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The best defensive position on this side is the dining hall we constructed, so we move into the building through the back door.
It should be empty, but it’s not. One guy is still sitting at a table, stuffing food into his mouth. He does have his gun out, but it doesn’t matter. Rachel takes care of him before he can swallow his mouthful.
Mack points Gail toward one window and me toward another. I slide the window down—since it’s good fiberglass and there’s no reason to destroy it unnecessarily—and lean out enough to see what kind of vantage point I have.
The first thing I see is a man running toward a motorcycle in my eyeline. I shoot him before he gets there. My hand is so shaky that I barely wing him, so he turns around and returns fire. I duck behind the wall for a moment and then try again. I get him down with the second shot.
There’s no one else in my sights. From this window, I’m covering one small corner of the camp, and most of the fighting seems to be happening on the other side. Mack and the others are shooting more than me, so they must have a wider range of vision.
I don’t mind. I’m trembling so much I can barely hold my gun. I take a minute to breathe slowly and wipe the perspiration off my palms. Then I check out my window again. There’s still no one in my sight.
I’m about to ask Mack if I should move to a different window when a motion outside draws my attention.
Grant.
It’s Grant.
As I watch, he runs toward the motorcycle, leans over, and deflates one of the tires.
His job is disabling all their vehicles so none of them can get away.
When I first heard he was going to do this, I was surprised because I thought he’d pick a job with more direct action. But now I understand why he volunteered for this one. It’s probably the most dangerous role of our entire plan. He must have entered the camp before anyone else, and he’s moving from vehicle to vehicle, spending most of the time completely exposed.
I’ve barely processed this reality when I see someone else. A big, ugly man moves out from behind the camp’s compost pile and aims his gun at Grant, who is still focused on the motorcycle.
I act on instinct, shooting the man before he can kill Grant.
Grant jerks and whirls around, aiming first at me and then at the man who’s now fallen to the ground.
When he looks back toward me, our eyes meet. Maybe it’s just a few seconds or maybe much longer. But I feel his gaze all the way down to my heart.
He knows I saved his life.
He checks his surroundings once more and then runs toward the door of the dining hall, joining us in the building.
“This side of the camp is under control,” Cal says, positioned at the front door. “Did you take care of the vehicles?”
“Yes. Not a single one of them is getting away.” Grant has come over to me and pulls me into a brief, one-armed hug. “They’re having a harder time on the north side. We need to head that way.”
No one has any objections to this plan, so we file out of the dining hall, moving north by taking cover behind any structure or vehicle we encounter.
Grant takes out a couple of guys, and Mack and Gail both shoot another, but I’m not as quick as them so I’m not much help in this part.
There’s a lot more gunfire ahead of us. There must have been many more from the Wolf Packs on that side. I’ve felt a strange sense of calm overtake me ever since Grant joined us, but now that ice-cold panic rises again.
We haven’t gotten through the worst of this yet.
Grant doesn’t leave my side. He moves me behind the cover of a beat-up pickup truck and gestures toward the other side of it.
I understand.
That’s where our targets are.
I peek out, trying to stay out of range of bullets while still seeing what’s happening out there.
It takes a few minutes, but I finally figure out where some of the shooting is coming from, so I aim in that direction. I have no idea if I hit anything or not, but I figure that’s the way this kind of fighting goes.
Shoot and keep shooting and hope for the best.
