Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“Darius,” I said, tipping my head so I could see him on the other side of the fire. “What about you? Will Hillcroft pull you back in?”
He barked out a laugh that echoed across the courtyard.
“You don’t have to be so cold about it.” Danny sucked his teeth.
“See, the real reason we’re hidin’ deep in the forests of Washington is to keep you out,” Ryan told us. “We’re not afraid of apocalypses or criminals out for revenge—we’re afraid of Hillcroft.”
I grinned into my glass.
“Because we’re irresistible.” Danny nodded. “I’ll accept that.”
“Like a drug addiction that kills ya,” Emerson joked.
“Hey.” Danny got defensive and slapped Em’s arm. “I expect that shit from the others, not from you.”
Em chuckled. “I’m joking, baby. Be a good boy and pour me another drink instead.”
I sighed. I couldn’t wait to see my own good boy soon.
We’d prepared the shower room and the makeshift infirmary already. The boys—and Ames—were bound to return with bruises, bites, rashes, possible minor fractures, and upset stomachs.
Coach returned to us with a printout, so we sat up straighter and waited for a final report.
“What’s the verdict?” Darius asked.
Coach gestured toward Mercier. “Crew’s comin’ in fast. If he keeps it up, he’ll be back around dawn—but hopefully he’ll rest on the way. He hasn’t slept the past thirty-six hours.” The kid continued to amaze us with his resilience. “At this rate, Shay and Finnian are tied for second place, followed closely by Gray from sector six—but he changed his course in the past hour, and he’s heading straight for Aaron. No distress signal has gone out, but I’mma keep an eye on him. He hasn’t moved in a while.”
“But Aaron’s heart rate’s all right?” River prodded.
“Yeah, just slightly elevated,” Coach confirmed.
That was good.
Coach finished his report before returning to his seat between Em and Ryan, and I—
“Okay, hear me out,” Darius said abruptly.
Those were the magic words that put grins on our faces, ’cause they meant he was drunk.
“This is gonna be good,” Elliott chuckled into his drink.
“No, no—it ain’t about…whatever. Just hear me out,” Darius repeated. “The rest of you with kids—aren’t you worried they’re gonna take after you? Jayden’s fourteen and already talking about what he wants to do with his life. Ryan’s boys wanna be Marines like Daddy when they grow up, and you—” He tipped his drink at Mercier, then in the direction of Elliott and Joel. “Before you know it, Nicky and Jack will be in college.”
“I’d prefer mine to start high school first.” Mercier’s eyes flashed with amusement. “I know what you mean, though. Considering my son’s hobbies, I’m not particularly worried.”
“And we’re trying to steer Nicolas toward the Coast Guard,” Elliott replied. “He wants to be a mechanic but claims regular cars are boring.”
“We need good mechanics at Hillcroft,” Coach mentioned.
Both Elliott and Joel got their hackles up.
“You can shut the fuck up,” Elliott told him.
River and I laughed.
“This is what I’m fuckin’ sayin’,” Darius went on vehemently. “Kids pick up on these things. When I get home—” He paused to finish his drink. “Fuck.” He winced and rubbed at his chest. “I don’t know, I’mma pick up knitting or something.”
Oh God, I fucking howled at that image—Darius on his porch, shotgun next to his rocking chair, and he was knitting. Yeah. I’d pay to see that.
“I love drunk Darius,” Danny laughed. “Say more things.”
“What about pottery?” Ryan suggested.
“What’s wrong with pottery?” Darius bitched.
I slumped back in my seat and slapped a hand over my face, unable to stop laughing.
Shay Tenley
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
Don’t throw up again, don’t throw up again, don’t throw up again.
My fucking God, I’d never been in so much physical pain in my life. And I’d been both shot and stabbed. Panting and gasping, I grabbed on to ferns and trunks as I climbed higher and higher up the mountain. My legs were so weak that I had to pull myself up.
I paused briefly and took small sips of water. I’d learned the hard way that I couldn’t chug anything at this point. It just came up again. Then I looked at my watch to check my heart rate. Fuck me sideways. 192 bpm. I had to slow down a little. Goddamn. I swallowed dryly and considered throwing up. The nausea was right there, about to crawl up my throat.
Did they have to build a fucking training facility at the top of a mountain? I’d been running uphill for the past four hours, through terrain I never wanted to see again. Ferns the size of a truck, fallen trees you needed climbing gear to get over, rocky surface here, a mudslide waiting to happen there—
I bowled over and emptied my stomach.
Fuck.
There goes the rest of the fish I had for dinner last night.
When my heart rate was down at 170, I forced myself to move again. My head was pounding, sweat literally poured down—okay, it was rain too—and every fucking part of me either itched or ached.