the storm before the calm | camren

the storm before the calm

Crack.

Camila's eyes fly open, and she reaches for her gun, wide awake in an instant. She hadn't been asleep for long, and her body is always on full alert these days—even when it's supposed to be resting.

With her gun in one hand and her teeth biting down into the other to keep herself from making any noise, she stays frozen in her spot. It's quiet for a moment, until whoever is on the other side of the clearing moves again.

Camila holds her breath and listens to the footsteps approaching her, her lungs burning. She leans her head back against the tree and tightens her grip on the gun, even though it won't be much of a help—she already wasted her last ammo on a rabbit that got blown to pieces by the impact. Too close.

A bullet clicks into place somewhere behind her, followed by a low voice. "Drop your weapons and show yourself."

The voice is female. Camila's heart is in her throat. She hasn't encountered another person in weeks, maybe even months, let alone a girl. And hearing a human voice is almost enthralling. Getting to see who it belongs to is almost worth her life. Almost.

She doesn't move. Feelings aren't a luxury she can afford anymore.

"I said, show yourself," the girl says, voice still low. Still shaking. "That tree won't protect you if I decide to shower it with bullets."

Camila's mouth twitches. It doesn't matter. She'll die either way.

"Don't shoot," she says, gripping the handle of her gun with both hands. With a swift movement she steps out of hiding and raises the gun at the girl in front of her.

A moment passes. Camila doesn't take her eyes off the girl, and the girl doesn't take her eyes off of Camila.

She doesn't shoot.

"Drop your weapon," she repeats. Her hands are shaking. "Now."

Camila blinks. "I'm human."

"Everyone claims to be human, and then you end up with a bullet between your eyes or a knife between your ribs."

Damn. Camila briefly wonders if this girl is speaking from experience. She wonders about her past. But, "I swear I'm human."

An empty laugh. "Drop your gun and I'll consider believing you."

"If I drop my gun you'll shoot me," Camila says. She puts her finger on the trigger, hoping she can pull off the bluff. Because right now, it's the only thing keeping her alive. If this girl figures out that Camila's gun is empty, she won't hesitate to shoot her—and Camila doesn't want to die yet. (She thinks she does sometimes, but dying at the hand of another survivor somehow seems almost crueler than dying in the inevitable fifth wave.)

"I'll shoot you if you don't."

Camila considers this. She allows her gaze to flicker up and down the girl's body. Under the layer of dirt and blood, she's almost as skinny as Camila. Almost just as short, too. Camila could probably take her.

She looks up. Bright eyes stare back at her with a hardened look and something that looks a lot like wanting to give up.

Camila wonders, briefly, if this girl will really mind if she manages to kill her, somehow. If she'll really put up a fight to stay alive.

It's a split second decision, one that could kill Camila if she hesitates.

One moment she's holding her gun, and the next she's lunging forward, crashing her body into the stranger's and knocking them both to the ground. Camila's fist collides with the girl's cheekbone with more force than necessary, and she uses the advantage of the other girl's shock to press her hands down to the girl's throat.