The 5th Wave (The Fifth Wave #1)(97)

I pass another body with barely a glance, and then that bare glance registers and I turn back. The kid soldier has no pants on.

It doesn’t matter. I keep moving. On the dirt road now, heading north. Still trotting. Move, Cassie, move, move. Forgot the food. Forgot the water. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. The sky is cloudless, huge, a gigantic blue eye staring down. I run along the edge of the road near the woods abutting the west side. If I see a drone, I’ll dive for cover. If I see Evan, I’ll shoot first and ask questions later. Well, not just Evan. Anyone.

Nothing matters but the first rule. Nothing matters except getting Sammy. I forgot that for a while.

Silencers: human, semihuman, clone human, or alien-projecting-human holograph? Doesn’t matter. The ultimate goal of the Others: eradication, internment, or enslavement? Doesn’t matter. My chances of success: one, point one, or point zero zero zero one percent? Doesn’t matter.

Follow the road, follow the road, follow the dusty dirt road…

After a couple miles it veers to the west, connecting with Highway 35. Another few miles on Highway 35 to the junction of 675. I can take cover at the overpass there and wait for the buses. If the buses still run on Highway 35. If they’re still running at all.

At the end of the dirt road, I pause long enough to scan the terrain behind me. Nothing. He’s not coming. He’s letting me go.

I head a few feet into the trees to catch my breath. The minute I sink to the ground, everything I’ve been running from catches up to me long before my breath.

I am a shark who dreamed he was a man…

Someone is screaming—I can hear her screams echoing through the trees. The sound goes on and on. Let it bring a horde of Silencers down upon me, I don’t care. I press my hands against my head and rock back and forth, and I have this weird sensation of floating above my body, and then I’m rocketing into the sky at a thousand miles an hour and watching myself dwindle into a tiny spot before the immensity of the Earth swallows me. It’s as if I’ve been loosed from the Earth. As if there were nothing to hold me down anymore and I’m being sucked into the void. As if I were bound by a silver cord and now that cord has snapped.

I thought I knew what loneliness was before he found me, but I had no clue. You don’t know what real loneliness is until you’ve known the opposite.

“Cassie.”

Two seconds: on my feet. Another two and a half: swinging the M16 toward the voice. A shadow darts between the trees on my left and I open up, spraying bullets willy-nilly at tree trunks and branches and empty air.

“Cassie.”

In front of me, about two o’clock. I empty the clip. I know I didn’t hit him. Know I don’t have a prayer of hitting him. He’s a Silencer. But if I keep shooting, maybe he’ll back off.

“Cassie.”

Directly behind me. I take a deep breath, reload, and then deliberately turn and pump some more lead into the innocent trees.

Don’t you get it, dummy? He’s getting you to use up your ammo.

So I wait, feet wide, shoulders square, gun up, scanning right and left, and I can hear his voice in my head, giving instruction back at the farm: You have to feel the target. Like it’s connected to you. Like you’re connected to it…

It happens in the space of time between one second and the next. His arm drops around my chest, he rips the rifle from my hands, then relieves me of the Luger. After another half second, he’s locked me in a bear hug, crushing me into his chest and lifting my feet a couple inches off the ground as I kick furiously with my heels, twisting my head back and forth, snapping at his forearm with my teeth.

And the whole time his lips tickling the delicate skin of my ear. “Cassie. Don’t. Cassie…”

“Let…me…go.”

“That’s been the whole problem. I can’t.”

71

EVAN LETS ME KICK and squirm until I’m exhausted, then he plops me down against a tree and steps back.

“You know what happens if you run,” he warns me. His face is flushed. He’s having a hard time catching his breath. When he turns to retrieve my weapons, his movements are stiff, deliberate. Catching me—after taking the grenade for me—has cost him. His jacket hangs open, exposing his denim shirt, and the pants he took from the dead kid are two sizes too small, tight in all the wrong places. It looks like he’s wearing a pair of capris.

“You’ll shoot me in the back of the head,” I say.

He tucks my Luger into his belt and swings the M16 over one shoulder.

“I could have done that a long time ago.”

I guess he’s talking about the first time we met. “You’re a Silencer,” I say. It takes everything in me not to jump up and tear off through the trees again. Of course, running from him is pointless. Fighting him is pointless. So I have to outsmart him. It’s like I’m back under that car on the day we first met. No hiding from it. No running from it.

He sits down a few feet away, resting his rifle across his thighs. He’s shivering.

“If your job is to kill us, why didn’t you kill me?” I ask.

He answers without hesitating, as if he’s decided long before I asked the question what his answer would be.

“Because I’m in love with you.”

My head falls back against the rough bark of the tree. The bare branches overhead are hard-edged against the bright blue sky. “Well, this is a tragic love story, isn’t it? Alien invader falls for human girl. The hunter for his prey.”