Read Online The Headhunters Race (Headhunters #1) by Kimberly Afe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kimberly Afe
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hooded jacket. He flips back his head so his hood falls away.
I growl with anger when I see the kid that stole my pack. “You little raider!” I labor to get on my feet. “Where’s my pack?”
McCoy doesn’t let me move. “You need to stay there and rest and get yourself hydrated. I got the packs back and you don’t need to worry about him. He’s secured.”
“What about his friends? Where are they?”
“Dead,” the kid says.
I look at McCoy for confirmation and he nods. A look of something I can’t place, sorrow maybe, plays out across his eyes. I want to ask how they died, but I’m certain I already know the answer. Instead, I focus on me. I drink slowly. McCoy has me eat a small portion of the nut mixture and something even tastier, the bird. I’m not even mad at him right now for stealing it from me.
I sleep and we repeat this process through the night, McCoy nursing me back to health. McCoy trying to help me as usual. McCoy protecting me. I just can’t get away from him.
The air is cool and refreshing against my skin. I feel much better this morning, although still sore, I realize, when I roll over to see what McCoy and the little raider are up to. The first thing I notice is that the fire has burned itself out. The second thing I notice is that McCoy is no where around. I remember he’s the early type, like me, and I’m sure he’s back on the road to Millers Creek. I look over to see the raider still tied up, asleep, his head slumped over his left shoulder. He doesn’t look so tough now. He must have rubbed McCoy the wrong way. That’s why he’s still tethered to a tree.
I rise to my feet, stretching, yawning, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Soaking in the fresh air, the openness of my surroundings. Instinctively I check for my knife and find it secured at my thigh. My heart practically stops when I suddenly remember the packs. I whirl to survey the camp site, fearful that McCoy has taken off with all of them. I walk around the trees, the bushes. I even look up in the branches, but the packs are gone and once again I’m left without anything.
McCoy only helps so much. Just enough to annoy me. I should know that by now. After a quick sweep of the area I decide to go off to my right where the land slopes slightly downward, a good sign there might be water below. I tell myself I can have approximately an hour to search. After that, I need to be on my way. Water or no water.
I hear the sound of a critter before I see it. A squirrel. I snatch my knife, but he’s too fast for me. He shimmies up a tree and bounds into a hole, poking his head out once to see if I’m still here. With a sigh, I put away my knife. It would have been a good meal.
I continue on. The slope leads down a hill and at the bottom, squatting near a small stream is McCoy, his back to me and next to him, seven goodie two shoe packs. I can’t believe he’s taking them all. He could have left at least one for me and one for the raider. He’d still have five left. “You’ve got enough there to last the entire trip,” I say.
McCoy isn’t startled by my presence. He pivots on his heel, a canteen filling up in the stream. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a way to carry it all.”
I tip my head questioningly, not sure what he’s talking about. “You carried all the packs down here, didn’t you?”
He laughs. “Oh, thought you meant the creek.” He caps the canteen and starts filling another. “Split up three ways, I figure we’ve got enough for about six days. And since we’re going to follow the creek partway, maybe we can fish once in a while. It gets wider downstream.”
We? Not sure where he’s getting the idea that we’re going together. This is a race, not a camping trip. I suppose though, it couldn’t hurt to go with them a little ways. Just until I get back to full strength.
I kneel next to the stream and take in a few handfuls of water. “So … you’re sharing the packs with us?”
His brows
I growl with anger when I see the kid that stole my pack. “You little raider!” I labor to get on my feet. “Where’s my pack?”
McCoy doesn’t let me move. “You need to stay there and rest and get yourself hydrated. I got the packs back and you don’t need to worry about him. He’s secured.”
“What about his friends? Where are they?”
“Dead,” the kid says.
I look at McCoy for confirmation and he nods. A look of something I can’t place, sorrow maybe, plays out across his eyes. I want to ask how they died, but I’m certain I already know the answer. Instead, I focus on me. I drink slowly. McCoy has me eat a small portion of the nut mixture and something even tastier, the bird. I’m not even mad at him right now for stealing it from me.
I sleep and we repeat this process through the night, McCoy nursing me back to health. McCoy trying to help me as usual. McCoy protecting me. I just can’t get away from him.
The air is cool and refreshing against my skin. I feel much better this morning, although still sore, I realize, when I roll over to see what McCoy and the little raider are up to. The first thing I notice is that the fire has burned itself out. The second thing I notice is that McCoy is no where around. I remember he’s the early type, like me, and I’m sure he’s back on the road to Millers Creek. I look over to see the raider still tied up, asleep, his head slumped over his left shoulder. He doesn’t look so tough now. He must have rubbed McCoy the wrong way. That’s why he’s still tethered to a tree.
I rise to my feet, stretching, yawning, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Soaking in the fresh air, the openness of my surroundings. Instinctively I check for my knife and find it secured at my thigh. My heart practically stops when I suddenly remember the packs. I whirl to survey the camp site, fearful that McCoy has taken off with all of them. I walk around the trees, the bushes. I even look up in the branches, but the packs are gone and once again I’m left without anything.
McCoy only helps so much. Just enough to annoy me. I should know that by now. After a quick sweep of the area I decide to go off to my right where the land slopes slightly downward, a good sign there might be water below. I tell myself I can have approximately an hour to search. After that, I need to be on my way. Water or no water.
I hear the sound of a critter before I see it. A squirrel. I snatch my knife, but he’s too fast for me. He shimmies up a tree and bounds into a hole, poking his head out once to see if I’m still here. With a sigh, I put away my knife. It would have been a good meal.
I continue on. The slope leads down a hill and at the bottom, squatting near a small stream is McCoy, his back to me and next to him, seven goodie two shoe packs. I can’t believe he’s taking them all. He could have left at least one for me and one for the raider. He’d still have five left. “You’ve got enough there to last the entire trip,” I say.
McCoy isn’t startled by my presence. He pivots on his heel, a canteen filling up in the stream. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a way to carry it all.”
I tip my head questioningly, not sure what he’s talking about. “You carried all the packs down here, didn’t you?”
He laughs. “Oh, thought you meant the creek.” He caps the canteen and starts filling another. “Split up three ways, I figure we’ve got enough for about six days. And since we’re going to follow the creek partway, maybe we can fish once in a while. It gets wider downstream.”
We? Not sure where he’s getting the idea that we’re going together. This is a race, not a camping trip. I suppose though, it couldn’t hurt to go with them a little ways. Just until I get back to full strength.
I kneel next to the stream and take in a few handfuls of water. “So … you’re sharing the packs with us?”
His brows
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