The Girl who Saved the World (Death Fields 6)

I take the closest one, kicking her hand and knocking the gun to the ground. She lunges for it but I shoot her twice. One misses but the other lands in her temple before she reaches her weapon. I don’t get a chance to breathe before the next one charges and I’m tossed to the ground like a rag doll.

Already I sense a change in the Hybrids. Less methodical—a little more feral. It’s a bad situation and I roll out of the way just before a blade comes crashing down, sparking off the asphalt. I swipe her legs and jump to my feet, racing to use the door as a shield. From there I unleash the remaining bullets, praying one will hit the target.

“I’m out of ammo!” I shout, throwing my useless gun. The Hybrid bats it aside and eyes me with a greedy look. A low rumble vibrates against the mountains and it’s odd enough to distract me. The Hybrid clocks me across the jaw, snapping my head back and rattling my teeth. He drags me across the pavement, my head scraping the rocky surface. The noise only gets louder and angrier, approaching at fast speeds. I see the lights first—the chrome next. Motorcycles, two of them, burst onto the scene and the people driving them jump into the fight quicker than I can process.

The fighters are light on their scuffed boots, but large in size—men—most likely Mutts. I don’t know where they’ve come from but I’m glad they’re here. One carries two guns at once, shooting in tandem. The bullets zing through the air, one only missing my head because I duck. The Hybrid that punched me in the face isn’t so lucky. It nails him straight between the eyes.

I turn to look at our guardian angels and in the glow from the headlights spot a wicked, skull-faced grin plastered across a dark bandana. It’s Mutt for sure—dark eyes connect with mine for the briefest flash before he starts firing again, taking out two more Hybrids.

Wyatt drags another in front of the car, head locked between his elbow and forearm. The man struggles but Wyatt makes it quick, snapping his neck in one swift motion.

Gunshots pierce the night. Bodies fall like the rain and as fast as it started it’s over. One Mutt reaches down and helps Jude off the ground—the other—with a familiar set of shoulders beneath his own creepy bandana and a dark, ear-covering stocking cap checks each victim to make sure they’re really dead.

“It’s good to see you,” Wyatt says, one second before Paul tugs off his bandana.

As much as I’m happy it’s Paul I can’t keep my eyes off of Cole, who has made no effort to talk or to approach us. I never know which man he’ll be; friend or foe.

“How’d you find us?” Jude asks, wiping his hands on his pants. His hair is slick with rain and a bloody scrape shines on his cheek.

“We had a little help,” he says, eyes flicking to mine. I raise my eyebrows, because not many people out there want to help us right now. “I made her stay back—out of the fight.”

“I tied her to the bike,” Cole says, walking past us.

I look back into the dark, behind the glaring headlight, and see a figure mounted on the back. It takes him a second to free the girl but within moments it’s revealed who led them this way.

Zoe.

Chapter Thirteen

“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask her, before casting a worried glance at Wyatt. Walker and Jackson and God-knew-who-else could’ve followed them. “Where’s Walker?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to stay with them, okay?”

I roll my eyes. Her reply betrays every bit of Zoe’s immaturity. “I’m not sure you had a choice?”

“Yeah, thanks for leaving me like that.”

“Zoe, I don’t think you get what we’re doing and who we are.”

“I know my father is watching you. I know he’s scared. I know there’s more out there than the perfect little Utopia he presents back in New Hope.” She flicks her eyes at Paul and Cole. “I know these guys aren’t bad even if they are a little weird.”

Wyatt looks like he could grind a walnut with the back of his jaw and the others just seem perplexed. “You don’t belong out here,” Jude finally says. “You’re going to get killed.”

“I don’t care.” Her eyes plead her case. “These last few years…everything my father told me, I believed. I thought we were the chosen people—that he was the chosen one that would lead us out of this crisis. I never thought differently until I started hearing stories about you guys. How you were fighting outside New Hope’s walls, with the very people that he considers an abomination and an enemy. My father thinks the world exists in black and white, but it can’t; if it did then that virus never would have happened in the first place.”

I don’t want to tell her that my sister created that virus to help people and fight back against radical idealization like Boko Haram. To do what the government couldn’t—or wouldn’t. It seems conflicting with what she’s saying now, that Jane did this to fight the radicals and in the end created more.

“How did you find these guys?” Wyatt asks.

“We picked her up,” Paul says. “We’d been tracking you and a couple of the propaganda teams for a few days. We lost your trail just after you got into Bluefield—thought maybe you went down with that explosion.”

“No, but we were there,” I say.

“Yeah, we picked up again near the house you stayed at with Walker. We were trying to figure out what to do about her when this one came running down the street.”

“We thought we could use her as leverage,” Cole says. “But it wasn’t necessary. She told us everything and where you guys were most likely headed.”

“And then you saved our asses from those Hybrids,” Jude adds. “Thanks, by the way.”