Page 5

Claire

T he night was quiet, until it wasn’t.

Keeping watch was often a dull exercise.

It was pitch black and quiet, so I kept myself busy with such thrilling activities as listening to the crickets and counting the cracks in the floor in front of me.

Every so often, I made slow, silent patrols of the small building we were camped in with my pistol or rabbit gun in hand.

The early October air was chilly—a portent of things to come, unfortunately—and I clasped my blanket tighter around myself.

I was shading the leaves on my sketch of a tree when there was a faint scraping sound outside, like something being dragged over concrete.

I frowned, listening closely, then got up and went to the broken window at the front of the building.

I heard voices speaking rapidly back and forth, and then the glow of flashlights.

Before I could so much as turn to alert the other two, the night suddenly lit up with orange and yellow light.

Fire. It came from an old, rusty dumpster that’d been dragged out in front of the building, thirty feet away.

Three figures, all dressed in black, held torches lit from the inferno they’d set in the dumpster.

The firelight revealed black masks that covered their whole faces, painted with big, shimmering gold eyes.

The cult.

I nearly tripped over my feet as I turned and ran to the tent, yanking open the flap. I violently shook John and Kimmy awake, a stream of jumbled alarm coming out of my mouth. My heart was pounding in my ears.

“Claire, you’re not making sense,” Kimmy said urgently. “Slow down.”

I swallowed briefly, trying to slow my frantic breath.

“They’re out there,” was all I could manage, looking at John with a plea in my eyes. “ Them .”

He seemed to understand, because his eyes widened in alarm, and he sprang to his feet. Kimmy followed, grabbing her pistol from under her pillow. At that instant, there was the unmistakable bang of a gunshot hitting the exterior concrete wall. They were firing on us.

John pulled me down onto the ground, covering me with his body.

Seconds later, he and Kimmy scrambled on their knees around the tent, gathering weapons and their packs.

Once armed, we crawled out of the tent, trying to get a better view of our attackers.

More shots erupted, and I found myself pressed on the ground again, John on top of me.

Kimmy lay next to us, her teeth gritted.

He spoke to her in a low, rapid voice.

“They can’t find Claire. You and I are going to draw them away and pick them off as we can. Let’s go.”

Kimmy gave a short nod, and all of us rose to our knees.

“John, I can’t stay here,” I whispered, terrified. “Don’t leave me.”

He found my hand in the darkness and kissed it.

“I’ll come back for you,” he replied, squeezing my hand. “Keep the rabbit gun ready. Watch my back.”

I tried to argue, but he dropped my hand and signaled to Kimmy. They stood, staying low, and made a break for the back door. Meanwhile, gunfire continued outside, peppering the concrete with ear-splitting bangs.

Staying low to the floor, I crept to one of the windows, peering over the edge.

There were six dark figures out front, all wearing black tactical uniforms and carrying rifles.

It was too dark to see anything else. The dumpster I’d seen still burned, illuminating the night with a strange amber glow.

They’d stopped firing. What struck me was that they appeared perfectly at ease—not as though they were leading a charge.

Rather, they were waiting for something.

Whatever they were waiting for, it didn’t come. Instead, there was another loud bang, and one of the masks shattered. The woman underneath, her face a gory mess, fell forward like a sack of potatoes, hitting the ruined pavement with a sickening thud.

Chaos erupted, and all ease vanished in the assailants.

John and Kimmy had taken cover behind the building, and our attackers scattered.

No, you don’t. I raised the rabbit gun, aimed, and fired out the broken window.

I hit one of the cultists in the abdomen, who fell to the ground and cried out in pain.

John and Kimmy briefly emerged, dashing for the building next-door and diving behind it for cover as shots followed them. The cultists had taken cover behind nearby crumbling structures. They were ready for a fight.

A small object flew through one of the nearby windows, hitting the far wall with a dull thunk .

Before I could react, the room began to fill with thick white smoke that made my lungs burn.

I hacked a cough, pulling my shirt over my nose, but it didn’t help much.

I could hardly breathe; my eyes streamed.

I dropped to the floor, trying to stay below it, but it didn’t help much.

I gasped for air, face down in the dirt.

Dazed, it took me a second to register the bang from the back of the building. A battering ram appeared where the back door had once been, followed by three black-clad figures wearing gas masks. I choked back another cough and scrambled to my knees.

“She’s here,” a female voice said. “Hurry. Jim J wants her whole.”

They descended on me as I tried to get to my feet, and with a hard shove, I was on the ground again.

They bound my hands and ankles, then tied them to a long steel pole they unfolded.

The other two cultists—both men—then hoisted me up, dangling me painfully between them.

A female cultist approached, the gold eye on her mask shimmering in the glow of the firelight outside.

“The Vessel,” she murmured, then turned to the men carrying me. “Carry her out quickly. No mistakes this time.”

They carried me toward the back door, then paused, listening. There was still a fight happening outside .

“These Wastelander scum are more trouble than they’re worth,” the female cultist muttered.

As they waited for an opening, I struggled against my bonds. I tried to throw my weight into it, hoping to make the men drop me. They just laughed, and a moment later, carried me out of the building.

The night was illuminated again by fire as something was thrown from the roof next-door. Whatever it was, it burst into flames that engulfed one of the masked figures, making him shriek horribly and run uselessly in circles.

I couldn’t see John or Kimmy. I thought they were on the roof of the next building, judging by the gunfire, but in all the chaos, I couldn’t be sure. I was sure, though, that they had no idea what was happening to me.

There was only one thing left to do. I summoned all the voice I could muster, taking a deep breath.

I released the loudest, most bloodcurdling scream I could muster.

“JOHN!”