Because it’s not.
It’s the engine of a truck.
Choker stands up across the campfire, watching my movements.
“Don’t try to make a run for,” he says, yawning.
“Wake up, Bree!” I ignore Choker and kick her foot.
“What the –“ she begins, anger flashing across her face when she sees me. “What are you doing, Ginger?”
“Trucks. Coming this way,” I warn. “Quick. Put out the fire. Get your gun loaded. We need to move now.”
“Are you kidding?” Blondie rolls out of her sleeping bag, excitement written across her features. “Trucks mean people and people mean help. We can go home!”
“You’re insane!” I hiss. “They’ll kill us. No civilian’s cars are working right now.Omega vehicles are are, but that’s it. Listen to me. You stay here and you’re dead.”
“Shut her up,” Blondie commands, looking absolutely livid. “We’re going home, boys.”
“You’re going home alright!” I yell. “Don’t be stupid! You’re going to get everyone killed!”
Blondie pulls her hood across her face.
“Like I care what you say.”
And just like that, she trots off into the darkness, following the sound of the trucks. Dear Lord, she’s lost her ever-loving mind.
“Stop her!” I tell the boys.
They just look at me with blank expressions.
“We do need help,” Choker shrugs.
I narrow my eyes.
“Yeah. And it’s not going be to from me.”
I slam my boot right between his legs, putting all my force into it. Choker cries out, dropping the rifle to the ground. Spot jumps out of his sleeping bag, looking momentarily terrified before he rushes toward me, trying to bring me down.
No. I’m not in the mood.
My wrists are still tied together, so I slam both my fists across his face in what’s possibly the most unorthodox punch in the history of self-defense. Spot stumbles backwards as I deliver a beautiful roundhouse kick to make my point. He crashes down, clutching his head and moaning.
I guess I did learn something from those self-teaching DVDs about martial arts from the library.
I reach down, grab the rifle, and aim it at Choker.
“Open my backpack and get my knife out,” I say. “And do it quickly.”
Choker slowly crawls across the dirt, dragging my backpack out from behind the log. He fumbles around for a little while before pulling out the knife.
“Give it to Spot,” I command.
Choker looks at me, confused, and I realize that I just called him by my nickname for him out loud. Whatever.
Choker tosses the knife to Spot, who stares at is as it lies on the ground. In the not-so-far-off distance, the sounds of multiple trucks seems extra loud against the night sky. Do I hear voices, too?
“Pick up the knife,” I say, “and cut these plastic ties off my wrist.”
I walk over to Spot, kneel, and keep my rifle trained on Choker’s head for the maximum effect. Spot, dizzy and terrified from the two smacks I gave him, obeys without thinking. He picks up Jeff’s knife and cuts through the binds.
I exhale, loving the freedom of movement I have, now.
“Stay where you are, big guy,” I tell Choker.
I grab my backpack, strap the knife to my belt, and keep the rifle within easy reach. “I would suggest that you run,” I advise, “because trust me when I say that what’s coming isn’t…” I trail off as Blondie’s piercing scream rips through the air.
Without a second glance at Choker and Spot, and sprint forward into the darkness, wishing to god those boys would kill the light from the fire. On second thought, I hope they just run.
Blondie screams again. There are voices. It sounds like some of the trucks’ engines have been cut, which means whoever’s coming is getting out of their vehicles. “Bree!” I shout, desperate.
Why do I care what happens to her?
“Bree, answer me!”
A gunshot breaks the monotone of the truck engines. Dread hits me like a brick in the chest as run in the direction where the gun fired. I can’t see, but I can hear. “Bree? Bree!”
I stop and listen, leaning against a tree.
And then,
“Ginger?”
It’s faint, but it’s her voice. I scramble towards it, dropping to my hands and knees. I rake through the mud and leaves until I touch warm flesh, Blondie’s hand.
“Bree,” I say, leaning over her. I can’t see. “Are you…?”
I run my hands up her stomach, trying to find her face, but I stop. There’s hot, sticky blood on her abdomen. “Oh, my god, Bree…” I breathe, choking on a gag. “I’m so sorry…”
Her breathing is heavy as her hand gropes for my face. When she finally finds it, she pulls my head forward and whispers, “I’m sorry, Ginger.”
She drops something into my lap. Her hand falls away from my face, hitting the ground with a soft thud. I push my fist against my mouth to keep from screaming, checking her wrist, her chest, and her neck for any sign of a pulse.
But there’s nothing.
She’s dead.
Trembling from head to toe, I reach into my lap. My fingers brush cool metal.
Chris’s gold chain.
I bite my lip, stuffing it into my pocket. I need to run. I need to move. Now. But I can’t leave her here like this. What kind of a person would I be?
“Hey, stop!”
It’s a man’s voice, and it doesn’t seem like it’s directed at me. There are flashlights about fifty feet away from me, combing through the woods. From here I can see dark shadows moving around the orange light of the campfire.
“Run, boys,” I murmur, leaning forward.
I compulsively press a kiss to Blondie’s — Bree’s — forehead and climb to my feet, feeling like I’m moving through a slow dream. I just held a girl’s hand as she died. Am I really doing this?
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper again.
Another gunshot. A scream.
Choker? Spot?
I have to go. I turn and break into a run, streaking through the dark forest, occasionally stumbling over roots and stones. Another scream. I slow to a halt. What am I doing? I can’t just leave those dumb kids to fend for themselves.
Against my better judgment, I take the rifle in my hand and feel for the safety switch. It’s off. I make sure the thing’s loaded and start running again…in the opposite direction. As I near the campfire, I hear the pleading, pathetic voices of Spot and Choker. I creep closer, staying out of the way of flashlight beams.
I inhale.
There are only two Omega soldiers. One’s got a gun, while the other holds a flashlight. Spot and Choker are on their knees with their hands behind their heads. I can hear more voices in the distance, which means this party’s about to be crashed by more animals.
I drop to my stomach, holding the gun close to my cheek, the butt steady against my shoulder. I look through the sight, taking a deep breath. I used to play Airsoft with my cousin when I was younger, and it wasn’t much different than this.
AT trooper Number One has his gun cocked and aimed at Choker’s head. Anger tears through my body, making me hot. I’ve still got Bree’s blood on my left hand, reminding me just how capable these guys are of taking a human life.
I aim my rifle, check the sight one more time, and pray.
Then I squeeze the trigger.
The AT guard with the gun screams, and both of the guys drop to the ground for cover. I fire a few rounds into the dirt, scaring the crap out of both of them. They start dragging themselves away from the fire, and in the process, Choker and Spot hunker down with their hands behind their necks.