Skeeter lowered her eyes and kicked at the ground with her shoe. “Maybe they already killed everybody and they’re just in a hurry to go home.”
Buck nodded. “Maybe,” he sighed and settled in close to her. “Skeeter, the only way we can have even a clue is if I sneak over there and get a peek at what’s going on. If I don’t, we can sit here hiding and go crazy trying to guess.” He laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I promise, I won’t stay out there long, and I double-promise, I’ll be back. I won’t leave you.”
She raised her face to him and he saw her red-rimmed eyes, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks. “Do what you want, Buck. I won’t stop you,” she sniffed.
Buck felt a knot in his stomach as he saw the pain in her eyes and glanced over his shoulder at the sounds of activity from the other side of the hill. He reached behind him and pulled the gun from his waistband.
“Here,” he said as he handed her the pistol. “Now you know I have to come back.” A crooked smile crossed his face.
Skeeter reached out with shaky hands and took the pistol from him. It was still warm from being tucked in his pants. “I’ll keep an eye out from here.”
Buck gave her a quick nod and slipped through the brush. He stayed low to the ground, and as soon as he could see anything manmade, he flopped on the ground and belly-crawled like he had watched the officers do. He crept to the edge and peered over, his eyes taking in the activity below. He watched as men in uniforms dragged struggling people from the back of the transport, collars around their neck, poles attached like dog catchers use with vicious animals, and lead them into the semi-trailer parked below. People in white suits and helmets were rushing around carrying metal cases and one man was directing things.
Buck watched the activity for what seemed just a few moments until he heard a psst from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Skeeter’s small hand waving him back from inside the brush. He cursed to himself and stared back at the scene once more, trying to force his young mind to memorize the scene. He slowly began backing away and scurried back to the brush.
Once Buck was back inside the clearing, he hunkered down low. “What? Why did you wave me back?”
Skeeter’s eyes were wide with fear and she held a finger over her lips, motioning him to be quiet. With her other hand she handed him the pistol and pointed in the other direction. “I heard something,” she mouthed to him.
Buck reached for his pack and pulled the crossbow from it, cocking it quickly and loading a bolt. He leaned against a tree and listened intently. Fisher’s soft snoring was the only sound he could truly discern.
Skeeter stayed low against the tree, her heart hammering in her chest as she fought to keep her breathing from forming a scream. Although her head remained still, her eyes shot from side to side, hoping to catch a glimpse of the source of the noise before whatever it was attacked.
Buck slowly stepped out from his position and turned his head, hoping he might hear whatever it was that had Skeeter so rattled.
SNAP.
There it was! A twig on the forest floor or a low branch, but easily not something that happens without being moved. Buck released the safety on the crossbow and moved the weapon to point it in the direction of the noise.
He could hear rustling sounds now, as if feet were moving, dragging along the ground. He could feel his body tensing with anticipation as the noises grew closer. He fought to control his breathing. He knew he would likely only have one shot available. Buck strained his ears to listen, each sound of the forest suddenly alive and amplified. He could hear the source of the footsteps sniffing the air. Heavy breathing, grunting, scratching, and pawing as it grew closer.
Buck could feel his fight-or-flight response kick into high gear, and his hands began to tremble as the sounds grew so loud, he knew that whatever the source must be was right on top of them. He instinctively took a step back, himself rustling the detritus on the forest floor of their little clearing. He glanced down at his betraying feet, his eyes wide as the shock of his own actions came to light in his frightened mind. In the split second it took his eyes to come back up and focus, the source of the noise was stepping into their clearing.
Tattered clothing, broken nails, blood-covered mouth, ragged hair, gray skin—all of the indicators of the infected—did little to strike fear into the heart of the young man wielding the crossbow as much as the blood-red eyes that met his own. The creature that stepped into their clearing may have once been a woman, but now she was intent on ripping flesh from bone. She paused only long enough to consider her prey. She opened her mouth to scream the location of the morsels when Buck instinctively raised the crossbow and fired. The scream sent shivers up his spine, and Skeeter screamed in response, but the infected woman was cut short in her attempt as the bolt entered her nasal cavity and the tip exited the back of her skull.
She convulsed slightly before she fell back, her head making a sickening crack against a rock at the base of a small pine. Buck quickly scanned the area , then scampered to Skeeter, wrapping an arm around her. She was curled into a ball and screaming as Buck tried to console her. She jerked away from him and screamed louder as
