Page 39 of Mayflower

The loud explosion rocks the backyard, the windows of the house shattering. That will tell Shepherd and Ali that I’m done and out of the house.

My eardrums buzz. The backyard is lit up, on fire. I get back on my feet and dart across the road.

Someone yells in my direction. Gunshots follow me as I dive into the garden across the road. The street is coming alive. Radios are beeping. Spotlights on jeeps and trucks come on, turning the street as bright as daylight.

Suddenly, an explosion several streets away rocks the air—it’s Shepherd’s men, their diversion.

Chaos engulfs the nearby streets. Trucks, ATVs, honking, men howling, guns rattling, shots firing. Dust and fumes rise as more men arrive from all over town.

Fucking hell.

But it’s much easier to slip through unnoticed in this chaos. Two streets over, I meet Ali as planned.

“Done,” I say.

“You are crazy,” he responds. “Let’s get out of here.”

He radios Shepherd to back away, and we start moving toward Candy’s.

Now that I know how things work, I have an idea of how to escape this place. If Shepherd can get me a dozen of grenades and more ammo, Ali and I can make it back to Ayana unharmed in no time.

We are four or so streets away from the Venus Den when we hear a truck approaching.

“Get down,” Ali commands, and we duck into the shadow behind a stack of garbage cans.

A pickup truck speeds by, several guys in it, three standing in the truck bed with guns raised in the air. There’s a girl with them.

When it passes, I’m about to step from behind the garbage cans when Ali yanks me back.

“Shh,” he says. “Stay still.”

He is staring intently at something in the shadows only thirty feet away, behind an overturned boat trailer. There’s a movement there.

“Step out, or I’ll shoot,” Ali shouts out, pointing the gun at the moving dark shadow.

“It might be one of Shepherd’s,” I whisper. “Or a kid.” Or another woman, scavenging for food.

Ali shakes his head. “I said step outside so I can see you,” he says louder.

“Don’t shoot,” says a sharp male voice from that direction.

“Step out then,” Ali warns.

“I have a gun, too. But I won’t shoot. I have a message.”

Ali doesn’t answer.

“He’s bluffing,” I whisper, getting my gun ready.

“It’s a message from Tsariuk,” the guy says, and Ali turns his head to me. I can’t see his eyes in the dark, but I know he’s waiting for me to tell him how to handle this.

Except the guy speaks first.

“A message from Tsariuk for Mathew Levi. That’s one of you, yeah?”

13

RAVEN

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