“I don’t want to get eaten,” Zoe says, almost too quiet to hear. “Don’t let me get eaten. Oh my God, we’re going to get eaten.”
Her voice rises on the last sentence and her eyes dart between me and Wyatt.
“Zoe—”
She panics and runs down the street.
“Dammit.” Wyatt rubs the top of his head. “I guess we’ll go that way.”
With the decision made for us, we chase Zoe down the road. The girl is fast, I’ll give her that, and it takes nearly a minute to catch up with her. Looking back, I see smoke has coated the road behind us and my eyes burn and water. Lumbering shadows move in the hazy, yellow light. The screaming howls bounce off the trees and night, taunting us.
“Look, I say we just keep running. We’ll find a place to stop at some point,” I suggest. The hair on my arm stands on end and I inhale. “Or maybe not.”
Wyatt’s eyes dart around. “What?”
I spin around, searching the dark road. We’re not alone. Wyatt’s gun glints in the faint light. An Eater dives out of the dark, then another and two more. They move so fast their faces are a blur. Zoe screams and I raise my hatchet but gunfire pierces the night and each monster falls landing inches away, their screams dying on their lips.
“Wyatt?” I ask.
“Wasn’t me.” He clutches his unused gun.
We aim for the darkness. If whoever is out there didn’t let the Eaters kill us, most likely because they want to do it themselves.
A figure emerges from the dark and the first thing I spot is a long, graying beard. The second is the barrel of a shotgun. The third actually startles me; it’s a small dog. A Jack Russell, and he rushes over to sniff my feet.
“Rooster! Leave that girl alone,” the man says. “Looks like you got yourself in a pickle. Need a hand?”
“We can manage,” Wyatt says. “But thanks.”
“You look capable.” He glances at Zoe and then at the Eaters on the ground. “But I suggest, you get off this road. Those aren’t the only predators around here.”
I’ve been down this road before and rarely are any of the survivors living in the Death Fields friendly. Most of them are downright deranged, and I’ve got little interest in being locked up in a cage again. Unfortunately, one look over my shoulder tells me he’s right. We need shelter.
I make sure my weapons are visible and ask, “You have a place nearby?”
“Sure do. You’re welcome to rest for a spell.”
Wyatt nods and Zoe shows her naiveté by smiling in relief. I just brace myself for what’s next.
Chapter Nine
We follow the man off the road and away from the Eaters and whatever blew up the trailers. We’re inching closer to the Appalachians and occasionally it’s obvious in the landscape; cliffs become sheer walls of rock. We face one of those now, but the old man expertly navigates a trail up to one side. It looks like notches have been carved out of the rock for steps.
I scale the steps easily, offering a hand to Zoe to help her up the last part. The mutation boils beneath the surface, ignited by heightened adrenaline. I’m growing used to it now and catch myself relying on my senses. It’s wrong and I shouldn’t want the lingering effects, but the Death Fields are dangerous. I’m not sure how long we would last without them; because of the abilities, I can tell the old man’s heart rate is even and I don’t sense the slightest threat.
“How much further?” she asks, as though I would know.
“Just around the ridge,” the old man says. The dog runs just a little ahead, always keeping an eye on us and his owner. “I lived in town before all hell broke loose. My daddy showed me this place when I was just a kid. I think he always expected Armageddon or something. Either that or he thought he may need a place to hide from the cops back when he was a bootlegger.”
Wyatt’s hand grazes my back and we both know we’re crazy to follow this old man deep into the countryside. But we also know something happened to the propaganda team back at the trailer. I’ve little doubt the Hybrids are close by. I’m just hoping not way out here.
At first I don’t even see the shelter. Weedy vines twist up hard rock and I’m suddenly sure the man is crazy when he steps close to the wall and pushes his hands into the greenery. He grunts and leans back, revealing the edge of a thick wooden door.
The three of us hesitate and he looks us up and down. “You think I’m gonna kill you?”
“In the past two years I’ve been held as a prisoner by a crazy person, locked in a cage by a town of deviants and a couple other unpleasant situations. I apologize for being a little nervous about going into a hidden cave with a stranger.”
“You came out of those situations alive?” he asks.