Chapter 15

To say I’ve slept any over the past four days since leaving the research facility would be a lie. I should be elated that we completed a successful mission. We delivered the two docs intact and put them on the road to our redemption. We delivered our cargo, received our fair trade in return and made contact with another group of survivors, who although slightly crazy, seem harmless enough. And we did all this without any causality to our crew. Now we’re finally on our way back home and I should be ecstatic.

Instead, I’m a complete and utter mess. Between the things Sam has told me floating around in my head, keeping his secrets from Luke and the others, and watching Sam for any weird change in appearance or behavior, I've barely slept a wink. The sleep deprivation must be affecting my usual sunny disposition too, since Gordon has told me on more than one occasion that I'm like a bear with a sore tooth and its paw caught in a trap. Fuck him. And I'd tell him that, too, along with the helpful advice to go take a long walk off a short pier if I had the energy.

I’m more than a little relieved when Luke calls a stop to this evening’s ride a little earlier than usual. Soon as we stop, I pry my frozen fingers from the handlebars and lift the fingertips to my lips, blowing on them to warm them up. Over these past couple of nights fall has made itself known, and I'm real glad for Mrs. D's gift of the half-gloves or else I would have chunks of ice where my hands should be. She was really thinking ahead on that one. God bless her enlarged, alcoholic heart.

Man, it’s freezing right now. Every breath I take is accented by little puffs of white, and the tip of my nose is so raw I could probably give Rudolph a run for his money.

I'm almost tempted to take a sip of the whiskey still stashed in my coat pocket. That would sure warm the cockles of my heart—whatever the hell that means—and help settle my jittery nerves on the Sam situation. I'm an emotional wreck. One minute I look at him and I'm thrilled he's back; the next minute I'm terrified his fingers are going to grow talons and rip my head off. My mood swings are yo-yoing up and down quicker than a whore's drawers. But I don't take a nip. As much as it would probably help me sleep, I need my wits about me. I need to keep Sam under a watchful eye. We can't get back to the Grand soon enough and have Jess run those tests. I think only then will I truly be able to rest easy.

The reason for our quitting early beckons to us from the field off to our left. Nestled in a small grove of pine trees sits the weathered remains of an old barn, most of its red paint peeled away now exposing the bare planks underneath. But it's shelter, and if those dark clouds above our head are any indication, we’re going to need it tonight.

The inside of the barn is a pleasant surprise. While one side of it is missing pieces of the roof, the side above the hay loft is intact. Nice and dry and a perfect place to sleep if you don't mind the moldy smell coming from the few remaining bales of petrified hay. The smell is irrelevant to the bigger picture; the two metal barn doors. They actually still function, which means we can bolt them and keep ourselves locked up nice and safe. As snug as a bug in a rug for the night. Perfect.

After settling in I ignore the fireside banter and camaraderie, choosing instead to take my tin of hot soup and sit off to the sidelines. There must be some truth to Gordon's bear analogy since no one offers to keep me company. Not even Gordon himself, and he's usually my shadow out on missions. Even Scruff ignores me as he lies next to Mike, soaking up the ear scratches and gnawing on some bone he found along the way. The bone doesn't appear to be human. It doesn't look big enough, but I try not to look at it too much.

I watch as Sam and Badger talk, laughing occasionally like there wasn't a fucking thing wrong with the world. He catches my eye every now and again as he glances up, and in those moments, I see the old Sam. It irritates me to no end. How can he sit there and pretend nothing is wrong when alien infection may be running through his blood? How can he be so casual about it?

He's not the only one catching my look. Luke is just as quiet as I am, although he sits with the rest of them. Robyn is attached to his left hip like a gun holster. She keeps whispering to him. He doesn't say anything back, but his gaze keeps shifting to Sam and then to me like we are the objects of Robyn's whispers. I wonder what she’s saying. Has he told her anything of our suspicions or has she come to her own conclusions? Do they all suspect Sam is infected? Are they already making plans to eliminate him? I’m desperate to speak to Luke, but his stone-cold look shuts me down every time I get close and I lose my nerve. Gah! This shit is driving me crazy.

The thoughts in my head are like a whirlwind, and they don't ease up at all. Long after everyone has turned in for the night, that whirling eddy still circles around my brain. Regurgitating all the worries and fears that I manage to keep at bay during daylight hours.

My unease is made even worse by no one being on watch tonight. Since we are locked inside, we've all been given a reprieve. Anyone tries to get in; Scruff will be as good as any alarm system. It still doesn't help me find any peace in sleep. So I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, and listening to the monotone of raindrops and hail as it hits the roof and drip through on the other side of the barn.

Plop. Plop. Plop.

I concentrate on the sound, using it as white noise, and eventually my eyelids grow weary and I give in to the temptation of nothingness.

* * *

I don't know what awakens me. Not quite a thud or a thump, but it's a sound composed of stealth and sneakiness and my brain instantly tells me it shouldn't be there. I wake up, motionless. I no longer hear the rain splattering on the roof and it registers with me that some time must have passed by. The rain and hail have stopped. There’s no sound….of anything. Maybe I dreamed the noise? I hold my breath, my ears straining to pick up on it again.

Thump.

I turn my head toward the door and the shadowed silhouette barely visible in the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the holes in the roof. Someone is at the door all right, but the doors are still closed, so it's obviously someone trying to get out, not in. Call it intuition. Call it a hunch, but I know it's Sam. Maybe I'd chosen a spot close to the door for this purpose. Like deep down I was waiting for him to make a move and here it is.

I watch him as he releases the lock in silence. I don't know why I don't call to him. Why I don't ask what he's doing. His movements are plainly those of someone who doesn't want the rest of us to know what he's up to. The door opens a crack and he squeezes through and disappears into the night. I get to my feet, my first instinct to wake Luke. But he's on the other side of the sleeping crew, and Sam is already out of my line of sight. If I don't hurry now I'll lose him, and I have a gut feeling I need to see what he's up to. Besides, if he's actually just going to take a number one or two-well-it'll be awkward for all of us.

No one wakes as I make my way toward the door. Scruff emits a low whine as I pass by, but I quiet him with a whispered, “Stay” and he obeys. Belting my knife sheath around my waist as I go, I line up with the crack in the door and peek through outside.

The absence of cloud cover illuminates Sam as he takes a couple of steps and then pauses, his head cocked to the side like he hears something. I listen as well, trying to hear what has caught his attention. At first I hear nothing, and then it strikes me. I hear nothing. The serenading frogs and crickets that are our usual night-time lullaby have all fallen silent. The silence is almost blaring. The next thing I notice is the weapon hanging over his shoulder. Something tells me he's not out here to take a leak.

Suddenly he spins like he’s finally located the elusive sound and starts hiking toward the trees.

What the hell did he hear? Is it something he perceives as a threat? And if so, why is he going after it alone? I question if he’s maybe suffered some sort of brain damage during his missing months. Why else would he do something so stupid? And if that is the case, then what’s my damn excuse since I now seem to be the second idiot following the first.

The smell of wet pine and damp earth assaults my nostrils as I trail him straight into the woods. The trees don’t grow thick here and I can see Sam's pale flashlight bobbing up ahead. He took the time for a flashlight and a weapon. This was not on the spur of the moment. He's prepared. But for what? Using his wobbly light as a guide, I track him as he negotiates his way through the thick roots and low hanging branches.

I’m far enough behind so he doesn't hear me, yet close enough to keep the beam of light in sight. The further we walk away from camp, the more my unease increases. Where the hell is he going? If he’s really just looking to take a leak, then he has one serious case of performance anxiety. Part of me wants to yell out. Tell him to wait up. The other part, the terrified part, wants to turn around and go back. It doesn't want to see or even know what Sam is up to.

He keeps walking. The trees start to thin out even more now, and I can hear the rush of a river close by. I choose the thickest pine to hide behind as Sam finally stops by the riverbank. The night sky is hemorrhaging moonlight, revealing him in full view. He turns slowly in a circle, looking for something. Or someone. Did he realize I was following him all along?

He turns my way, but his eyes pass over me, oblivious to my presence. I catch a glimpse of his face, and a cold shiver races down my spine. His face looks vacant. Empty. The memory of my nightmare of him changing into one of those hybrids resurfaces, and I almost turn tail and run. That is until I see what's approaching him from behind.

Icy fingers start kneading at the top of my neck and working their way down my spine. A metal taste coats my tongue, and I lick my lips trying to get the spit flowing to wash the fear away. I try to scream at Sam to run, but the words stick in my throat and all that comes out is a whimper of fear.

The creature materializes from the darkness like it stepped out of some parallel dimension. One minute it isn't there and the next it is. It scuttles toward Sam's back, the tell-tale noise of its claws dulled by the spongy ground. Sam has no idea what’s coming at him, and it's moving in for the kill.

“Sam! Behind you!” I scream in warning, making my presence known. The creature pauses in its attack and turns my way. I pull my knives, distracting it and hopefully giving Sam the opportunity to put enough distance between him and it to take his shot.

As intent as it had been on Sam earlier, I can feel its gaze cutting me down now. It starts heading my way, and I grip my knives tighter.

“Sam, aim for the head,” I holler at him and glance his way, hoping he's in position. Only he's not in position. He's not aiming or running or moving. Hell, he hasn't even pulled his weapon. He's just standing there with the same empty look as earlier, apparently not even aware we're in mortal danger. What the hell?

“Sam, a little help here!” I'm panicking now and trying to get him to move his ass as I back up, but my yell goes unheeded. The hybrid closes the distance between us at such an alarming rate I don't even have time to turn and run, which would be pointless anyway. I can't outrun it through the woods. Instead, I make the decision to defend myself and hope I survive long enough for Sam to kill it.

I brace myself as the thing leaps, and I catch the stench of old blood. Its last meal, no doubt. I try to sidestep it at the last possible moment, determined not to be its fresh kill. I attempt to whirl out of its reach and get behind it. The frantic idea unfolding in my head is to stab it at the base of its spine and hopefully debilitate it. As if it anticipates my move, one clawed arm swipes out and clotheslines me, jerking me off my feet and slamming me to the ground. The knives fly out of my grasp as I land hard on my back.

Gasping for air, I stare up at the hovering shadow of death. An involuntary scream of terror leaves my lips as the thing attacks.

Its savage strength is overwhelming as it straddles me, the talons pinning my shoulder to the ground through my jacket. My free hand instantly flattens in the middle of the scaly chest as I try to push it off. Through my terror, I glimpse its face in the light of the moon. The gray eyes glare at me with a look of pure hatred. It’s such a human look that I'm taken aback. My sweaty fingers slip down its torso, encountering holes along the way and the connection fizzles at the back of my brain. The holes are bullet holes. This thing has been shot up already. This can't be one of the creatures from St. Joseph’s can it? We fucking blew those things up. This can't be one of the same, but the look of hate mingles with recognition. It knows me. This attack is personal. And I'm in deep shit.

The hybrid snarls at me as the mouth starts to protrude. The lips pull back from the rows of long, razor sharp teeth, stretching beyond belief. The transformation must take only seconds, but it feels like time has slowed to a sluggish crawl. Feels like this thing has been hovering over me forever. Spittle forms at the corner of its lip and glistens silver in the moonlight before dripping onto my cheek. It's literally frothing at the mouth, eager to drink me dry. The disgusting drool seems to kick start my fight-like-fuck mode, and a strange calm sets in as I struggle to rise above my fear. I need to think clearly, or this ugly bastard is going to be the last thing I ever see.

Its snapping canines move in, diving towards my neck.

It’s going to rip my throat out.

Jerking my head out of its trajectory just in time, it misses my jugular by a mere inch. Lashing out, I slam my fist hard into the thing’s humanoid nose. I feel the bone break under my knuckle with a satisfying crunch. It doesn't slow it down. Instead, its look of hatred only intensifies, and it poises one long talon above my chest. Its intention is quite clear. It means to drive that damn thing straight into my heart.

The sharp claw falls, and the impact is like a sledgehammer to my torso. Fear and pain choke the scream from my throat as I feel a wave of wetness ooze over my chest. This is it. I'm dying. Blood is spurting out of my punctured heart. So why does it smell like whiskey?

Jesus Christ! Mrs. D's flask! It stabbed the stupid flask, not me.

I don't have time to thank my lucky stars since the hybrid and I come to our conclusions at the same time. I'm not dead. Apparently, that only seems to piss it off even more because it raises the other claw that had been pinning me to the ground and swings at my neck. Images of Taylor's decapitated head cloud my vision, and I react instinctively, blocking the oncoming strike with my right forearm and reaching for my knife with my left hand.

Where the fuck is it?

My grasping fingertips finally come in contact with the cold steel. I struggle for a decent grip, but it keeps slipping out of reach.

Fuck.

“SAM!” My cry is desperate. Pleading. Why isn't he helping me? My luck is going to run out sooner rather than later, and he's just watching.

“HELP ME!” I scream, hoping for it to carry through the trees to my crew. The hybrid’s claws come down on either side of my head, positioning itself for the best biting angle. I push against its chest with the arm between us, but I'm no match for its strength. Its head lowers toward mine. Fetid breath encases me, smelling of rotted blood spiced with feces. I gag on my scream. One clawed hand settles around my jaw, almost like a loving caress as it forces my head back, exposing my throat.

Sammy.

“Stop!” The tortured cry comes from over the creature’s shoulder. Sam doesn't shoot the bastard in the head like I told him to do. He's still rooted in place, not even having drawn his weapon. Yet his strangled cry of protest is enough to make the creature hesitate in puzzlement and shift its attention to Sam. That second of hesitation is all I need.

I lunge to the left, finally getting a grip on my blade. I yank it up and swing at the thing’s head, putting my whole weight behind it. The knife enters at the hybrid’s temple and sinks up to the hilt. Taking advantage of its shock as it fumbles for the knife, I roll from underneath it and scurry sideways on my elbows and heels like some overgrown crab. The creature falters for a bit, swiping at the blade handle protruding from its brain like it's swatting at a mosquito, before its eyes roll back in its head and it topples over.

I stay down on the ground. I don't trust trying to stand. Instead I lay there, sucking in huge gulps of air, my panicked whistling echoing in my ears. I can't stop shaking there's so much adrenaline pumping through my body. I keep staring at the hybrid lying just inches from me, expecting it to get back up. But it doesn't move.

Finally, my breathing slows, and I push myself to my feet. Sam is still standing exactly in the same position. But as I watch him, he shakes his head like he's waking up from some paralysis and searches for me. His head swivels before settling his panicked gaze on me, and he staggers in my direction.

“Jesus, Bix. Are you ok? Are you hurt?”

I meet him head on and shove my palms into his chest, pushing him as hard as I can. The blinding rage filling me urges me to punch him hard in the face and break his goddamned nose just like I did with the mutant.

“What the fuck?” I yell. He stumbles back confused, but I move with him. “What the fuck?” I scream it in his face as I shove him again. “What. The. Fuck?”

The last push nearly sends him into the river. I'm not sure if the hot tears scalding my face right now are from anger or fear, but I do know not being able to stop them is pissing me off ten times more. I nearly fucking died, and Sam just stood by and did nothing. Why am I even wasting my tears on this dipshit?

“Bix. Stop.” He holds his hands up in a silent plea.

“Stop? You want me to stop?” My voice rises. “Guess what? I wanted you to stop that thing from ripping my throat out. And what did you do? Sweet dick all. What the hell?” I clench my fists at my sides, hating the tears that won't stop falling and hating him. Wanting to lash out at him. Instead, I pull my hands up and run them through my hair, ripping at the roots. “Arghhhh!”

My scream is filled with frustration and anger and fear as I stride away from him, not trusting myself to not hurt him in some way. After I've put some distance between us, I turn back.

“What the hell, Sam? Why didn't you help me?”

“I'm sorry,” he whispers.

“You're sorry? You're sorry?” I step toward him again. “I'm the one who's sorry. Sorry for warning your stupid ass and expecting you to make the same gesture to try and save mine. Were you seriously going to stand there and do nothing? Huh, Sam? Were you really going to let me die? Did you want me to die?” My voice catches on the last question.

He flinches at my words. I know I'm being harsh, but I can't help the verbal diarrhea spewing out of my mouth.

“No.”

“No? Then why hell did you stand there and do nothing?”

“I wanted to help you...I just couldn't”

“You couldn't? Ha!” My bitter laugh echoes through the trees. “That's a shit excuse if I've ever heard one.” He steps my way and lays his palm on my arm, but I yank it out of his grasp. “Don't touch me. Don't you fucking touch me, Sam Mckinley. You miserable piece of chickenshit.” I try to walk away, but he grips my arm tighter.

“Listen to me, please.” His voice is raw, and the pain in it obvious. “I wanted to help you. But I couldn't. That thing...that thing was in my head, stopping me. Like it was controlling me. On some level, I was watching you fight it and screaming inside. Screaming like a useless piece of shit. Dying because I couldn't move. I couldn't get to you. Jesus Christ, Bix, that was the most horrible experience of my life...watching you fight and not being able to help. Please. You have to believe me.”

What he is telling me sounds like utter and complete bullshit, but the pain and sincerity in his eyes is real. The tears trickling down his cheeks are real. Of that I have no doubt. He's telling me the truth, or at least what he believes to be the truth.

I unclench my jaw and take a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. I need to get this anger under control, so I can figure out what the hell just happened.

“I don't understand what you're telling me,” I say finally, wiping the tears off my cheeks with the tips of my fingers.

“You and me both.” He rubs his face and eyes with both hands as if trying to wash away the memory of what just happened.

“What do you mean it was in your head?”

“I don't know how to explain it—”

“You almost let me die so try, dammit!” I snap again. Calm down, Bix. I take a deep breath.

He looks at me with such sorrow I almost feel guilty for my reaction. Almost. Turning his back to me, he wanders to the riverbank and stares into it like he can’t stand to face me any longer. I follow him, glancing around with wary eyes. Competing with the anger is the fear that another one of those creatures will come crawling out of the woods. I make a similar comment to Sam, but he just shakes his head at me.

“No. There are no more around. Not close enough for us to worry about.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I can't hear any thoughts in my head. None that are audible anyways.” He glances back at me. “I can hear them quite loudly when they're near.”

I stare at him for a bit, weighing in on this tidbit of info and wondering if it's adding to my anger. Can I even get any angrier?

“What? You can hear them? You can fucking hear them in your head like Kasina was talking about? And you didn't think that was pertinent enough to tell me along with the rest of the shit back at the facility? Jesus H. Christ, Sam!” Yup. I guess I can get angrier. “That's a damn important bit of info to leave out, don't you think?”

“I told you they affected me. I didn't lie.”

“Yeah, you damned lied. You lied by omission. When you said they affected you, I thought you meant they gave you the fucking heebie-jeebies or some shit. You didn't say they were in your head like a split personality. You didn't tell me that.”

“I wanted to tell you. I tried. But the words just wouldn't come out in any way that wouldn't make you look at me differently. In horror.” He takes a hesitant step toward me, hands out in a pacifying gesture. “Like you are doing right now. You're scared of me.”

“Ya think?” I ask as I step back a couple of steps. “You just told me you hear them in your head. Kasina said they all do that because they're one organism. Does that mean you are one of them, too? Are you part of a hive, Sam?”

The last question comes out as a whisper as if what I'm saying is too horrific for me to say aloud.

“No, I'm still me, Bix. I'm still Sam.”

I shake my head at him as he takes another step toward me. “No, I don't think so. The Sam I know wouldn't have almost let me get killed by that thing.” I point to the creature lying on the ground. “He would have tried to save me, just like I tried to save—” I stop mid-sentence and my words die as a cold knot of knowing clinches tight in my gut. “No, I didn't save you because it wasn't attacking you. Its intention wasn't to hurt you at all. You came here to meet it. Didn't you?”

“No!” He inches closer and I back up more. His eyes plead with me to understand. “No, it's not like that at all. I didn't come to meet it. I mean I did, but not in the way you think. I knew it was close. When they're close I'm...drawn to them. It's like...I don't know...like a damn itch in your brain and the only way to scratch it is to give into it. But I thought I could kill it. Get rid of it, so it wouldn't hurt any of you.”

“Sam, you're not making it any better,” I whisper at him, trying desperately to understand what he's telling me.

“I can't explain it, Bix. I really can't. When it's in my head...whatever it is...it's like it controls me. But I fought it this time. Don't you see? That's good. It wanted me to watch while it killed you, but I fought it. I surprised it by fighting its control, giving you the chance to kill it. Don't you see, Bix? It didn't have total control over me like it thought.”

He sounds relieved like that's a good thing. I see nothing good about this whole conversation. All I'm hearing is that Sam is somehow linked to those creatures, and they have power over him.

“This changes everything,” I whisper.

“No...”

“Sam. We have to tell Luke. I can't let you put anyone else in danger. We can’t wait any longer.” My voice strengthens with each word because finally something is making sense to me. Luke needs to know. Luke will know what to do.

“Bix...”

“BIX! SAM!” the voices calling from the woods sound close and very worried. The crew are looking for us, and they'll be here soon.

Sam steps my way, grabs my hand with one last plea, and stops me from yelling out to them.

“We'll tell Luke. I promise. But just not tonight. I’m fine, trust me. But he’ll make me leave, Bix. Or worse. Help me. Please. Just give me the time to prove I’m okay.”

I yank my hand out of Sam’s grasp as hard as his pleading yanks at my heart.

“Bix?”

I answer Luke's yell with one of my own. “Over here.”

They come crashing through the trees: Luke, Mike, and Gordon with Scruff leading the way.

“We thought we heard screaming earlier and noticed you guys were miss—Jesus!” Gordon does a double take and nearly jumps a foot in the air as he almost trips over the hybrid carcass on the ground. “I just nearly shit myself. Is that what I think it is?”

“Yeah. The reason for the earlier screaming,” I answer, my eyes searching Luke’s face as if I can find an answer there to my inner turmoil.

“Are you guys okay? Did it hurt you? Where did it come from? Are there anymore? Who killed it?” Gordon quickly overcomes his fright and starts a staccato line of questioning.

“We're fine,” Sam answers before I have a chance to. “Bix killed it. Lucky shot with a blade to the head.”

“Yeah, lucky,” I echo, but my words are hollow.

“What were you two doing out here?” Luke holds no punches with his question, and his hard eyes tell me he expects nothing but the truth. As I open my mouth to speak, I feel Sam tense beside me and catch his breath, terrified of what I'm about to say. Truth be told, so am I.

“Stupid really. I couldn't sleep, so I decided to get some fresh air. Sam heard me get up and decided to join me. We heard something prowling around in the trees, so we followed it to make sure it wasn't a gang of ravagers or something trying to sneak up on us. Damn thing led us into the woods, and we were stupid enough to fall for the classic backtrack as it swerved around us and attacked.”

I feel Sam relax as the lie falls from my lips. The decision has been made and a line crossed. I've never lied to Luke before, and I'm glad for the darkness hiding my expression since I’m pretty sure the bold-ass deception is written all over my face and I feel like a complete and utter shit-stick. I don't know if he believes me or not. His face is unreadable in the shadows.

He regards me in silence, and I fidget under the perusal. Finally, he says, “Stupid is right. Are there any more of these around we should be worried about?”

I shake my head. “No, I don't think so. None that we could see.”

“But if Kasina is right, they don't usually travel alone. The rest of its hive may be around here somewhere.” Gordon looks around like he expects them to start dropping out of the trees. It's on the tip of my tongue to tell him we apparently have a hybrid detector in our group, and he doesn't have to worry but I stop the words from tumbling out just in time.

“Gordon's right. We should get out of here. Keep alert,” Luke says.

That's it? That's all the flak we're getting from Luke? No third degree or interrogation? Well, that was damned easier than I thought it was going to be. And I feel fucking sick about the whole thing. I just lied to my crew and Luke. A man I trust with my life. I may have just put their lives in danger all for the sake of saving Sam. What the fuck am I doing? If something goes wrong, is his life worth theirs? Searching deep for an answer, I ignore Gordon's puzzled “Why do I smell whiskey?” as we start our trek back.

* * *

Sam keeps trying to whisper to me the whole walk back to the barn, but I brush him off. I don't want to talk. I'm angry. Angry at him for forcing me to choose between him and Luke. Angry at myself for doing it and lying to my crew. Angry at Luke for giving up on me so easily. Right when I needed him to keep questioning me and everything about Sam, he's chosen to walk away without a fight. Can’t he see how much I need him right now?

And really, what is there to say to Sam? Yeah, I know you're possibly infected and dangerous and mind fucked by those hybrids. Yeah, I lied about the whole thing and didn't tell on you to the rest of my crew. I didn’t enlighten them to the fact that just being around you may be detrimental to their health because I don’t want anything to happen to you. I mean, really? When you break it down like that it sounds so bad.

Robyn, Dom, Kelly, and Badger watch our return with interest as we pile back into the barn. Robyn's gaze flickers back between Luke and I, trying to read our body language.

“You found them,” she says to Luke as he passes her by and settles his gun on his sleeping bag.

Duh. Obviously.

“No one looks the worst for wear. Told you they probably just snuck off for a lover's dalliance. And that Bix's screaming was just Sam fucking her brains out—”

I leap at her with all my pent-up anger at Sam and Luke. If I can't take it out on them, then she is the perfect punching bag.

“Shut your pie-hole, you stupid bitch.” I give her a swift right jab to the shoulder, and she stumbles back a couple of steps. “You have no idea what happened out there.” I'm screaming at her now as she quickly recovers and comes back at me, eyes glittering with anger. I ready for her attack, but my fist doesn't get to make contact again. Luke steps in between us, blocking her from my view.

“So not the time for your goddamned temper,” he growls down at me as he pushes me away non-too gently from Robyn, almost taking me off my feet.

I stare at him with a mixture of anger and confusion. He's never manhandled me like that before. Ever. What the fuck is happening to us?

“We don't need to be turning on each other. We have enough to worry about at the moment. Bix is right about one thing, though. You have no idea what happened out there, so stop with the stupid assumptions.”

Luke razzing out Robyn kind of makes me feel a tiny bit better, even though I'm still itching like crazy to take my self-hatred out on her. Robyn glares at me with a look that promises revenge and tells me I may still get that chance.

“Well, then, why don't you tell us what happened out there?” Badger asks in a soft voice, trying to subdue the situation.

“They ran into a hybrid. They managed to kill it, but if what Kasina told us is correct, they don't travel alone. Not exactly good news. With that being said, we can't take the chance of traveling in the dark. Leeches I'd take the chance with but not those things. We stay put until morning. Kelly, you and I will take first watch. Mike, you and Robyn up next. Dom, Sam and Badger, then Bix and Gordon. Got it?”

We all nod in silence at Luke.

“Good.” He sighs in exhaustion. “I know it's asking a lot but try and get some rest. We'll leave at first light. The sooner we get back to the Grand, the better I'll feel.”

“You and me both,” Mike grumbles. “Being out here in the open like this is creeping me the fuck out. You don't know where those damn mutants could be hiding. They can pop up at any moment.”

If only you knew the half of it, my friend.