Article 5 (Article 5 #1)(58)

No. They would never change.

But Chase had changed.

“We’re running southwest, parallel to the highway by a couple miles,” he said when he returned. “But we’re farther from the checkpoint than I thought. We need to step it up.”

A shimmer of anxiety passed through me. My legs were so stiff they could barely bend, and the blisters on my feet were damp with blood, but still we pushed harder. We could not miss this carrier. We had to get away from the MM and find my mother. Again I felt as if our survival would somehow even validate the sacrifice of that poor murdered man in Harrisonburg.

After a while, Chase took out the last bit of food, half of an FBR-issued granola bar, and handed it to me. I broke off the corner and handed it back to him, appreciating the gesture but knowing he had to be just as hungry.

I had just opened my mouth to ask him about his wounded arm when we heard voices filtering through the trees. Instinctively, we both ducked, but it became apparent after a moment that they weren’t moving toward us, they were blocking our path.

“From the house?” I asked, remembering the mailbox.

“Maybe. Stay behind me.”

We crept forward. Ten yards, and the volume of the voices increased. Men, two at least, shouting at each other. Twenty yards, and the undergrowth thinned.

“Get off my property!” one yelled.

“I’ll shoot you if I have to!” countered another. “I don’t want to! But I will!”

Shoot you? The words injected fear straight into my bloodstream.

I was close enough now to see three people. My eyes went first to a wiry man, thirty feet away in a cattle field, with dark hair that turned silver at his temples. He was wearing jeans and an old green army sweatshirt and had a baseball bat swung over one shoulder. His movements were awkward; I realized after a moment that he only had one arm. To his right were a bearded drifter with a silver handgun and a smaller figure dressed in rags. As my breathing quieted, I could hear her sobbing. On the ground between all of them was a dead cow.

Poachers.

Chase gripped my arm. He nodded for me to back up. In his hand I saw the glint of his own weapon. He kept it ready, thumb over the safety, but aimed at the ground. I could tell that he did not want to make this our fight.

I was torn. It seemed right that we should help the rancher, clearly trying to defend his livelihood with only a baseball bat. But at what risk to ourselves?

Just then a shot rang out, cracking against the trees and reverberating in my eardrums. The drifter had fired over the rancher’s head, but not scared the brave man away. An image of the carrier’s legs on the kitchen floor flashed before my mind. Defensively, Chase raised his weapon, pushing me all the way down to the ground.

A cry pierced the air. The closeness of it startled me: I almost thought that I was the one who’d made the noise. I turned my head to the side, straining to hear over my raking breaths. It couldn’t have been the woman—she was too far away—and the sound was much too high for a man.

I could hear whimpering now. Nearby. My fingernails scraped the earth, ready to run. I sprang up to my haunches and saw him.

A child. No older than seven.

He had parted brown hair and a sniveling nose that matched his tomato-red sweatshirt. I knew immediately he must be with the rancher; he was too well dressed to belong to the couple. He was hiding, terrified, watching as the thief aimed a gun at his father.

My breath froze its rapid assault to my lungs, and without thinking I jerked out from under Chase’s grasp to crawl toward the boy’s hiding spot, ten feet to our right.

“Ember!” Chase hissed.

The gunman’s voice hitched before us. “Yeah, sure, I had a house once, too. A house and a job and a car. Two cars! And now I can’t even feed my family!” I could hear the thief crying now. His desperation was ramping up. Both Chase and I tensed in response.

The boy sobbed loudly. The thief spun in our direction.

“What’s that? You got someone else out there? Who’s there?”

“No one!” the rancher said forcefully. “It’s just us.”

“I heard someone!” He began stomping toward us.

I froze. My knuckles sank into a damp patch of leaves. The boy was still five feet away, but he’d seen me now. He was covering his mouth with both hands. His face sparkled with tears.

I moved one trembling finger to my lips, desperately trying to shush him. Why hadn’t we backed up like Chase had wanted to?

The deliberate crackling of undergrowth snapped me out of my trance. For a brief second I caught Chase’s eyes and recognized the soldier’s hardened stare. Then, to my shock, he dropped the pack and stood to his full height. He had never looked more formidable.

“Who the hell are you?” yelled the thief, aiming the gun right at Chase’s chest.

My head reeled. What is he doing? I tried to grab Chase’s ankle so that I might still pull him back and make him see reason, but it was too late. He was covering for the child, I realized. Showing himself before the gunman started shooting at random into the forest. The prospect of Chase being harmed crushed me with powerlessness.

“Hey, easy. Put the gun down,” I heard Chase order calmly. The thief hesitated and backed up several steps.

“Who are you?”

“A traveler, just like you. Damn cold, isn’t it? That’s the worst part, I think. The cold. Listen, I know you’re hungry. I’ve got some extra food I’ll share with you tonight, and we’ll think of a plan, all right?”