Page 5 of The Girl Who Kissed the Sun (Death Fields 4)

“Okay then,” I say, rolling my eyes. I flip the hatchet in my hand and brace for the closest Eaters. They’re disgusting, skin pale from the lack of sunlight. They reek of mold and decay. I’m not even sure how they’ve survived this long but as I swing my blade across the nearest one’s throat, I see dried blood on their mouths. They’ve been eating something. That’s for sure.

Jackson moves into action. He’s fast with a long, sharp blade he carries strapped to his back. In moments, heads litter the ground, rolling across the leaves like acorns. Green uses the butt of his gun, knocking one to the ground. She falls back but gets her fingers on his jacket, pulling him down. He lands on his knees, face to face with the drooling woman. Her teeth are yellow and rotten. I run over, hold my hatchet over my head and swing down, severing both of her arms. She releases him and screams, both of them falling on their backs. I stab my knife into her skull.

Three Eaters followed Walker onto the dock. Another two are between her and Jane. None of us can fire a shot at such a long distance. We could kill either or both of them. Jane is perilously close to the edge of the dock. She stands frozen, an unused hunting knife in her hands. She whimpers more than cries.

“Walker!” I shout, charging the dock. She’s busy being cornered. “Help Jane. I’ll take care of these.”

An emotion flickers over her face, but I can’t identify it. I don’t have time. The two Eaters look between us, I guess assessing their good fortune. Two break toward me—the other follows her as she moves in Jane’s direction. Why did I think this was a good idea?

I take a deep breath and run, slashing my blade at the nearest one and pushing him into the shallow water. My hatchet lands in the soft flesh but doesn’t come clean and I leave them both behind. I nearly shout for help, calling Wyatt’s name, but I clamp my lips shut and realize Jackson is only seconds away. I hear the splash as he dives on the Eater in the lake, finishing the job. I keep my eyes on the second one. He hisses low and menacing when he spots me. Dirty, dried blood coats his mouth and chin and he lunges at me. I don’t have much room on the narrow walkway. If I fall in the water those Eaters will turn on Walker and Jane.

I balance myself and wait for the monster to come at me again. I’m counting down in my head, ignoring his foul stench and the cries from my sister to wait for the right moment. The Eater pounces and a voice shouts in my ear, “Duck!”

I obey and hear the sound of a knife stabbing through flesh and bone over my head. Something lukewarm lands on my neck and slides down my collarbone. The body falls and I touch the ooze on my throat, nearly vomiting when I see the sticky dark blood.

I gag twice and then retch into the lake because oh, my God.

“One left,” Green says, plucking his knife out of the dead Eater on the dock. Walker lost her weapon along the way and is fighting the two Eaters hand-to-hand. I throw the last remaining one on the walkway into the water—too exhausted to take care of him. I have a feeling Jackson will do the deed anyway.

Jane has curled into a ball, hunting knife useless on the dock while Walker fights for their lives. The two Eaters are fueled by rage and desire—the need to spread the infection to another body is stronger than anything else. Walker kicks the nearest one in our direction and I stare into his dark, spidery eyes before I reach for the back of its head, grabbing onto his greasy hair. With all my strength, I smash his forehead into the metal loop jutting out to secure a boat. One, two, three times I beat him senseless, blood pooling on the wooden dock. I look up and Walker has killed the final one—Jane’s pristine hunting knife sticking out of the dead Eater’s temple.

I sink to my knees and catch my breath. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in an Eater fight. “I guess we better get used to the fact we’re in the Death Fields again,” I say, looking at my newly tested teammates.

Walker says nothing as she passes the rest of us, heading down the dock and back up the hill.

“What’s her problem?” Jackson asks, pulling himself out of the lake. Water pours off his clothes like rain.

“No idea,” I reply and take the hand he offers me. I wave him off, instead kneeling over the edge of the dock to wash my hands in the water. Green struggles to his feet and I nod for the two of them to head back up.

I wipe my wet hands on my pants and look at my sister. Her eyes are wide and part of me wants to drop-kick her into the lake and leave her there. Instead I turn to walk away, only stopping when I hear my name. “Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“I had no idea you could do all that.”

I think back over the last ten minutes. It was a total blur of death, pain, and blood.

“Do all what?” I sort of want specifics.

Jane stands and walks over, the floating dock giving her the look of a deer on wobbly legs.

“You’re totally bad ass,” she says, her tone serious. “Like a complete and for real Fighter.”

I stare at her for a second. “What did you think we were doing out there this whole time? Because that was nothing.”

She doesn’t reply. I don’t think she has the words and I’m too tired to get into it with her anyway. At the edge of the dock, just past the two dead bodies that have floated up to the shore, I hear the sputtering of an engine and whoops from up by the house.

“Come on,” I tell her. “I think our ride is ready.”

Chapter 2

The following two weeks may be the hardest in my life. Not because of the apocalypse. Or the lack of healthy food, or a warm shower or even a safe place to sleep at night. I’ve experienced all of those. I know I can do without. I’ve been tested, but not like this. Not by something as all-consuming and annoying as my sister. She’s not just a bother—she’s a liability. It’s hard enough that I have to push aside my feelings about how all of this is her fault. That she’s the one respon

sible for the death of my mother, even though I pulled the trigger. She tore our family apart. Destroyed millions of lives. She altered the fabric of reality, yet here I am, helping her. I don’t feel like I have a choice when she’s one of two people left in the world that can get us out of this mess.

God help us all.

That’s what I’m thinking at the moment. We’re near Lexington, headed east, searching for winter clothes at a thrift shop. I think Thanksgiving was last week. Or maybe it’s this week? I have no way to keep track.

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