should be out this far from the convoy? Zeroes could come through that tall grass pretty sudden. It’s dark as hell. Even with your sister around, seems like a risk to me.”
He knew right away it was a mistake to mention it.
“Don’t you worry about us,” Danny said, after a silence. “She’s keeping all our asses safe. Don’t forget that.”
Topper knew it was time to get out before the anger built up, so he held the remainder of his bottle out to Danny.
“Keep it,” she said, and he did, and walked back toward the scouts’ fire to pass it around.
Kelley came back, her bound feet swishing in the grass. She must have been waiting for Topper to move on.
“Catch anything?” Danny asked.
Her sister’s slack lungs hissed in a long breath. “No,” Kelley said. “I saw a jackrabbit, but they’re too fast.”
She stood beside Danny, looking at the fires and the silhouettes of the Tribespeople. Danny assumed the conversation was over. But after a couple of minutes, Kelley spoke again, using the same breath.
“I smell hunters.”
“There’s a shitload of dead ones over there.”
“The ones I smell are not dead. They are like me.”
“Which direction?” Danny slid to her feet and popped the latch on her holster, placing the bottle on the hood of the interceptor.
“It’s faint, but everywhere. In the same way this convoy smells like living blood.”
“Is there a threat? I mean, are we in immediate danger?” She opened the driver’s side door and reached inside. If she lit up the roof lights, the entire Tribe would go to battle stations.
“You’re always in danger,” Kelley said. “You remember before, I talked to one of my kind? There’s another one around somewhere. I can smell it. Almost like when you feel a car coming before you hear it. Just the smallest hint.”
“A thinker? The fuck didn’t you tell me this before?” Danny had her fingers on the switch box. She might throw some siren in for good measure. Her heart was starting to race.
“I could not say before, until I crawled on the ground and smelled the grass,” Kelley said. “That’s what I was just doing when I saw the rabbit. I tasted the dirt. The smells are hidden.”
The living Kelley would never have tasted dirt.
“Fuck,” Danny said. “Fuck. Okay, you told me, that’s the main thing. Party time.”
Better to raise the alarm and be wrong than take a chance. She rocked the switches and the lights came on, blue, red, and white throbbing over the dark perimeter. Voices went up around the encampment. About two seconds later, headlights glared on in the middle distance beyond the interstate, an engine revved, and the mysterious Chevelle came roaring down the road past the truck stop.
Gunfire erupted from the passenger window. Bullets whined off the pavement and hissed through the air. There were shouts of fear—shots andpolice lights so close together instantly plunged the camp into confusion. A scrap of light revealed a male profile behind the wheel.
Seconds later, Danny’s interceptor was howling after the Chevelle in a spray of dust and flying gravel, siren screaming. Topper saw the sheriff’s silhouette at the wheel, outlined by firelight for a moment, her face constricted in a snarl, the thin scarecrow of her sister in the seat beside her. The bottle was still rolling around on the hood of the car. As she reached the roadway it was flung clear, and shattered on the yellow line. Then they were gone in a red streak of taillights.
Topper ran for his bike. In under a minute, the scouts were on the chase. It was time to find out who was at the wheel of that Chevelle.
8
F or several miles Danny fought to close the gap. The Chevelle was one of the muscle classics from before computers ran the engines. It must have been bored out and supercharged, because the interceptor couldn’t gain on it, although it had a technical power advantage. And the driver was nerveless, precise, making superb use of the road.
He knew right away it was a mistake to mention it.
“Don’t you worry about us,” Danny said, after a silence. “She’s keeping all our asses safe. Don’t forget that.”
Topper knew it was time to get out before the anger built up, so he held the remainder of his bottle out to Danny.
“Keep it,” she said, and he did, and walked back toward the scouts’ fire to pass it around.
Kelley came back, her bound feet swishing in the grass. She must have been waiting for Topper to move on.
“Catch anything?” Danny asked.
Her sister’s slack lungs hissed in a long breath. “No,” Kelley said. “I saw a jackrabbit, but they’re too fast.”
She stood beside Danny, looking at the fires and the silhouettes of the Tribespeople. Danny assumed the conversation was over. But after a couple of minutes, Kelley spoke again, using the same breath.
“I smell hunters.”
“There’s a shitload of dead ones over there.”
“The ones I smell are not dead. They are like me.”
“Which direction?” Danny slid to her feet and popped the latch on her holster, placing the bottle on the hood of the interceptor.
“It’s faint, but everywhere. In the same way this convoy smells like living blood.”
“Is there a threat? I mean, are we in immediate danger?” She opened the driver’s side door and reached inside. If she lit up the roof lights, the entire Tribe would go to battle stations.
“You’re always in danger,” Kelley said. “You remember before, I talked to one of my kind? There’s another one around somewhere. I can smell it. Almost like when you feel a car coming before you hear it. Just the smallest hint.”
“A thinker? The fuck didn’t you tell me this before?” Danny had her fingers on the switch box. She might throw some siren in for good measure. Her heart was starting to race.
“I could not say before, until I crawled on the ground and smelled the grass,” Kelley said. “That’s what I was just doing when I saw the rabbit. I tasted the dirt. The smells are hidden.”
The living Kelley would never have tasted dirt.
“Fuck,” Danny said. “Fuck. Okay, you told me, that’s the main thing. Party time.”
Better to raise the alarm and be wrong than take a chance. She rocked the switches and the lights came on, blue, red, and white throbbing over the dark perimeter. Voices went up around the encampment. About two seconds later, headlights glared on in the middle distance beyond the interstate, an engine revved, and the mysterious Chevelle came roaring down the road past the truck stop.
Gunfire erupted from the passenger window. Bullets whined off the pavement and hissed through the air. There were shouts of fear—shots andpolice lights so close together instantly plunged the camp into confusion. A scrap of light revealed a male profile behind the wheel.
Seconds later, Danny’s interceptor was howling after the Chevelle in a spray of dust and flying gravel, siren screaming. Topper saw the sheriff’s silhouette at the wheel, outlined by firelight for a moment, her face constricted in a snarl, the thin scarecrow of her sister in the seat beside her. The bottle was still rolling around on the hood of the car. As she reached the roadway it was flung clear, and shattered on the yellow line. Then they were gone in a red streak of taillights.
Topper ran for his bike. In under a minute, the scouts were on the chase. It was time to find out who was at the wheel of that Chevelle.
8
F or several miles Danny fought to close the gap. The Chevelle was one of the muscle classics from before computers ran the engines. It must have been bored out and supercharged, because the interceptor couldn’t gain on it, although it had a technical power advantage. And the driver was nerveless, precise, making superb use of the road.
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