Page 56 of Oliver (The Golden Team #7)

Faron

T his place smelled like diesel, sweat, and the rot of men too cheap to bury trash where it wouldn’t offend their prisoners. I crouched under the rusted belly of a fuel truck, my rifle digging into my spine, sweat dripping off my jaw onto the sand that would bury me if I screwed this up.

I needed food. Simple as that. Three weeks living on dried meat I’d stashed in my boot, water that tasted like rust, and prayers. Chuck and Joel didn’t know I was close — they probably thought I was dead by now. Good. Better they focus on surviving one more night.

A door slammed. Someone cursed. Two guards wandered past the truck tires, arguing about ration splits in their language. I closed my eyes, counting backward in Cherokee — it quieted the part of me that wanted to rip their throats out just for standing between me and my brothers.

When their voices faded, I moved. Low. Quiet.

Like my father taught me before I ever held a gun.

Shadow to wall, wall to broken door. Inside, the kitchen stank so bad my stomach tried to crawl up my throat.

Rotten potatoes. Sour goat milk. I didn’t care.

I found a sack of flatbread, old but not moldy.

A tin of dates. Half a jug of water thick with sand at the bottom — good enough.

I was stuffing bread into my pack when I heard boots scrape behind me. My heartbeat stuttered — then snapped into fight.

I slipped behind a shelf stacked with dented cans. The guard stumbled in, yawning loud enough to wake God. He reached for the dates — turned — saw me.

Instinct took me. One step, hand over his mouth, knife hilt deep under his ribs. His breath left him in a wet sigh. I lowered him slow, fingers on his throat until the pulse stuttered out.

I wiped my blade on his filthy uniform, grabbed another handful of bread, and slipped back out the door before the hounds caught my scent.

Outside, I crawled under a tangle of old pipes and lay in the dirt. Stars stared back — cold witnesses to a fool too stubborn to die hungry.

One more night, boys. Hold on.