There was a hooded man sitting on the pavement with a body lying in front of him. He had a thick beard and was waving his arms. One of the man’s ankles looked to be bandaged with a white cloth. Well, mostly white—there was a prominent bloodstain along the side.
To the man’s right was an old VW Bug. It was charred black and burnt down to the frame. There wasn’t much left of it—just another corpse along the road—a metallic corpse, long since abandoned.
Summer remembered seeing it on the way in, back when Edison was filling her in on what to expect during their monthly meet with Frost at the Trading Post.
She ran a quick visual assessment, studying the covered body lying from left to right, its back facing the truck. It was centered in the road, with equal spacing to the curbs on either side.
What caught her focus next was the long hair hanging out from under the blanket. The blonde locks were extra frizzy, as if they hadn’t been combed in weeks.
Summer’s hair was always out of control, but never as bad as what she saw twenty feet ahead. “Is that a girl?”
“Looks like it.”
“We should help them.”
Krista shook her head, taking one hand from the steering wheel. It dropped to her side. “Too big a risk.”
“What do you mean? Look at them. They can’t even walk.”
“You need to trust me, Summer. Without better intel and a security team to cover our six, we’ll be exposed. The right move is to continue onward. This could be a trap.”
“We can’t just leave them here. They’ll freeze to death.”
“We can send back help later,” Krista said, taking her foot off the brake. She turned the wheel as the truck idled forward, beginning a slow crawl around the victims.
The man on the ground stopped waving his arms. He let them drop to his sides, looking defeated.
“What are you doing?” Summer asked.
“My job.”
“I said no!”
“It’s not up to you. Not during a threat.”
“But Edison put me in charge. You have to do what I say.”
“Only if you’re giving me a direct order. Is that what you’re doing? Overriding my security decision with a direct order?”
“Yes. It’s an order. Stop the truck.”
Krista slammed on the brakes, then popped the latch on the seatbelt, freeing herself in one motion. She swung her head around. “Fine. But you stay here. Let me assess the situation.”
“No. I’m coming with you,” Summer replied, turning and crawling past the dog. The blond fur ball looked up at her, then started dragging its body to follow her to the tailgate.
“No. Stay,” Summer said, using a hand to stop Sergeant Barkley. “I’ll be right back, boy. I promise.”
Summer repositioned the tarp covering Edison on her way past his body, concealing his face once again. It was hard enough being this close to him, knowing he would never take another breath. But to see his eyes, empty and meaningless, was just too much to bear.
When she made it to the rear of the transport, she peeled the edge of the canvas tarp up. She swung her legs over the tailgate, then landed her feet on the rear bumper in a double plop. A few seconds later, she was on the ground and hustling around the side of the truck, where she met up with Krista at the driver’s door.
“I wish you’d listen to me. It’s for your own good,” Krista said, racking the slide on her semi-automatic handgun.
Summer ignored the comment. “Come on. Let’s get them back to Liz.”
Krista sighed, then jogged alongside Summer, the sights of the gun trained on the people ahead.
“Oh, thank God. I thought you were going to leave us here,” the bearded man said after they arrived.
“Not a chance,” Summer said. It was difficult to see his face inside the hoodie, but Summer thought he looked harmless. She turned to Krista and motioned to lower her gun.
Krista obliged, aiming the barrel at the ground.
Summer knelt down next to the girl. “What happened to her?”
“We were attacked.”
“Scabs?”
“No. Bandits.”
“I knew it,” Summer said, moving the mop of hair from the injured girl’s face. That was when reality hit. So did a powerful gasp to her chest.
The girl was missing a nose—frostbite.
“Hold it right there!” a man’s voice said, coming at them from the left.
Summer whipped her head around. A second man stepped out from behind the torched VW bug and stood a few feet away with a pistol aimed at her. He looked older than the one on the ground. And fatter. Plus, he wore a Fedora. It was angled slightly on his wrinkled, old man head.
“Hands up,” he said, nudging the muzzle of the weapon up and down.
“Damn it, Summer. I told you,” Krista said in a whisper, the gun in her hand still pointing at the ground.
“Do something,” Summer muttered, hoping Krista had some type of ninja move up her sleeve. Something a commando would use to save the day and get them out of this mess.
“Drop the gun, Missy,” the man said to Krista. “Don’t make me pull the trigger. Because I will if I have to.”
Krista went to bend down.
The man’s hands shook with subtle tremors, his index finger resting on the trigger. “Slowly. No sudden moves.”
Krista put the gun on the pavement, then straightened up, her hands out to the side. “Easy now. We’ve done as you asked. How about you take your finger off that trigger? If you engage the sear point—”
The gunman didn’t wait for Krista to finish. He pointed with his free hand. “Take a step back.”
The blonde girl with crazy hair sat up in a lurch from the bearded man’s lap, then got to her feet, snarling with a set of messed-up teeth, looking like a human version of a chainsaw blade.
“Jesus Christ,” Krista snapped, moving in front of Summer, taking a defensive stance.
Summer couldn’t stop the words from leaving her mouth. “Didn’t even know Scab Girls existed.”
“That makes two of us,” Krista said, scrunching her face. “Can smell her from here.”
Summer brought her attention to the gunman. “What do you want from us?”
“Your truck, for one.”
Scab Girl helped the bearded man off the ground and to his feet. He looked weak, standing with more weight on his good leg than his bad. He pulled the hoodie back to expose his entire head. That was when Summer noticed the tattoo of interlocking chains on his neck.
Krista must have seen it too. “They’re with Frost.”
“I thought they were our friends now?” Summer quipped. “You know, on account of he’s dead and all.”
“What did you say?” the gunman asked.
“About what?”
“About Frost.”
Summer didn’t hesitate with her response. “He’s dead. Scabs ate him. All crunchy-like.”
“When did this happen?”
Krista touched Summer’s forearm, then spoke in a commanding tone. “At the Trading Post. Hundreds of them. We barely escaped.”
“What about Fletcher and the others?”
Krista’s tone turned even deeper and more direct, as if she was giving a military report to a superior. “He survived. So did Dice. Can’t say the same for the rest. We lost most of ours as well. So did Heston.”
“It was biblical,” Summer added. “And not in a good way.”
“Biblical, huh?” the gunman mumbled, as if the phrase had some special meaning to him.
Krista took a short step forward, keeping her arms up and her voice even and calm. “You should be advised that Fletcher is the one who helped us survive the attack. We are working together now. On the same side.”
The gunman’s face turned sour. “Why would he ever do that?”
Krista shrugged. “Not sure. But he did. So did Dice. So you can put the gun down. We’re no longer adversaries.”