Keep on Fighting (The 5th Wave)

Part SEVEN

I twist around abruptly, jolting my head so powerfully it is painful, to see male figure, a Remington in hand. His full-body army-style suit is camo, and anger seems to cover his face. I am holding my breath as he marches towards Evan, slamming the shotgun into his chest.

"What are you doing with these kids, Walker?" The soldier yells, furiously. "What happened to following the head's orders?" A hint of betrayal is visible in his eyes.

Evan bows his head, lifting his gaze back up to the soldier's face in time to swing his fist into his stomach. The soldier barely flinches as Evan's clenched knuckles pound into him, and I expect to hear a crack of bone which would leave a major bruise - he's another Sleeper agent obviously, I realise.

"I guess they haven't been keeping an eye on me as much as we'd expected. This guy doesn't seem to know much about what's going on with me, assuming the information is shared between the agents." Evan suggests.

"You know him?" Poundcake asks, and Evan nods.
Ringer asks, tapping her head with her fore-finger, "Wouldn't you know if they'd shared the data?"
"No, they cut me off a while back. Around the time I met Cassie." I knew when he meant; when the other agents attacked us at the truck, when I found out what Evan was.

Probably irritated by all of the questioning faces surrounding him, he grabs onto the Sleeper agents throat, tightening his grip on him as he gasps desperately for air.

Don't kill him. Please don't kill him. Even an Other's death isn't something I could look forward to witnessing. After everything the Others have put us through, I couldn't bare to watch one's life end. It was extremely difficult to even hear the deaths and my father and all of those other men in the warehouse when Vosch invaded the camp.

The soldier's face burns bright red, and his veins grow darker and darker until Evan averts his gaze from his eyes to mine, and notices the innocent, helpless, frightened look on my face - saddened.

His fingers loosen as well as his expression, and he gives out a sigh of almost-relief. My long breathe is released from my lungs almost simultaneously to Evan's as the soldier falls to the ground, instantly grabbing onto his bruising, throbbing neck for dear life.

In that moment, it is as if me, Evan and the soldier are the only people on the Earth, the only three fighting to stay alive.

The room around me is full of framed photographs of trees on the walls, all matching black frames with no frills. Matching black furniture, all very square and useful looking. A towel and washcloth tidily folded on top of the dresser next to a clock - black and white, all smooth lines - and a stack of books, mostly non-fiction and mysteries, judging by the titles.

The fast beat of my heart carries through my body to my ears; I am torn between loyalty to Evan and loyalty to myself, with an unbearable weight on my chest.

Something causes me to imagine a happier place than this, and my mind drifts into a beautiful, faraway daydream.

The moss-embedded bark of the trees stand majestically, casting shadows across the grassless earth. Beneath the soil I recognise, as if granted the power to see through objects, the slickly-growing roots, stretching further into the ground as I gape at the sight.

Orange and red Autumn leaves are shed from the trees' delicate-looking branches, swinging to and fro in the breeze until they touch the ground, as light as feathers. My feet move easily through the forest, crunching slightly as they collide with the leaves.

The weather and my surroundings change suddenly.

Ahead, upon the forest floor, lies trees, fallen in storms long forgotten. The seasons have been harsh, stripping away the bark and outer layers, yet rendering them all the more beautiful. They have the appearance of driftwood, twisting in patterns that remind me of seaside waves; even the color of the moss is kelp-like.