The Girl who Saved the World (Death Fields 6)

Davis and Wyatt exchange glances, but I grab the reins out of Wyatt’s hands and dig my heels into the horse’s side. He darts forward quickly, on edge from the Eaters and gunfire. We emerge in the space in the trees and down below we have a better view of the fight. Black-masked Fighters challenge the soldiers tracking us.

“It’s the Mutts,” I declare, feeling the hum of camaraderie. Even though I feel the hold of the EVI-3 slipping away, I have a connection. “They’re here.”

A single figure emerges as the leader, charging toward the heart of the battle. I recognize his stature; wide set of his shoulders and the wisps of golden hair. Before we can act, a massacre unfolds. He moves like a whirlwind, breaking necks and shinbones. He spins on a dime, landing every punch. He dodges bullets and blades, anticipating his opponents’ every move.

Cole is a deadly force and it’s easy to see the rage and pain fuel his movements. There’s not an ounce of insecurity or the slightest wavering. I’ve never seen someone fight like this, other than Wyatt, but this is different.

Wyatt fights with a purpose.

Cole fights because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“Jesus Christ,” Davis says. “When did he learn to do all that?”

“When Chloe imprisoned us,” I hear myself answer, unable to tear my eyes away. “We fought daily but I know they beat him after our training was over too. He had to learn to defend himself.”

A breeze gusts over the road ahead of us and Cole stands among the dead, the other Mutts several feet away, cleaning the blood from their hands. I slide off the horse, my feet sinking into the soft ground, ignoring the sound of Wyatt calling my name.

The Mutts watch me carefully as I approach, stepping gingerly over the bodies. Cole, with blood smeared across his cheek, glances my way, his dark eyes hard and distant.

“Hey,” I call when I’m close enough. “Are you okay?”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. The blade of a red-stained knife hangs from his fingertips. I know Wyatt has followed me. I know Davis has him in his sights. One inch and they’ll take him out—because how do you come back from what we just saw?

“Cole?” I ask.

“No,” he says, voice tired and defeated. He looks at his hands. At the blade. Down at his blood-covered boots. “I don’t think I am.”

Chapter Twenty-One

We wait a day for Paul to return.

Cole disappeared into the woods after the slaughter and came back scrubbed clean and wearing a new outfit. His boots were the same, but the toes had been washed and there was only a faint tint of red on the leather.

The crazy look in his eyes was quelled. At least for the moment.

I sit on a rotted tree stump by a small, trickling stream. The Mutts had been congregating for a week or so and had created a small camp. One man, who was missing an ear, told us that they felt safer in the wilderness, away from the towns. I watch him tear small pieces of charred squirrel meat with his fingers before gnawing on the bones. I’m not sure if this type of isolation is a good signal. Safety? Or are they just losing their humanity—another step toward being feral?

“How many did you round up?” Wyatt asks once Cole rejoined us at camp. I offer him a can of tuna only just past the expiration date. Wyatt’s asking about the Mutts that Cole found who are willing to fight Hamilton.

“Forty-eight. But I think at least three didn’t survive that attack.” He removes a multi-tool from his belt and cuts off the lid. Then he opens a section designed like a fork and digs in.

At least he still uses utensils.

I fall asleep quickly—feeling a small sense of security with so many fighters around. A nudge wakes me in the morning and it’s Cole, kneeling over me in the gray light. “He’s back,” he whispers.

I rub the sleep from my eyes and glance over at Wyatt’s bedroll. It’s empty and I remember he’s on morning watch. “Who?”

“Paul. And he brought reinforcements.”

I scramble from my sleeping bag, wincing at the pain in my back from the hard ground. That’s another reason for staying in town. Beds.

“I should get—”

?

?He’s talking to him now.” He jerks his head. “Come on.”

The other Mutts are in various states of sleep and waking up. We step around the majority and follow a small, newly worn path out of the camp and down the small creek.