She strained against the ropes, finally getting both hands free. She went to work on her feet, and at last they were loose enough for her to step out of the rope.
Now the world outside had grown much quieter. She still heard some people milling around, talking in low voices. But they would probably do so all night long; she had a feeling this camp had sentries. Getting past them would not be easy.
Listening one more time to Byron, she satisfied herself that he was asleep and crept to the tent flap. Opening it just a crack, she peered out. No one stood around in the immediate vicinity. In the distance, she could still see a few bonfires burning, the light bouncing off the parked cars and makeshift tents.
She slid out quickly, throwing the flap back over the tent opening. She ran in a crouch, sticking to the shadows. She paused at every corner of an old building to check for movement. She spotted a group of four people standing around a small fire. One punched another in the arm, and he responded with a violent sock to the face. She sprinted past while they were distracted.
She skirted around the back of the next row of tents, past a group of at least six or seven men and women sitting around in collapsible chairs, drinking and talking. She ran around the backside of the lean-tos, staying on the outskirts as much as possible. She didn’t want to go too far outside the encampment’s perimeter, though, as she figured that would alert the sentries or attract night stalkers.
She thought of merely strolling brazenly along, trying to blend in, but with her plain hair, ordinary clothes, and lack of tattoos, she didn’t think she’d have a chance of fitting in. She weaved around part of a collapsed building, at last coming to the final stretch of vehicles where her solar car was parked.
Two sentries, a man and a woman, stood guarding the vehicles, talking to each other a few feet from her car. She was trying to figure out a way around them when she heard movement in the dark behind her. She spun, and two men came into view. They’d been sitting inside one of the cars she’d passed. They stood up, closing the doors behind them.
One looked to be about fifty, with a downturned mouth and a scar that ran from his right ear down beneath the collar of his frayed shirt. The other one was younger, maybe in his thirties, with a blue Mohawk. His face was inked with elaborate swirls and geometric shapes.
“Hey,” said the older one. “You’re the one Byron brought into camp. The one with the car.” He narrowed his eyes, peering at her in the faint firelight. “You’re one of them.”
“Them?” she asked, confused.
“From one of the cities.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not one of them.”
“Then why did you have city tech on you?”
She tried to sound tough. “I stole it.”
The blue-haired one stepped closer. “And that car! Where did you get that car?”
“I’m a wanderer out here just like you. I found the car along the way.”
The older one laughed, a mirthless, airy sound from a throat that had probably been slit when he got his scar. “Fat chance.” He moved closer to her, and she took a few steps back. “What are you doing out here?”
She struggled for an answer. “I’m supposed to check on the car. Byron doesn’t know how to set it up to charge overnight.”
They both frowned, weighing her reply. She thought Blue Hair was buying it, so she started moving toward the car. The two sentries, when they spotted her, would be a different story.
Suddenly the one with the scar lunged forward. She staggered back, and he barely missed grabbing her, snagging her sleeve instead. She wrenched it out of his grasp. “What the hell do you want?” she asked.
“Your blood,” said Scar.
“Your guts,” said Blue Hair.
She glanced around, not sure where to go. They advanced quickly, and when one grabbed her shoulder, she shrugged him off. He cursed, and the two sentries heard. They rushed forward, surrounding her.
“What do we have here?” sneered one of the guards, a tall, lean man with a hawk nose and cold eyes.
The other sentry grinned joylessly, drawing a knife from her belt. “It’s Byron’s little captive.”
“Too bad she died trying to escape,” said the first sentry.
They all laughed, closing in on her. Scar got so close she could smell his putrid breath. As he reached out, she ducked down and ran under his grasping arm. Then she was racing into the shadows, trying to put some distance between herself and her assailants.
As she rounded a corner, Blue Hair vaulted over a parked car, landing in front of her. He pulled out his own knife, a huge, wicked-looking blade that flashed in the distant firelight. She backed up, almost running into Scar, who had moved in to corner her. Once again she turned and sped away, snaking between them.
The two sentries whooped in the darkness, abandoning their post in order to get a piece of her. She ran, banging her shin on something solid in the shadows. She could hear them gaining on her. Blue Hair cut her off again, zipping between two tents. They knew their way around much better than she did. She looked ahead, finding that she’d cornered herself, and spun around, racing past the female sentry with the knife. The blade came flashing down in the dark, catching H124’s hair. She felt a shallow cut zing down the back of her neck, so she ducked and rolled, managing to dart away.
She sped for the deepest shadows she could find, a narrow row between two lines of tents. She raced down it, hoping they hadn’t seen where she went. She walked slowly, stealthily, keeping an ear out for them. She was almost at the end of the row when someone slid up behind
