Years After Series | Book 1 | Nine Years After by Clary LeRoy

Author:Clary, LeRoy [Clary, LeRoy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Post-Apocalyptic | Dystopian
Published: 2020-04-20T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Later, she touched my arm. It was the signal. I’d been dozing. In the starlight, only large blobs of darkness told me where trees were. The path was clear and easy to navigate. Ahead, the fire had been allowed to die until only embers remained. Now and then the guard who had replaced the previous one tossed a few more sticks on top and he stood and watched it burn.

Tess whispered, “Idiot. Too small a fire to give any heat, and now after staring into it, he has no night vision.”

I felt her presence, more than saw her in the darkness as she stood beside me.

She said, “Remember. Rendezvous at Russian Creek Crossing, the east side. Use the path to run so they trip. Make sure they know that’s the way you go, even if you have to slow so they see you. Let me take down the guard, then come quietly to join me. Questions?”

Not more than a hundred questions flooded my mind. Despite that, I shook my head.

When we reached a few steps from the clearing, she used her hand on my shoulder to push me down to a crouch. She moved away and I lost her in the darkness, so I watched the guard. He was walking slowly, circling the four tents, probably doing that to make sure he didn’t sit down and fall asleep. Walking would keep him awake.

He walked the same circle, always skirting the edge of the trees on our side of the clearing. Perhaps ten minutes passed, and he’d walked past me three times. As he approached again, he disappeared.

My eyes were on him and he was suddenly not there. I heard nothing. It had to be Tess attacking. My fingers gripped the throwing rock and those on my right hand squeezed the bashing rock.

Tess moved into the clearing at the edge of the light from the fire and walked close to the first tent before motioning for me to approach. I moved quietly—for clumsy me. To my ears, every sound was amplified, especially a footfall in dry leaves, and the sound of the legs of my pants swishing with each step. When I reached her, she shoved a pistol into my waistband and hissed, “Don’t use it unless we have to.”

It was too dark to examine, to take the safety off if it had one, or to see if it had ammo. Better to trust my rocks. I knew they were loaded, and the safety was off. Neither would blow up on my hand. At the end of the tent, Tess dropped to all fours. She silently crawled inside.

I went after, knees weak, hands shaking with my rocks grasped so hard they were threatened to become gravel when I crushed them to pieces, and my breath was thankfully shallow.

She moved to the man sleeping on our right, so I went left. Heavy snores came from both. She pulled to a stop near the man’s head. The knife was poised in her hand.

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