Page 4 of V-Day
They stepped over the edge of the gully and slide-walked down the sandy sides, like someone descending a down-escalator. The soil shifted and gave way, while they stayed on their feet.
When they reached the rocky floor of the gully and moved among other campers, Chloe could see the figure was smaller than she’d first thought.
“Turn on some lights!” Cristián called, from somewhere under the tarpaulin. “Let’s see what is going on.”
Campers grouped around the figure as it moved through them. They headed for where Chloe and the others picked themselves up off the ground.
Someone hit a switch and light from a lamp on a pole blazed, illuminating most of the gully, as Cristián stepped out from under the tarpaulin.
Chloe took in random details about him—the unshaved chin, the lines around his eyes, his black hair standing at odd angles—and mentally whispered,he’s tired. The assessment was secondary, though, and barely registered because she was busy dealing with the fact that he was taller than she had expected. Tall and solid and…was he pissed?
His shoulders squared themselves. He crossed his arms, his gaze on the soldier in camouflage fatigues moving through the camp toward him.
The soldier was a woman. Chloe was surprised and was irked at her surprise. The evidence had been there. She had just not processed it correctly because of her own biases.
The woman reached up to pull away the chin strap of her helmet. She lifted the helmet from her head and tucked it under her elbow. She was a red-head and Caucasian. Not a Vistarian, not Insurrecto. She wore rank insignia but nothing which indicated a nationality.
Even so, Chloe knew who she was before she spoke. She was US military.
The red-head nodded at Cristián. “Captain Graves, United States Army Rangers,” she said. Her Spanish was flawless, as far as Chloe could tell.
“American?” Cristián replied. He let out a heavy breath and looked up at the top of the cliffs. “Then who…?”
There were nine other figures up on the cliffs, now. They stood openly, all wearing the same fatigues, their rifles leaning against their knees, or slung over their shoulders. Their posture was casual as they scanned the area, their heads turning.
“Insurrectos,” Graves told Cristián. “We picked up Chloe’s trail eighteen hours ago. We’ve been following her ever since. So have the Insurrectos. We think they waited for her to lead them to you. They only opened fire when you appeared. You’re a wanted man, Cristián Peña.”
Chloe flinched. “How do you know our names?” she demanded. Had nothing she done in the last two weeks been private?
Graves glanced at her. Her green eyes danced. “I know your names, Chloe, because Cristián and I are family.”
“What?” both Chloe and Cristián said together.
