“Quiet!” Del hissed viciously. Lucy gripped Del’s forearm and squeezed as hard as she could. “Don’t yell,” the girl said, slowly removing her hand from Lucy’s mouth.
“Get off me,” she replied between clenched teeth. The lamp in the middle of the tent threw a small circle of light. It was enough to make out Del, fully clothed, balanced on the balls of her feet as if she was expecting an attack.
Del shifted her weight and the boot lifted. Lucy decided it had been an accident; the opposite was too much to consider. She clutched her squashed fingers to her chest. She wiggled them. They seemed bruised, but not broken.
She wondered if it was close to dawn, but then through the gap in the roof she glimpsed the moon, half-hidden behind clouds. Standing above Lucy’s bed, Del was a still form against dark shadows. She could see the other girl’s rib cage move in and out with her breathing. She seemed to be waiting for something.
“What’s going on?” Lucy asked. She’d only slept a few hours and her body was stiff and achy.
“I heard someone outside the tent,” Del murmured. Her head darted around. She cocked it to one side like a dog. Lucy listened, too, straining to hear.
Distantly she heard a rumble. Thunder? Or could it be car engines? She sat up. She’d gone to bed with all her clothes and her boots on. Under the triple layer of jacket-sweatshirt-thermal, her skin was clammy with sweat. Her head felt groggy, her eyelids rimmed in sand.
Del was as immobile as a statue.
A crescendo of rumbling rose, followed by a shout and, closer still, the thud of running feet. And now she could hear voices raised in panic coming from all around and the sound of tires on sandy soil.
Cars!
“It’s them. The Sweepers. They came back,” Del said.
Lucy was instantly awake. Her heart pounded as if it would spring out of her chest; every muscle twitched. She scrambled to her feet. Through the canvas, she could see the dim shapes of figures moving outside. They had lights. Maybe flashlights or torches. She couldn’t tell if they were scavengers or the enemy.
“Stay low,” Del breathed. “They might have brought the dogs.” She was frozen in a half crouch. Lucy mimicked her posture.
“If they brought the dogs, we should get out of here!” Lucy said, trying to breathe normally.
“Don’t move,” Del said with an imperious hand gesture that made Lucy bite her lip in annoyance.
The other girl moved slowly, her eyes on the hurricane lamp in the middle of the floor.
Lucy suddenly realized that their silhouettes must be visible from the outside.
Before she could say anything there was a thump as Del kicked the lamp over. The flame went out. Lucy blinked, trying to accustom her eyes to the sudden gloom.
“Let’s go,” Del muttered.
Lucy fumbled for her knife. It wasn’t at her waist. For the first time, she had forgotten to fasten it on her belt before she went to bed. She cursed herself and dug into the sweatshirt pocket. Not there, either.
It must have fallen out.
She bent to the tarp she’d been sleeping on, searched the surface with trembling fingers. The thick layer of clothing made her clumsier than usual.
“Come on,” said Del. “And be quiet, would you?” Lucy thought but couldn’t be sure that she’d muttered something about a “buffalo.”
“My knife.”
“Leave it.”
“No!”
Del snorted with impatience. “Hurry,” she said. Lucy felt around the edges of the tarp and was finally rewarded with the hard outline of the hilt under her fingers. She picked up the knife, instantly feeling more confident.
A motor revved nearby. It sounded as if it was right in front. The tent flap was tied shut, but it was flimsy. They couldn’t go out that way.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Del whispered, making for the back of the tent. She pulled on the bottom where it was pinned to the earth by metal hooks.
“Help me get this loose. Quietly.”
Lucy joined her and, stowing her knife in her pocket, grabbed a handful of canvas and heaved. The ground was hard, compacted mud; the stakes had been pounded in, and they couldn’t pull it loose. Del muttered a few choice curse words under her breath.
“Wait,” Lucy said and pulled her knife back out. She stabbed at the heavy material. The sound of tearing canvas seemed incredibly loud. Del stifled an angry exclamation, which Lucy ignored. Once she had a big enough hole, she held it open and Del clambered through it, swearing as her boots caught in the folds of material.
Lucy started to follow her, and then she remembered her backpack. First rule: Always carry what you need with you. She hesitated. She could imagine what Del would say, but the habit was too ingrained. For over a year she had survived on her own because she was always prepared for the worst, and because her backpack held everything necessary for her survival.
She couldn’t leave it.
Del was just about through, but it would just take a second.
She turned back to the tarp, scooped up her backpack, and shrugged it over her shoulders. Then she ran back to where Del’s foot had just disappeared through the gap.
“What are you doing?” Del hissed, sticking her head through the hole.
“I’m coming!”
Someone burst into the tent. A heavy body struck Lucy in a tackle. She fell to the ground, biting her tongue hard on the way down. The taste of blood was in her mouth. She was pinned by strong arms attempting to grab her own and the weight of someone’s body across her legs. She flailed, striking out wildly, and twisted around so she was lying on her back. Lucy kept struggling and kicked out with both feet. A sharp crack. She had hit something hard enough to make her ankles throb. An explosive grunt, the sound of fumbling, and then a helmet thudded to the ground near her head. The visor was smashed. Before she could struggle to her feet, the man threw himself forward. Lucy brought her knees up, trying to force him off of her. She lashed out with her fist, feeling the vibration in her elbow as she connected with his face. His breath was hot against her cheek. She felt a slick wetness on her forehead. Her blood or his?
A thick arm pushed against her neck. She tried to land another punch, but it was hard to breathe. Black dots danced in front of her eyes, and her pulse pounded in her temples.
Lucy attempted to scream, but the sound was choked off in her throat. With one last burst of energy she raised her head and bit down as hard as she could. It wasn’t much—the man’s arm was covered in thick material, denim or heavy cotton, but it was enough. He shifted and she arched her back, simultaneously rolling to one side, and managed to push him off. She scrambled to her feet, panting, and aimed a kick at him, not caring where it landed. She heard the satisfying thump of impact.
The man groaned and threw out a hand, closing his fingers around her ankle, and suddenly she was pulled off her feet. She landed hard on her back, the blow cushioned by the bag across her shoulders, although she felt a sharp pain radiate up her spine. She must have landed on her dead flashlight. The breath left her body in one involuntary gasp. And then he was dragging her toward him. She dug her fingers into the dirt, but it was useless.
Lucy twisted her body, trying to break free, and then from the side and slightly behind him, a shadowy figure appeared. Del raised the hurricane lamp high, then brought it down. Some instinct must have warned him because he moved slightly, and rather than hit him on the head, the lamp smashed into his shoulder. Still, it was enough to break his hold on Lucy’s leg. Shards of glass flew everywhere. Lucy felt a chunk sting her face. Del hauled her to her feet and dragged her out the front of the tent.
They ran toward the shouts and screams, then stopped, blinded. The square was lit up. The vans were positioned in a half circle, their engines idling. On top of each one was a powerful searchlight.