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6
At some point,after Grant lets go of my arm, I reach for the holstered pistol on my hip and pull it out. My hand is damp from the sudden flood of nerves, but at least it doesn’t tremble.
For a year and a half, I trained with Grant nearly every evening. To use this gun. To defend myself. To fight if I must.
I’ve never actually used any of those skills before.
We’re still in the woods as we draw nearer to our camp, so I can’t see anything but trees and the back of Grant’s body. His dark hair is slightly mussed at the nape of his neck, and there’s a damp spot on his shirt below his shoulder blades. I’m starting to hear things, however. The roar of engines. Rough, muffled shouts. Then the crack of a gunshot that makes me jump.
Grant props his rifle on his shoulder, aiming it in front of him as he steps forward.
I try to move as silently as he can, but I don’t have any practice at this. I occasionally rustle leaves or step on a twig.
We’re reaching the edge of the trees now. I see light beyond them. It’s late afternoon on what was supposed to be a regular day. I had sex just over an hour ago, and now I’m in a cold, weirdly calm panic.
Without speaking, Grant signals behind him with his hand in a clear sign that I should stop. I do as he indicates while he takes a few steps forward.
He’s trying to see what’s happening out there.
Something in his body changes as he peers out at our camp. When he comes back to me, I’m sick to my stomach even before he whispers, “The gate is down.”
The gate is down.
Someone attacked our camp and got through.
I have no idea what we’re supposed to do now. This isn’t a situation I’ve been prepped for.
The gate is down. Maybe everyone else I know is already dead.
Grant inclines his head in a signal to follow him, so I do—taking step by step in a frozen blur. When he stops again, we’re still hidden by the trees, but we’re on the back side of the camp.
He turns to face me, opening his mouth to speak, when he seems to notice something on my face. He breaks off whatever he was going to say and gives his head a brief shake. “You’re dead white. It might not be that bad. If the camp was attacked, then our people would have locked down in the bunker.”
His matter-of-fact words are like a balm, a warm breeze. I take a ragged breath and exhale it slowly. “You think they’re all right?”
“Maybe not all of them, but we’ve been drilling for months now. Most should have gotten into the bunker before that gate came down. But I need more details on the situation so I can figure out what to do.”
This makes sense and sounds doable. Much more feasible than him and me attacking an unknown number of intruders on our own, which was the only option that occurred to me.
I’m about to respond when there’s a loud rustling from the trees to our left. I automatically raise my pistol toward the sound. Propping up his rifle again, Grant starts walking toward the sound.
He probably wants me to stay put, but I don’t. For one, I’m not about to be left alone right now. For another, I’m not going to let him wander off and get killed. So I follow him a few steps behind.
I nearly squeal when I hear the sound of another shot. Then a figure suddenly breaks through the trees. The man is moving at a clumsy run and nearly collides into Grant.
I recognize the shirt he’s wearing before anything else. “It’s Noah!” I gasp a little louder than I should because I don’t want Grant to shoot him.
Grant has already lowered his rifle. He reaches out with one arm and catches Noah before he slumps to the ground.
There’s blood on his face. And all over the back of his shirt. “They…” Noah’s voice is weak and raspy, but he clearly knows who we are. “They got in.”
“How many?”
He gives an awkward headshake. “Don’t… know. Dozens. I tried to… but they were on me.”
“Were you able to sound the warning?” Grant asks him tersely. He almost sounds mean, but I know he’s not. “Were the others able to lock down?”
“Y-yeah. Most. A bunch of us… killed.” His features twist in visible pain that makes me want to whimper.
