Three (Article 5 #3)(16)

And then a black, shapeless shadow clinging to a support beam below the bridge burst over the edge of the deck and wrapped itself around Sean. I made out the figure of a man, and the flash of something metal, but before I could scream for Sean to watch out he dragged them both into the swamp with a huge spray of water. There was a struggle, and the black murky shell bubbled and churned, and finally went still. Sean didn’t surface.

I opened my mouth to call his name, but no sound came out. One breath, two, and I heaved myself up. Something whizzed by, implanting in the dirt right in front of me, and I staggered back. I looked down, but all I could see was a small gray pebble.

I hit the ground hard, Chase’s body sheltering mine.

“Get back,” he growled in my ear.

A male cry, and from under Chase’s arm I saw a body fall. Jack. In his surprise, he released the gun, which went skidding across the ground in my direction. He landed on his side. A knife was lodged in his leg, and he grimaced at it for one full second before baring his teeth and pulling it free with a grunt and the sickening sound of tearing skin.

The light was fading, aiding the ambush. The hollow clacking of reeds came from the water and was met by the crash of breaking branches behind us in the woods.

Two, then three shadowed bodies sprung from the bushes and leaped on Jack, taking him by surprise. Our attackers were shrouded in dark clothes, their faces caked with mud so that they blended with the night. One kicked him hard in the chin and he fell back, out cold.

We were surrounded.

Chase leaped up and ran toward the water, where a limp figure was being dragged through the brush at the shoreline. I thought I caught a glimpse of the blue printed T-shirt Sean had been wearing earlier. A moment later there was a splash, and Sean was crawling weakly toward dry ground.

Rebecca’s name ripped from my throat, but was met with no response.

Grabbing Jack’s arm, I tried to pull him backward into the trees, but he was too heavy. Desperately, I crawled forward, fingers digging through the sand for his gun. It had to be close—I’d seen it fly this way. Someone jumped over me. A second later Billy cried out in pain.

My hands closed around something thin and metallic. Not the gun—my fork.

And then I froze. A cold, blunt barrel pressed against the back of my head. Legs straddled me, boots near my hips.

“Get up.”

I gripped the fork tightly. My gut turned to ice.

A fist wound into the back of my shirt, and heaved me up like I weighed no more than a child, the man’s thick forearm wedged under my chin, momentarily cutting off my air supply. A bright white frame outlined my vision. I gasped.

“Hold!” he called into the dark. Something muffled his words; did he wear a mask? I could feel the stoop in his posture—he had to be a foot taller than me. He smelled rank—of mud and sewage.

I turned the fork in my grasp. Points down.

Gradually the fighting stalled. My captor must have been their leader.

“Why are you following us?” he asked.

I bucked against him and tried to tuck my chin beneath his arm. “Get your hands off—”

His grip tightened.

“Survivors,” I gasped. “We’re looking … for survivors … from the bombs…”

“Let her go.”

I could see only Chase’s shadow, but knew the sound of a slide chambering a round.

My captor twitched. “Come closer,” he said.

“Shoot him,” rasped Jack. “Shoot him now!” He huffed as someone hit him in the gut.

Chase took a step forward, the roll of his boots over crackling leaves deafening to my ears.

“Let her go.”

I couldn’t see his face, so I knew he couldn’t see mine. My only hope was that he would be ready.

I lifted my arm, and with all my strength slammed the fork down into the man’s hip. With a grunt of pain he released me and fell back, and in that second Chase charged and took him to the ground.

They scrapped, rolled, a black mass of shadows in a night gone quiet. With a sharp intake of breath, Chase was thrown to the dirt beside me. For a moment I thought he’d been injured—he didn’t rise. He didn’t move. He leaned back on his elbows, eyes wide with shock.

The man rose before us, taller than Chase, gripping his hip with a wince. His clothing and skin were painted with mud; his eyes were glowing black beads. In his hand was a screwdriver, not a gun. The blunt end protruded from his fist.

Hot blood spiked through my veins. I crouched low, ready to pounce, eyeing the fork still lodged in the side of his thigh as it bobbed with each tiny movement of his leg. He removed it with a hiss and dropped it on the ground.

With the back of his hand the man yanked down the filthy bandana that now hung crookedly off of one ear. A clean patch of skin was exposed, gleaming with sweat.

My mouth gaped open.

A twisting snake tattoo stretched from the right side of his collar to just below his jaw, and though it had been years since I’d seen his face, it was one I would never forget.

“Did you stab me with a fork?” asked Chase’s uncle.





CHAPTER


5


“CHASE can stay with us. He doesn’t even know you!”

My mother’s grip tightened around my shoulders. She breathed out my name, almost a warning but too soft.