Chapter 15
Ambush
Allie
The men were waiting for them, partially hidden among the trees.
All three were perfectly positioned to monitor the paved road that led into the woods—a road, she saw now, that was almost completely free of debris.
When travelers came through, the men must strip them of everything useful and discard what was left into the forest like bones, all the better to keep the way clear for their next victims.
They’d hunkered down behind makeshift hunting blinds—because that was what they were doing.
Hunting.
One of them had scouted and seen her and Cam through high-powered binoculars.
Now they were each in place, ready to pick them off and steal their bikes and supplies—or at least Allie hoped that was all they were planning to do.
Even if she hadn’t been able to see them now and feel their near-feral anticipation of the impending ambush, she could sense enough of what the men had done in the past to know that their intentions were clearly predatory.
Allie came back to herself, to her body, with a little gasp, sucking in the cleansing late-afternoon air.
She was crouched, barefoot, on the grassy earth, and she planted her hands on either side to steady herself, glancing around to make sure there were no zombies nearby.
To make sure Cam was still by the bikes.
Using her gift was always like that—disorienting, out-of-bodyish.
She wasn’t really “out” of her body, but her conscious sight and senses were, leaving her vulnerable for the precious minutes it took to find what she needed.
The process took longer when she didn’t know where to look, but this time, thanks to Morrigan, she’d had a crucial heads-up.
One moment, she’d been sitting during their break, still a little noodle-legged and wondering about Cam’s stamina, embarrassed about her inability to travel more quickly and grateful for the water she kept sipping. The next, she’d been on her feet and on high alert.
She’d heard Morrigan. Danger ahead. Tell the man. Use your sight to locate it.
Was Allie imagining the clipped edge to Morrigan’s voice, the way She might react when something happened She hadn’t planned for?
It didn’t matter. What did matter was that these men waiting to ambush them were the worst kind of humans left at the end of the world.
They weren’t scavengers but predators. Who knew how many people these three had killed simply to get their hands on a few bottles of water and measly scraps of food and supplies?
Allie gritted her teeth.
They need to die.
She knew she should tell Cam. It would be awkward to explain without giving away her power to find things psychically, though, and despite Morrigan’s urging, she still wasn’t quite ready to tell him.
To be that vulnerable to him. She told herself she wanted to talk to Keyshawna about it first, to get Key’s reassurance that this ability was real and not some kind of delusion, then they could explain it to Cam together.
He’d believe it without too much trouble, without too much doubt, if she could get Key to back her up. She hoped.
When Allie had tried to tell Brandon, she’d had no support, and it had gotten her labeled as deadweight and locked in a trunk to die.
She remembered that helpless feeling and, more recently, the helplessness she’d felt while trying to pedal the bike for over two hours, knowing she was failing to hold up her end of things, knowing she was keeping them from traveling faster, knowing she was rapidly becoming a liability.
Cam was strong, tough, resilient. Cam was more suited to the world outside the bunker in so many ways. He even had a family and a purpose. His group performed a needed service in this new world to the people rebuilding it.
What did Allie bring to the table? She had some basic survival knowledge and could shoot a rifle well, but plenty of other people had those attributes.
She could fight, but she was no warrior—certainly not a balls-out badass like Laurel.
She worried the best thing she had to contribute was her connection to Morrigan.
Without the goddess, wasn’t she just another anxiety-riddled survivor who’d stayed alive by hiding in a bunker?
Who sang a ridiculous Let’s Chips jingle to keep herself sane in crisis moments?
But Allie could show Cam that she was useful by using the information Morrigan had given her to protect him. By ambushing the ambushers before he even knew she was gone.
Weapons in hand, Allie began to creep toward the woods.
The grass, tall only in clumps among the scattered trees—this area must have been a cow pasture, as evidenced by the remains of wire fencing—kept her hidden from Cam as she moved.
She’d left a note for him as well as her flannel shirt, draped over a bush, to make it look like she was still there.
When she got to the tree line, though, she found a whole new problem—moving silently through the undergrowth. It was impossible—the men would hear. No Zs, though, so that was one less thing to worry about. Of course they would keep the area zombie-free. All the better to lure in their prey.
Allie hesitated for a few precious seconds.
If she shot at the hunters, she’d immediately give away her position to Cam, so it would be best if she got close before firing, if necessary.
She would simply have to let them see her approach and hope she was right that they wouldn’t shoot her—although the reasons they would want to take her alive weren’t pleasant.
Decision made, she walked out onto the road, her rifle in her hand and her machete on her hip, praying Morrigan would keep her safe from harm until she could take out the bastards.
The forest road was so oddly pretty. Birds flitted around, and sunlight streamed through the trees. It even smelled good, or as good as any place could smell in the zombie apocalypse. No matter what, the air always seemed to carry a hint of decay. You got used to it, but it was always there.
Something metal flashed in the trees. Thank you, sunlight.
She mentally marked that spot as one of the bushwhackers.
When she came over a rise in the road, she saw a large van blocking the way.
You wouldn’t see it until you crested the hill—and if you were in a fast-moving vehicle and really unlucky, you’d crash into it.
The lack of fresh gas has probably put a dent in their business. Fewer people traveling on roads like this.
Following her instincts, she shouldered her rifle just before she heard noise behind her.
Without thinking, she turned, sighted, and fired. Once, twice. And once more.
After that, everything blurred around the edges.
Cam
The crack of a gunshot brought him back to himself.
He’d gotten the solar motor attached—and thought he had it working—then checked to see Allie’s green-and-black flannel still in the same spot.
Then he heard the gunshots from the woods beyond where they’d stopped to rest.
“Allie!” he shouted. No movement from where he could see her flannel through the brush.
What the fuck?
He ran to where she’d been, where her flannel was draped across the grass. And...
He picked up the piece of toilet paper he’d given her, which she had clumsily written on using one of her Sharpies. She always carried them, saying they were good for leaving messages.
This particular message froze his blood more thoroughly than any bout of Z-terror:
Cam, there's an ambush in the woods. I’m taking care of it. If I don’t return, go back and take the other road we talked about, the pink route on the map.
Thanks for letting me tag along.
“Tag along?” How many times did he have to tell her she was necessary? That he needed her? They were allies. Partners. Lovers. Yet she still doubted what she meant to him. What they had together.
That Brandon fucker had a lot to account for.
But more importantly, he had to get to Allie. To where she’d fired those shots.
No time for anything but speed. He gathered his weapons, emptied his bike baskets, then jumped on and tore ass for the forest, praying Allie was still alive.
What he found when he skidded to a halt at the top of a hill was a van across the road—obvious ambush—and the dead body of a man sprawled in front of it, a red hole in his forehead.
A camo-clad Z with blood spattering its torso, obviously just minutes old, was getting to its feet, head jerking around like a human-shaped bird.
Moving as silently as possible, Cam laid down his bike, stepped free, and drew his knife. Not quietly enough—the Z spotted him, snarled, and leapt, its dead face demonic in the dappled sunlight.
Cam dodged to the side and turned. He twisted to drive his knife into the zombie’s brain just as it got its fingers on his shoulder. After it dropped, Cam bent and wiped his knife clean on its jacket, mind racing, heart pounding.
Allie must have gotten these two.
But were there more?
And where the fuck was she?
He tamped down panic, and Sergeant Lee’s voice reminded him, If you can’t see, Hale, listen.
Cam listened. Somewhere amid the sounds of the forest, he heard dull impact noises, like something hard hitting something soft. He also heard soft, broken grunts. Not zombie noises but not human-sounding either. They seemed to come from the other side of the van roadblock.
His heart lurching into double time, Cam shouldered his gun and moved around to the back of the van. Another grunt sounded out, one that sounded vaguely feminine.
Abandoning slow-and-steady, Cam rounded the van at a run.
On the other side lay a gore-encrusted body, large and camo-clad like the zombie Cam had just dispatched—another man, he guessed, one of the ones who’d set up the ambush.
A smaller figure, one covered in blood, crouched on top of the body and methodically brought a machete down into what used to be the man’s head.
Allie’s machete.
Cam lowered his gun. When he found his voice, it came out low and hoarse. “Allie?”
She didn’t stop. The dull thunk of the machete biting into the man’s skull again and again made his stomach roil.
Cam tried again, pitching his voice louder. “Allie.”
That penetrated the fog of whatever held her in its grip, staying the descent of the blade.
“You weren’t supposed to be here yet,” she said, sounding almost normal. “I need some time to clean up. Just ten more minutes.” She wiped her forehead with the forearm of the hand that held the machete, smearing more gore onto her already bloody face. “He’s almost dead.”
Oh, baby. “Allie. Love.” Tears threatened.
The machete fell again. Thunk.
Cam moved in closer, blinking hard, trying to scan all around them. “Are there more?”
“Only these three.” Thunk. “Go back to the bikes. I’ll be there soon.”
Her T-shirt had been sliced open. When Allie swiped at her face and head again, with her free hand this time, he realized that the blood she kept wiping away was hers, and it was still flowing.
“Angel, you’re hurt. And he’s dead, I promise. You can stop now.”
She sighed, and it sounded so weary and resigned that his jaw clenched against it.
“You need to know that I can help.” Sadness permeated the words. “I’m not deadweight.”
“Of course you’re not.”
Tears tracked streaks of pink through the blood on her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” She turned away from him and brought the machete up again. “I’m sorry I can’t keep up.”
Cam’s heart cracked in two.
Thunk. But this time, the blade got stuck. While she struggled to pull it out, Cam approached and gently grasped her blood-spattered shoulders.
Allie tensed and sprang up, panting. “No, don’t. I’m... a mess. He cut me. He tried... He was going to... but I got him.”
Those big brown eyes he loved, usually full of humor or affection or worry, were now crazed and wild, tears leaking unheeded from them as she looked all around. “There shouldn’t be any more of them. I promise. I saw.”
“Angel, please stop. You’re hurt.”
Her eyes looked through him. “But I stopped them. They won’t prey on anyone else.”
“And that’s good.” He moved in closer, still holding her carefully. “But I’m worried about you.”
Allie stepped back, away from his arms. With a sound of distress, she tried to pull her tattered clothes together, brushed her palm against where her jeans were torn, and came away with a hand soaked in fresh red blood. She was hurt in so many places.
“Jesus, Allie.”
“Not Jesus, remember? Not that guy’s fight.” She laughed a little, staggered, and went down to one knee. “Ow.”
Cam knelt beside her. “Let me help you.” He helped her lie down, although the move was more like a slow-motion collapse.
Once she was on the ground, Cam whipped off his jacket, bundled it behind her head, then took off his flannel and used his knife to cut it into strips for bandages. Have to stop all this bleeding.
At the sight of his knife, Allie shuddered and closed her eyes.
“I surprised them,” she murmured, sounding dazed.
Detached. “It was supposed to be both of us on bikes, weighed down by our packs. They thought it’d be easy.
They’d kill you first, before we could do much except react. Then they would use me and kill me.”
He knotted the sleeve of his shirt around her thigh. “Lie still, baby. Please.”
“The first one I shot in the head,” she said.
“The second one turned in seconds. Never seen that before. But the third guy, this one.” She jerked her head toward the dead body next to her.
“He was really strong... hauled me to the van. Didn’t realize I had.
.. my machete.” Her voice was starting to fade. “Barely able... to stop....”
Fucking hell, why hadn’t he brought their first aid kit? He was bandaging her torso, but the strips of cloth weren’t long enough to get good pressure. He needed a stick to make an emergency tourniquet, but if he let go of her now...
“What kind of person... uses a double-edged knife to cut... off clothes?” She was definitely fading.
“Angel,” Cam begged, his whole body flooded with cold fear, “stay with me.” He pulled the cloth as tight as he could against her cuts, trying to get enough material to tie it off, desperately applying a ruthless pressure that made her cry out weakly.
“Oh God. You’re bleeding too much. I can’t stop it. ”
“I... got them...”
“I’m sorry, Allie. God, I’m so sorry. Stay with me!”
“You weren’t supposed... to see this,” she whispered. “I was being useful.”
Then her eyes closed, and her whole body went limp.