We both stand at the edge of the boat, looking out at the horizon, and I see three slaverunner boats speed right for us.
I try to burst into action, but feel my arms bound from behind. I turn to see several slaverunners on the boat, see that they have cuffed me from behind, hold me back. I struggle for all I can, but am helpless.
A slaverunner boat stops and one of them gets out, his mask covering his face, steps onto our boat, reaches down and grabs Bree. She squirms, but is no match for him. He picks her up in one arm and begins to carry her away.
“ Bree! No!” I scream.
I struggle with everything in the world, but it is useless. I’m forced to stand there and watch as they drag Bree off, kicking and screaming into their boat. Their boat drifts away on the current, towards Manhattan. Soon, it is barely visible.
As I watch my little sister get farther and farther away from me, I know that this time I lost her for good.
I shriek, an unearthly shriek, begging, crying, for my sister to come back to me.
I wake up sweating. I sit bolt upright, breathing hard, looking all around, trying to figure out what happened.
It was a dream. I look over and see Bree lying beside me, everyone else asleep in the boat. It was all a dream. No one has come. No one has taken Bree.
I try to slow my breathing, my heart still pounding. I sit up and look out at the horizon and see dawn beginning to break, a faint sliver on the horizon. I look over at the dock, and see Ben sitting guard. I think back and remember Logan waking me, remember standing guard myself. Then I woke Ben, gave him the gun, and he took my position. I must have fallen asleep after that.
As I look over at Ben, I realize he is slumped over. I can see from here, in the faint light of dawn, that he is asleep, too. He is supposed to be standing guard. We are defenseless.
Suddenly, I spot movement, shadows in the darkness. It looks like a group of people, or creatures, heading closer to us. I wonder if my eyes are playing tricks on me.
But then, my heart starts pounding furiously in my chest, and my mouth goes dry, as I realize this is not a trick of the light.
We are unprepared. And people are ambushing us.
F I V E
“ Ben!” I scream, sitting up.
But it’s too late. A second later, they charge us.
One has overtaken Ben, tackling him, while the other two take a running jump right into our boat.
The boat rocks violently as they man our craft.
Logan wakes, but not in time. One of the men goes right for him, knife drawn, and is about to plunge it into his chest.
My reflexes kick in. I reach back, grab the knife from my waist, lean forward and throw it. The knife goes flying end over end.
It is a perfect strike. It lodges right into the man’s throat, a second before he stabs Logan. He collapses, lifeless, on top of him.
Logan sits up and throws the corpse off, and it lands in the water with a splash. Luckily, he has the presence of mind to remove my knife before he does.
Two more come charging my way. With the light picking up, I can see that they are not men: they are mutants. Half men, half I don’t know what. Radiated from the war. Crazies. This terrifies me: these types, unlike Rupert, are super strong, super vicious, and have nothing to lose.
One of them heads for Bree and Rose, and I can’t let him. I dive for him, tackling him to the ground.
We both go down hard, the boat rocking wildly. I see Logan out of the corner of my eye diving on top of the other, bumping him hard and splashing him overboard.
We have stopped two of them. But a third one races past us.
The one I tackle spins me around and pins me down. He is on top of me, and he is strong. He reaches back and punches me hard in the face, and I feel the sting on my cheek.
I think quick: I raise a knee hard and slam it right between his legs.
It is a perfect strike. He groans and slumps, and as he does, I reach back and elbow him hard across the face. There’s a cracking noise as I break cheekbone, and he collapses in the boat.
I hurl him overboard, into the water. It was a stupid move. I should’ve stripped him of his weapons first. The boat swings wildly as his body leaves.
I now turn to the last one, at the same time Logan does.
But neither of us are quick enough. He races past us, and for some reason, charges right for Bree.
Penelope leaps into the air and, snarling, digs her teeth into his wrist.
He shakes her like a ragdoll, trying to get her off. Penelope hangs on, but finally he gives her a violent shake and sends her flying across the boat.
Before I can reach him, he is about to descend on Bree. My heart stops as I realize I won’t make it in time.
Rose jumps up to save Bree and gets in the way of the man’s attack. He picks Rose up, leans over and sinks his teeth into her arm.
Rose lets out an unearthly shriek as he tears her flesh with his teeth. It is a sickening, awful site, one that will lodge in my mind forever.
The man leans back, about to bite her again-but now I catch him in time. I pull the spare knife from my pocket, reach back and prepare to throw it.
But before I do, Logan steps up, takes steady aim with his pistol, and fires.
Blood splatters everywhere as he shoots the man in the back of the head. He collapses down to the boat and Logan steps forward and hurls his corpse overboard.
I rush forward to Rose, hysterically shrieking, hardly knowing how to comfort her. I tear off a strip of my shirt and quickly wrap it around her profusely bleeding arm, trying to staunch the blood as best I can.
I detect motion out of the corner of my eye, and realize a crazy has Ben pinned down on the pier. He leans back, about to take a bite out of Ben’s throat. I turn and throw my knife. It flies end over end and lodges in the back of the man’s neck. His body goes still, as he slumps over to the ground.
Ben sits up, dazed.
“ Back in the boat!” Logan yells. “NOW!”
I hear the anger in Logan’s voice, and I feel it, too. Ben was on guard and he fell asleep. He left us all open to attack.
Ben stumbles back into the boat and as he does, Logan reaches over with his knife and cuts the rope. As I take care of Rose, shrieking in my arms, Logan takes the wheel, starting up the boat and hitting the throttle.
We gun it out of the channel in the breaking dawn. He’s right to take off. Those gunshots might have alerted someone; who knows how much time we have now.
We tear out of the channel into the purple light of day, leaving several bodies floating behind us. Our place of shelter has quickly transformed into a place of horrors, and I hope I never see it again.
We race again down the center of the Hudson, the boat bobbing as Logan guns it. I am on guard, looking in every direction for any sign of slaverunners. If they are anywhere near us, there is nowhere left to hide: the sounds of the gunshots, of Rose’s shrieking, and of a roaring engine hardly make us inconspicuous.
I just pray that at some point during the night they circled back looking for us and are farther south than we are; if so, they are somewhere behind us. If not, we will run right into them.
If we are really lucky, they gave up and turned all the way back and headed back to Manhattan. But somehow I doubt that. We’ve never been that lucky.
Like those crazies. That was just a stroke of bad luck to park there. I’ve heard rumors of predatory gangs of
