“Stay where you are,” I say.
“Or you will shoot?” she says, her voice guttural and hoarse, but her words clear. “Shoot me, too?”
“Yes, I will shoot. But I’d like to speak to you, since you seem to be able to do that.”
“Able to talk?” She sneers. “You mean that I am not an animal? Will that make it harder to kill me?”
“Not if you attack me.” I motion for Petra to hold her fire. “Now—”
The woman’s gaze drops to the dead man at my feet. Her blue eyes widen. Then she howls and rushes at me. I kick her away before Petra decides to shoot.
“I didn’t hurt him,” I say as she staggers back. “That wasn’t me.”
Her gaze swings past Petra to Colin. A flash of recognition, telling me they must have been stalking him. In a heartbeat, she realizes who killed her companion, and she flies at Colin, screaming.
I shoot her. It’s all I can do. My bullet hits her in the shoulder and whirls her around. She catches her balance to see Petra’s gun and mine both aimed at her. She’s lucid, and she knows what those guns mean. Her hand claps over her shoulder wound.
“I can treat that,” I say. “Just—”
She backs away, growling. That sets me back. Despite the snarls and the curled lip, she has, until now, struck me as more “human” than any hostile I’ve met. That growl, though, is a pure animal sound. It takes me a split second to recover, and by the time I do, she’s bolted into the forest.
I take off after her. Behind me, Petra shouts my name. Tells me to get the hell back there or—
A thunder boom cuts off the rest. Ahead, the woman is running, hand to her shoulder, weaving through the forest as if she’s suffered a mere scrape.
“I know you can understand me!” I shout. “Just let me—”
Movement to my left. I wheel so fast my boot slides, and I have to grab my gun with both hands to keep hold of it. I may fall, but goddamn it, I am not letting go of my weapon.
Steadied, I survey the forest. Lightning flashes across the sky. As it fades, it is as if someone flicked off the lights. Those ink-black clouds roll in, swallowing the evening sunlight and casting me into near dark. The wind whips past, my ball cap smacking up and then dangling from my ponytail. I don’t reach to fix it. I don’t dare. I saw movement in the forest. I know I did, and now I can see nothing but trees and shadows. I strain for the running hostile’s footfalls. Everything has gone silent.
I’ve run straight into a trap.
No, not a trap. I might actually feel better about that. This is an ambush of my own creation. I saw from the woman’s reaction that she knew both the dead man and Colin. They must have been tracking him, and she became separated from the dead man. It isn’t only the woman out here, though. I’d seen a young man, and while I hadn’t thought he was a hostile, I hadn’t seen enough of him to be sure.
When the injured hostile ran into the forest, what did I do? Gave chase, ignoring Petra’s shouts
and curses. Ran into the forest even as I knew—beyond a doubt—at least one other person waited here. I’d known it … I just hadn’t processed what it meant. That I could run straight into an entire troop of hostiles.
I breathe deeply. I don’t see anyone yet. I’ll start backing toward Petra, gun raised, gaze canvassing for even the slightest movement. Listening, too, for a cracking twig, for the swish of soil underfoot.
All that would be so much easier if it wasn’t nearly dark out here, if the thunder wasn’t rolling overhead, if drops of rain weren’t splashing my face. I can look and listen all I want, but if I can’t see or hear—
A sound behind me. I spin, gun pointed. No one’s there. I know I heard something, though, and when I squint into the dusk, I realize it won’t be Petra and Colin. I’ve chased my target farther than I intended.
Lightning cracks open the sky, and in that split second of illumination, I see someone to my left, crouched and watching me. A hostile between me and Petra. Waiting for me to run back toward them.
Another sound. No, not a sound. The sense of a person to my right. I turn twenty degrees that way, so I can still see where the first hostile waits, now hidden in shadow. When I spot someone to my right, I give a start.
He’s right there, less than ten feet away. It’s the young man. Hope leaps. Hope that he’s a settler, an ally. Hope that detonates as I take in his makeshift clothing and his wild hair.
But he’s so young.
God, he’s so young.
That trips me up, my brain screaming that I am mistaken. This cannot be a hostile because they don’t have children. Yet he’s not a child. He’s Sebastian’s age. To me, though, all I see is a boy, one who should be in college or starting his first job, and how the hell did you get here?
That’s the question screaming in my head, blocking rational thought.