Edan stretched both arms into the hole. I threw a glance over my shoulder. Two of the adult scrabs stirred.
I dug my fingers into the dirt and launched myself up. Edan seized my arms, yanking me up until I could reach the edge of the hole. I crawled out, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
Edan grabbed me under the arms, helping me to my feet. The scrab on my ankle fell off as I stood.
It screamed.
I froze. Edan gripped my arm. I followed his gaze.
Several of the scrabs near the house were standing.
Staring at us.
Edan’s eyes flashed to mine.
The scrabs dropped to all fours and began running.
We both broke into a sprint. We’d put some space between us and the scrabs, but not enough. Especially not if those three in the hole climbed out.
Edan skidded to a stop, grabbing my arm. I followed his gaze.
Dozens more scrabs were coming over the hill. They were just black shapes in the darkness, the pounding of their feet echoing across the area.
Edan’s gaze caught mine again, and I saw my feelings mirrored there. We were well and truly screwed.
He grabbed my hand, and we broke into a sprint. We were headed in the direction of the road, I was pretty sure, but it was hard to tell in the dark.
And I was distracted by the fact that I was going to die.
I didn’t look over my shoulder. I could hear the scrabs gaining, and I didn’t want to see their faces.
I considered closing my eyes. I didn’t want a scrab’s face to be the last thing I saw before I died.
I looked at Edan, his face tight with fear and effort. He squeezed my hand. I squeezed it back.
The sound of an engine made me turn.
Three vans rounded the corner, headlights blazing. The first one veered onto the grass, bouncing as it sped toward us.
I nearly collapsed with relief. Beside me, Edan made a sound between a yell and a gasp.
The back doors of the van swung open as it screeched to a stop. A man dressed in all black held a sharpshooter rifle.
“Let’s go!” he yelled, waving us forward.
Edan and I dove for the vehicle. Another man held out his hand and yanked me in. I landed in a heap on the cold metal floor. Edan collapsed next to me a moment later.
“Thank you,” I gasped as I sat up. We started moving.
The overhead light was on, and there were three men in the van—the one driving, and two in the back with us. The sharpshooter had dark hair and olive skin; the other was white with gray-brown hair and a beard. I didn’t recognize them from training.
“This is Webb with unit three, reporting from C site,” the white man said. He had an American accent, and he was staring past my head, clearly talking into an earpiece. “We just picked up two idiots and—” He stopped abruptly as he focused on Edan. He grasped him by the shirt suddenly, bringing him closer so he could see the logo clearly. “Dammit, these are Grayson’s people.”
“What?” The sharpshooter stole a glance over his shoulder. “Seriously?”
“It’s right there on their uniforms. Goddammit.”
“Just toss ’em back out!” the driver called from the front. “Problem solved.”
I went very still. The van slowed, like the driver thought this was a serious suggestion.
Who were these guys?
Webb stared at us like he was considering it. He pulled a pistol from his hip and clicked off the safety. Beside me, Edan took in a sharp breath.
“Sanchez, how many do we have out there?” Webb asked, without moving his gaze from us. His pistol was pointed at the floor of the van, but clearly ready to go.
“Three, four dozen?” Sanchez’s eyes went big. “No, cancel that. At least a hundred, a hundred and fifty.”
“No joke,” Webb breathed. He grinned. “That’s even more than—” His eyes cut to us, and he abruptly stopped talking.
“So. Many,” Sanchez said, barely containing his glee. I’d never seen someone so excited about scrabs.
I leaned forward until I could see out the back of the van. A swarm of scrabs galloped over a hill, partially illuminated by the headlights of one of the other vans.
The van bounced dangerously and then evened out. The driver hit the gas. We were back on the road.
“I know we shouldn’t have, but they’re just kids. I thought they were locals.” Webb was talking into his earpiece again. “Should we toss them out?” He listened for a moment. “No, we’re leaving now. We’re going to need serious backup for this.” Another pause. “Well then, you need to get them out here because they’re not going to stay here for long.” He nodded. “Yeah. Got it.” He touched his earpiece, ending the conversation.
The driver looked over his shoulder. “Are we throwing them out? Better do it before we get too far from those scrabs.”
Edan and I glanced at each other. I saw my fear mirrored in his eyes.
“No, there’s a chance they could evade them,” Webb said. He scrutinized us. “A slim chance.”
“Then, what?” Sanchez said as he pulled the van doors shut. “We can’t take them with us.”
“We can’t let them go, not yet anyway.” Webb clicked the safety back on and slid the gun back in its holster. “I didn’t sign up to kill a couple kids.” He fixed us with a hard stare. “So don’t make me, OK?”
“What do we have to do to make sure that doesn’t happen?” Edan asked. His voice was quiet, strained.
“You’re going to sit there quietly. You’re going to let us blindfold you—”
“Blindfold?” Sanchez asked, confused.
“They can see out that window.” Webb pointed to the front of the van. “Do you really want them knowing where we’re going?”
“Good point,” Sanchez began rifling through a box. “I’ll find something.”
“You’re going to
