[The Death Fields 1 ] Lawson, Angel - The Girl who Shot First by Angel Lawson

Author:Angel Lawson [Lawson, Angel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-05-08T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Seven

~Now~

Cole spots them first, pointing in the direction of the main road. With a hand on my pack I run over to the others, each in various states of packing. I hear it, the low rumble of a large truck. I’m not surprised to find I’m holding my breath as the camouflaged canopy of the vehicle comes barreling in our direction.

Our group paralysis only lasts a second and we grab what we can. Cole stomps on the fire, kicking dirt over the still warm sticks. Wyatt shoves the tent under the truck, while Chloe and I take the packs filled with the most food. They’ll know we were here. We just have to hide out long enough for them to lose interest.

Cole leads us into the forest behind the campground, just as the huge tires churn over the gravel. What led them here? Right to us?

“Maybe they saw our fire,” Chloe says, reading my mind. She bends over to her knees trying to catch her breath.

The woods make me nervous. I can’t keep my bearings. Ever since we left the city I’ve tried to avoid them unless I can keep my eye on something solid, like a creek or a road.

“How far back should we go?” I ask, not wanting to go any further at all. They still sound too close and a hand wraps around mine dragging me deeper into the forest. We come to a swift stop behind an outcropping of shrubs and Cole releases me. Chloe and Wyatt are visible several dozen feet away. None of us move.

Doors slam, echoing off the trees. Low voices carry to where we are and I clamp my mouth shut. Glancing to my left I see Wyatt using a tree for cover. His gun waits by his side. My fingers hover over the shaft of my hatchet. Had it come to this? Would we kill people? Real live people?

No, I assure myself. It hasn’t come to that yet. Not yet.

That realization does not take away the absolute fact I do not want to be discovered. After the bus, after Paul, I know going with these guys is a mistake. My father had been right. Do not go with the military.

The soldiers make a lot of noise, banging on the metal campers, feet stomping through the metal and fiberglass shells. Nothing in their movements implies they can see us. Birds chirp overhead and panic rises in my chest. Too much. It’s all too much.

“You’ve got this,” Cole says so quietly I think I may have made it up. I strain to hear his calm assurance but instead the soldier’s voices carry and from my frozen spot I hear a snatch of conversation.

“Gone?”

“Area appears abandoned.”

“What about the vehicle?”

“Possibly infected?”

I lean to the side and make out the shape of a male soldier. Older—my father’s age, maybe, but with a short, trim mustache. He circles the fire pit and lowers his hand over it. It’s not burning, but under the sand, the wood still smolders.

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