Page 42 of Worshiping Faith

I don’t take my eyes off the water. “You need a better handle on locking her in,” I tell Zachs, my tone flat.

“You’ve never been able to,” Faith shoots back.

I look at her then.

Zachs’ hand is on her back, grounding her.

And she’s leaning into it.

Fuck.

I can’t process that right now.

Her eyes lock onto mine, searching for her rock. For me.

I shove everything else aside.

“We have incoming hostiles,” I say. “Military. They want something on this island. Something Fredricks was going to give them. Something to do with Jinx.”

Silence.

Then…

“Jinx?” The word echoes through the group, heavy and sharp.

I scan the water again, my mind grinding through options.

We’re outgunned.

The armory took a hit clearing out the zombies.

And they know we’re here.

I flex my fingers, my trigger finger itching.

They think they’re walking onto an island of desperate survivors.

They think we’re weak.

They’re dead fucking wrong.

I sweep my eyes over Zachs. He’s armed to the teeth, as expected. Pistol. Rifle. Enough ammo to cause absolute hell.

“How close before you can pick them off?” I ask.

Zachs licks his finger, holds it in the air like he’s feeling for rain. “Eh, winds a bit harsh.” He grins, unbothered. “Gonna have to aim true, give me a clean shot within twelve-hundred yards, I’ll make their heads pop like melons.”

Good. That’s enough distance to stall them, make them hesitate, and maybe, if we’re lucky, turn the fuckers around.

I scan the water again. They’re moving fast. Too fast.

“If they realize they can’t dock, that’ll buy us time.”

Time I desperately need, because we are not equipped for this.

Trip’s watching me calculate, like he already knows where my head is going. “We only need to man the towers with enough dead shots to keep them pinned in their boat.”

He’s right. Sort of.