Page 35 of When the Living Fall (Song Of The Dead #2)

Zoey moves with frantic purpose, tearing down the tent in sharp, jerky motions. She shoves what was once methodically packed and neatly folded haphazardly into bags or hooks it onto the outside with carabiners. The ripping of fabric tearing free from stakes and the frantic zipping and unzipping of zippers fill the once peaceful campsite.

“Is your stuff together, Em?” She buries her head in a large backpack, her hands rummaging through it like she’s searching for a lifeline, muffling her voice.