My morning breath is usually enough to sour my mood, but today’s aches and pains make waking exquisitely revolting in a way that only the Devil could appreciate.
“Here,” Collins says, before tossing a water bottle to me.
The bottle strikes my chest and falls to the ground beside me. I turn my head down and look at it, barely registering what has just happened.
“Nice catch,” Collins says, shaking her head.
I slowly reach for the bottle, pop the top and take a swig. Then another. And another. By the time the water is half drained, I’m feeling a little more awake. I flinch as something strikes my chest and falls in my lap.
An oatmeal cream pie from my backpack.
Collins laughs lightly. “Cat-like reflexes.”
I have no witty retort, so I unwrap the hydrogenated corn syrup foodstuff and shove it into my mouth. I mumble a “thanks” between chews, and then chase my breakfast with the remaining water.
“So much for rationing,” Collins says.
“I don’t plan on staying out here much longer.” When I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, I see that Collins isn’t planning on sitting still either. Just the opposite. She’s made herself at home and rummaged through my pack. My clothes are stacked in a neat pile next to her, along with a half empty bottle of water and a Chocodile wrapper.
My map is spread open across the poncho that I’d given her last night. She has two areas circled in red pen. With a fresh groan, I push away from the wall and kneel beside her.
She taps the bigger of the two circles with her pen. “This is where they are. You can see the road here, ending just after the Johnsons’ house. The land is just empty. It doesn’t show a Nike site or any other roads into the area.”
I look over the map, nodding.
Collins taps on the second red circle. “This is where I think we are, give or take a half mile in any direction.” She measures out the distance with her pen and compares it to the scale on the map’s legend. “About two miles. If you’re up for it, we can be there in under thirty minutes.”
I flex my spine side to side a little, testing my body. I’m sore, head to toe, but not seriously injured. After a good stretch, I should be okay to go. “No problem. What time is it?”
“Bout five thirty in the morning,” she says.
I shake my head. “Two days in a row. You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Please, you slept like a baby,” she says. “Snored like a monster, though.”
“Shut up,” I say, as I stand and start stretching.
“Louder than the thunder,” she says and begins packing my clothes.
“You don’t need to do that,” I tell her. “We’ll take the map and the weapons. Move fast and quiet. If we need to, we can come back, but I needed new clothes anyway.”
“I noticed.” She holds up one of my favorite T-shirts and turns it so I can see the big holes in the arm pits.
“Ventilation,” I say. I’m tempted to throw the shirt on and take it with me, but it’s bright orange. Done stretching, I tuck my handgun into the back of my pants and step toward the exit.
“You look sad,” she says. “Did you name your shirt, too?”
I stop in my tracks and tilt my head up. The air smells funny. I lean closer to the wool blanket and sniff.
“What is it?” she asks.
The smell registers. “Smoke.” I take hold of the blanket roof and yank it down. A dark gray cloud begins to settle into the pit. “C’mon,” I say and charge out of the small gorge, drawing my weapon just in case we’re being smoked out. I scan the area and find nothing. The forest is covered in a waist-high layer of floating soot.
Collins joins me, eyes wide. “Where’s it coming from? Is it a forest fire?”
I take a sniff and cough. There are a lot of chemicals in the air. Probably toxic. A mix of burning plastic, rubber, wood and various other modern building materials. Not a forest fire. “They must be cutting their losses. Burning evidence.”
“ Damnit
“Here,” Collins says, before tossing a water bottle to me.
The bottle strikes my chest and falls to the ground beside me. I turn my head down and look at it, barely registering what has just happened.
“Nice catch,” Collins says, shaking her head.
I slowly reach for the bottle, pop the top and take a swig. Then another. And another. By the time the water is half drained, I’m feeling a little more awake. I flinch as something strikes my chest and falls in my lap.
An oatmeal cream pie from my backpack.
Collins laughs lightly. “Cat-like reflexes.”
I have no witty retort, so I unwrap the hydrogenated corn syrup foodstuff and shove it into my mouth. I mumble a “thanks” between chews, and then chase my breakfast with the remaining water.
“So much for rationing,” Collins says.
“I don’t plan on staying out here much longer.” When I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, I see that Collins isn’t planning on sitting still either. Just the opposite. She’s made herself at home and rummaged through my pack. My clothes are stacked in a neat pile next to her, along with a half empty bottle of water and a Chocodile wrapper.
My map is spread open across the poncho that I’d given her last night. She has two areas circled in red pen. With a fresh groan, I push away from the wall and kneel beside her.
She taps the bigger of the two circles with her pen. “This is where they are. You can see the road here, ending just after the Johnsons’ house. The land is just empty. It doesn’t show a Nike site or any other roads into the area.”
I look over the map, nodding.
Collins taps on the second red circle. “This is where I think we are, give or take a half mile in any direction.” She measures out the distance with her pen and compares it to the scale on the map’s legend. “About two miles. If you’re up for it, we can be there in under thirty minutes.”
I flex my spine side to side a little, testing my body. I’m sore, head to toe, but not seriously injured. After a good stretch, I should be okay to go. “No problem. What time is it?”
“Bout five thirty in the morning,” she says.
I shake my head. “Two days in a row. You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Please, you slept like a baby,” she says. “Snored like a monster, though.”
“Shut up,” I say, as I stand and start stretching.
“Louder than the thunder,” she says and begins packing my clothes.
“You don’t need to do that,” I tell her. “We’ll take the map and the weapons. Move fast and quiet. If we need to, we can come back, but I needed new clothes anyway.”
“I noticed.” She holds up one of my favorite T-shirts and turns it so I can see the big holes in the arm pits.
“Ventilation,” I say. I’m tempted to throw the shirt on and take it with me, but it’s bright orange. Done stretching, I tuck my handgun into the back of my pants and step toward the exit.
“You look sad,” she says. “Did you name your shirt, too?”
I stop in my tracks and tilt my head up. The air smells funny. I lean closer to the wool blanket and sniff.
“What is it?” she asks.
The smell registers. “Smoke.” I take hold of the blanket roof and yank it down. A dark gray cloud begins to settle into the pit. “C’mon,” I say and charge out of the small gorge, drawing my weapon just in case we’re being smoked out. I scan the area and find nothing. The forest is covered in a waist-high layer of floating soot.
Collins joins me, eyes wide. “Where’s it coming from? Is it a forest fire?”
I take a sniff and cough. There are a lot of chemicals in the air. Probably toxic. A mix of burning plastic, rubber, wood and various other modern building materials. Not a forest fire. “They must be cutting their losses. Burning evidence.”
“ Damnit
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