree. “And what are you doing? Getting killed while I watch?”

“Doing our job,” I whisper. “We’re bounty hunters. We don’t run. We hunt. You’re about to see what that means.”

The whites of Zoe’s eyes shine against the moonlight but Wyatt has already started to move. He stashes our bags in shrubbery and tucks another knife into his boot. He hands me a small gun that I push into the back of my pants. Despite her arguments, we hoist Zoe into the tree.

“Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.”

“What if they kill you? Do I at least get to arm myself?”

Wyatt blinks up at the girl. “You aren’t armed?”

“I left my gun in my backpack.”

“Jesus…” Wyatt curses and looks at me for help.

“Give her that extra knife. I’m not getting shot.” I pause. I haven’t had a chance to tell him yet who Zoe is and her relationship to Hamilton. “Well, at least not by her.”

He gives her the hunting knife and that seems to appease her. “Don’t drop it,” he warns. “Also, if you have to use it, go for the throat.”

The girl’s nose wrinkles in disgust but she seems content with the knife in her hand. I sigh and walk away from the tree. When we’re out of sight I stop and close my eyes. “They’re only about a half mile out. They should have found our campground. I think there are four of them. At least one female.”

“You can tell all of that?”

I nod, afraid of seeing his expression. Even though he didn’t want me to take the EVI-3, he hasn’t judged me since. “It’s like a feeling?” I try to explain. “Vibrations and smell.” I could break down how there are differences in the way the soldiers’ feet hit the ground or their scents, but I can tell he’s trying to be supportive and I don’t want to push my luck. “It’s weak though—nothing like what we experienced the night of the battle. And it’s not all the time. I don’t feel the heightened connection all the time, just occasionally, like maybe it’s connected to fear or—”

“Adrenaline,” he adds.

“Yes, I think so.”

There’s no time to analyze my body chemistry right now because the Hybrids are getting closer. Wyatt squeezes my hand before we split off, and I find the darkest spot possible and press my back against a tree.

The Hybrids move like animals, quick and agile. They’re focused like a hunter seeking prey. I listen and their footsteps go from being in a tight formation to slipping away from one another. They sense us ahead and plan on surrounding us in a tight circle. It’s a smart idea, but there’s a single flaw in their plan.

They don’t expect me.

I can’t see Wyatt in the dark but I hear his heartbeat. It’s steady—the man doesn’t get flustered. This moment, the blink before the battle, is when he’s at his best. He’s patient. Calm and calculated.

Wyatt’s heartbeat is dwarfed and comingled with the Hybrids’ as they approach. The super soldiers are the opposite—the jacked-up adrenaline makes their heart rates soar. The beat echoes in my ear like a drum and I do my best to focus on the other senses. The whisper of their feet over leaves. The swish of fabric. The sharp ting of their weapons. I count down in my mind, waiting…

Waiting.

Waiting.

A foot falls inches from mine and I squeeze the smooth, familiar handle of my hatchet with both hands. The Hybrid senses me a second late and there’s a brief second of realization.

“Yeah,” I say, lifting the hatchet over my head. “I see you.”