“Or not at all, if their scouts don’t report back.”
I glared at Denver, who had his arms around Maizy’s waist and was trying to dance with her. She stumbled over her bootlace, and they fell to the ground.
“Austin kept one alive.”
“I thought you said he was helping move the bodies?”
Reno nodded. “Soon-to-be-dead body, once we get what we need.”
I shuddered.
Wheeler appeared, panting heavily and staring at the man slumped over by the tree. “Remind me not to piss you off,” he said to me. “How far away were you? That’s a clean shot into the heart.”
“I don’t want to know,” I murmured, feeling queasy all of a sudden.
Maizy wriggled out of Denver’s arms and wiped off her pants. “I need to get back to my post,” she said, clearly flustered, her braid swinging with leaves stuck in it.
Wheeler strolled over and settled his gaze on Denver’s bloody leg. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Did you get a boo-boo?”
Denver hurled a clump of dirt at him. “Shut it. You’re just jealous because I’m the pretty man in the family.”
“How would the pretty man like to be tied naked to a tree by the stronger man?”
When Denver threw a rock at Wheeler’s head, Wheeler grabbed Denver by his lame leg and dragged him toward the tree.
“Let go of me, dickwad!” Denver shouted, flailing like a fish out of water.
Wheeler laughed darkly. “I think I hear the sound of banjos.”
I rubbed my face and turned to Reno. “If someday I ever have to tell the story about how the Weston pack valiantly fought against the Northerners, I’m leaving this part out.”
Reno touched his earpiece. “Austin relayed the message to Axel’s men. A couple of them spotted cars moving along the roads that lead out here.” He paused for a moment, still listening. “Got it.”
“What did he say?”
“Wheeler, get this damn corpse out of here,” he shouted. “We got more coming in.”
Wheeler tossed Denver’s boot into the bushes and stalked off to dispose of the body.
Reno covered the drag marks Denver had left behind by using his foot and a long branch to scatter the leaves. “A group of men confronted some of Axel’s pack, and they got into it. The rogues aren’t sure if Axel’s men are locals or here to claim land. Either way, they’re obstacles.” Reno picked up the dart and studied the tip. “When I shoot, I shoot to kill. Apparently, they have other intentions if they’re using darts instead of bullets.”
“Anything else?”
I didn’t like the look in Reno’s eyes, especially when he dodged my question by turning away.
I grabbed a handful of his shirt. “What else?”
He turned his head to the side, his eyes downcast. “Judas’s men hit Dallas and Houston. Looks like they’re coordinating an attack against the big cities. The snowball is rolling down the mountain, and there’s no stopping it.”
“So what do we do?”
“Stay out of sight until we know what we’re dealing with.”
We both watched Denver trying to put his boot on, but he couldn’t bend his leg.
“Better put him in the bunker with me,” I said. “I don’t think sending him up that tree is a good idea unless you want DJ Denny to welcome our guests with a song.”
“Good point. Make him sleep it off whether he wants to or not. Both of you need to eat something. We have time before the second wave, so fuel up even if you’re not hungry.”
I approached my packmate and held out my hand. “Come on, Denver. Looks like we’re roomies for a little while.”
His eyes widened when he noticed my round belly. “Have you been eating watermelon seeds?”
***
Denver slept for hours, although I had to suffer through his whispered singing of every song that popped into his head, and most of them were cartoons or songs from the eighties. Somewhere around INXS or Bobby McFerrin, he’d finally dozed off.
I had another sharp pain while he slept, but I breathed through it and stayed calm, remembering the Relic’s warning about stress.
Shortly after eating a handful of almonds, I heard a peculiar sound coming from outside the bunker. I lifted the hatch and peered through the crack, the dimming light telling me it must have been late afternoon.
“Denver, wake up,” I hissed. “Denver.”
“Mmm… muffins,” he murmured incoherently, rolling away from the light.
Oh, for the love of God.
I removed the cap from my water and squeezed the bottle, sending a giant splatter onto his pants.
Denver shot up, eyes wide, his hair disheveled. He glanced down at his wet crotch, lightly touched it, and then sniffed his fingertips.
“You didn’t wet yourself,” I whispered. “Something’s going on.”
He blinked several times and crawled to the bench, resting his chin on the wall and peering through the crack.
I pointed in the direction of the sound. He tapped his finger against his lips, signaling to stay quiet. I reached for the dagger and strapped it around my waist with the gun. Denver put on his shirt and then lifted his pack, ready to move. I handed him his hat, and he pulled it over his head, tucking his hair beneath it.
“Any dove calls?” he whispered.