Three (Article 5 #3)(15)

Billy climbed the first step. It groaned beneath his weight.

“Hey, Fats,” said Jack. “Send a lightweight to test the bridge. You break it, no one’s getting across.”

Billy stepped back, grinning. “Rat, you’re up.”

Something stirred in the water. When I held my breath I swore I could hear the snap of jaws.

Rat swore. “Why don’t we just go around?”

“Scared the swamp monster’s gonna get you?” chided Billy.

“Bunch of babies.”

It was Rebecca that had spoken. She pushed between Billy and Sean and hoisted herself up the steps, relying mostly on her braces. Sean went after her, but when he grabbed her arm she shook him off.

“See?” She was breathing hard when she reached the top, and shoved the sweaty hair back from her forehead. “It’s fine.”

I bounced on my heels, waiting for Sean to follow, but he didn’t. He grumbled something I couldn’t make out, but stayed put as she took a few careful steps out over the water.

I wanted her to stop, for someone else to do this. It was risk enough without her stiff legs and uneven gait; she wasn’t even strong enough to react if her footing gave way. This wasn’t the right time to prove herself, and I was just about to go after her myself when I saw the grim determination in her face. She needed this.

It took a great deal of restraint to hold myself back. I scarcely breathed as I watched her take each careful step over the rickety boards. She made it ten feet, then twenty, and then went farther, and farther, until she was halfway across. There, she stumbled, and I bit down hard on my lower lip as one leg fell through a gap to her knee. A board came loose and splashed into the water below, but before any more followed, she caught herself on the braces, and hoisted herself back up. She took another step, as if it had never happened.

I almost cheered. Somehow this had become a test, and she was beating it.

“Looks like gimpy’s useful after all,” said Jack.

“Yeah, as gator bait,” snickered Rat. Billy’s shoulders jostled as he laughed along.

I was so infuriated that I didn’t see Sean lunge across me to tackle Jack until it was too late.

Too late to shove myself out of the way, I was sideswiped by a stray punch and fell back, scraping my hands on the pebbly ground. Beside me, Sean pummeled Jack with his fists, his face contorted with rage. When Chase tried to intervene, Rat and one of the others shoved him off to the side, and soon they were shoving each other, exchanging heated words.

“Stop!” I tried to rise but a scream, high and terrified, drew my attention back to the bridge to where Rebecca was now fifty yards out. I feared she’d fallen, but she was still upright—at least until a moment later, when she collapsed against the boards and curled into a ball.

“Rebecca!” I called, but Sean had already detached himself from Jack and was scrambling up the stairs. I followed him up the first two steps before the wood bowed and gave way beneath his right foot. He grabbed the guard rail, barely staying upright. Pieces of mushy wood splashed in the water, eight feet below him.

Rebecca screamed again, and my blood ran cold.

Something was wrong. From where I was I could see her, hugging an upright post, her head down close to the deck. A moment later a crack split the air; its reverberations slapped off the water.

Someone was shooting at us.

“Ambush!” I heard Jack yell. I tore my horrified gaze away from Rebecca, stuck on the walk, to search for Chase in the sudden commotion behind me. I couldn’t find him.

Male voices, raised in confusion, belted out conflicting orders. Ducking low, I sprinted back toward the woods, dropping the bag with the radio in my rush to find cover. Rat, face pale with panic, shoved past me, sprinting down the trail in the direction we’d come. I dove behind a fallen tree, and flipped onto my belly to peer out from beneath it. Chase was across the clearing, back pressed to a tree trunk. His gun was drawn and his face tilted skyward, and I braced myself for the possibility that the MM had found us and sent their bombs.

There was too much coverage from the canopy of leaves for a clear view of the darkening sky. The shadows had grown long and deep and played tricks on my mind.

Gunshots followed, yanking my gaze back to the ground. Three, in quick succession: Pop! Pop! Pop!

Rebecca screamed again. Sean was trying to crawl toward her, but he was too heavy—the planks beneath him kept breaking.

“Hold on!” he shouted to her.

I was light enough to follow her; it had to be me.

I strained my eyes for any sign of our attackers. Was it soldiers? We could have come across anyone here in the swamps—holdouts from the evacuation, refugees, even the survivors. In the failing light no one would be able to see anything. I cursed Billy for firing his gun earlier in the afternoon. He’d given our attackers the advantage. He’d drawn whoever it was right to us.

In the clearing our belongings were scattered across the ground. Billy lay in the center, curled in a ball, arms wrapped around his head. Jack had ducked behind the walkway’s broken steps. He fired his weapon in the direction of the swamp.

The reeds were moving, the water rippling to the shore. The whole marsh seemed to bend to the breeze making it impossible to tell where our attackers hid, but from the sound of the sloshing water they were close, maybe twenty yards away. Moving closer by the second.