Page 16

I was back up in a tree not far from the Zone of Control, surveying the compound again through my binoculars. This isn’t doing shit, I thought, then sighed as I lowered them. But what else can I do until I see an opening?

I sat there for what felt like ages, just watching, only to see absolutely fuck-all of interest. Soldiers still patrolled the Zone as before, and this tree didn’t allow me to see much of what was happening inside. For the most part, the forest was quiet except for the usual sounds of nature—birds calling, leaves rustling. I pressed my fingers against my eyelids. I couldn’t even be mad anymore at the lack of progress; I was just fucking defeated.

Right as I was about to give up and climb back down, maybe find another tree to waste my time in, there were voices from the ground, right below me. I froze.

“Officers: we’re going for the White Rose,” a male voice said. “They’ve been sighted near here. Not sure how they’re getting around, but we’re to shoot them on sight, just like Wastelanders. Look out for their armbands so we can bring the corpses back for ID. If anyone spots Ayanna Taylor, she is to be taken into custody.”

Thankfully, the leaves of the tree gave me decent cover as I craned my neck to get a better look at who was talking. It was hard to see, but there was a small squad of men—maybe six or seven—on the ground, with one guy at the front addressing the rest.

Another, younger-sounding man replied, hesitating, “But…they were all on our teams once, sir. Shouldn’t we at least try—”

“No,” the first man cut in coldly. “They made their bed. Now they have to lie in it. Those orders come direct from the Sire, soldier.”

I couldn’t make out their faces, but they wore all-black tactical uniforms, just like the soldiers I’d abducted before.

“What are they even after?” the younger guy asked. “Not much out here.”

“Guns, uniforms, whatever they can get their hands on. The Sergeant says he thinks they’re running low on supplies. They’re no better than common Wastelanders now, thieving and pillaging to survive.”

I rolled my eyes, but then my brain caught up to what they were saying: there was some other group that they were clearly nervous about. The White Rose. Who were they, and why was the Delta looking for them?

“Move out,” the leader ordered, and the rest of the soldiers fanned out, away from my tree.

I waited until they were out of sight before carefully climbing down, my feet hitting the ground almost silently. My heart had started pumping louder in my ears, and I had no idea if this was even relevant to my mission…but my instincts screamed at me to follow them. If nothing else, I’d overhear more stuff that might be useful, and I could isolate one of them to try interrogation again.

I pulled my rifle off my back, holding it at the ready, and slowly started following their trail. I was careful to keep distance between us and to conceal myself in the thick brush, not unlike how I stalked prey during a hunt. I listened for every footstep and moved only when I was sure I wouldn’t be discovered.

I followed them deeper into the woods. They stopped at the edge of a large clearing that I’d visited the day before. They were talking fast, back and forth, in low voices that I was too far away to understand. But I wasn’t about to blow my cover; I stayed back, kneeling behind a cluster of thick shrubs.

When nothing happened, I used the scope on my rifle to look into the clearing. At first, I didn’t see anything, but near the back, almost out of range, were a small group of people that I didn’t recognize. They were dressed mostly in black, too, but on second look, they weren’t soldiers’ uniforms; instead, they wore some weird mix of regular clothing and tactical gear. They sat together on the grass, and I realized they were eating together, unaware that a bunch of soldiers were watching them.

There was a brief moment where I hesitated, debating what to do. But it didn’t matter. A few seconds later, gunshots erupted, and the soldiers advanced on the group. An ambush.

There were screams. The group scattered, running to the edge of the clearing and returning fire. I gritted my teeth, watching as the soldiers advanced, pushing them back. One of them went down a second later, shot by someone on the other side.

Out of the corner of my eye, through my scope, I spotted movement. I swiveled to the side and watched as a pale, sandy-haired teenage girl—probably no more than sixteen—peeked out from the brush and shot at one of the soldiers from his left side. She missed, but he rounded on her, firing back and moving toward her position. She shot at him again, missed again, and he charged her.

Without giving it much thought, I lined him up in the crosshairs as he grabbed her by her ponytail and dragged her out of the bushes. She cried out, fighting frantically against him. There was a lot of thrashing, from him and from her, and they were moving away from me, almost out of range.

The shot was tricky. But not impossible.

Everything inside me went quiet. Nothing existed but me and the target. I repositioned slightly to account for the distance. Both eyes open. Deep breath. On the exhale, I squeezed the trigger.

His head jerked back suddenly, and he collapsed onto the forest floor. Bullseye. The girl shot up from the ground, looking around with wide, terrified eyes. Thankfully, she recovered fast and dove back behind the trees for cover.

Good, I have enough to do.

Two of the other soldiers were down, but there were four left, and the firefight was still ongoing. I took aim and downed another soldier, closest to me, before changing out my hiding spot. I took position behind a big, wide tree, closer to the clearing. I peeked around the side, looked for an opening, and took it when I found it. Another one down.

Two left, and the other group had gained the upper hand. Within the next couple minutes, they’d taken down the remaining soldiers and spilled out into the clearing. I watched them through my scope, surprised to learn that out of about eight people, six were women, and the two guys were, at most, nineteen. All were clearly armed, so I stayed hidden, observing them carefully.

The group clustered together at the edge of the clearing, looking around warily as if unsure that it was over. Finally, a dark-skinned woman with braided hair stepped forward, holding a rifle in her arms.

“Who’s there?” she called out, and though she stood solidly, her voice wavered slightly.

I said nothing. I wanted to see what they’d do. When I didn’t respond, the group looked even more nervous, shuffling to the cover of the trees.

But the woman who’d stepped forward blew out a breath, then tried again. “Whoever you are, you saved our asses. At least let us thank you properly.”