Grey Matters

Chapter 3

We try to run, but the Z-V Snatchers are all over Bridger, hauling him into their death mobile. I twist around and go after the one that grabbed me. My legs are super strong. I knew what I was doing when every other girl in my second grade class was hip hopping and I was kicking butt with the boys in Karate. Bones crack when the Snatcher finally hits the ground. I think I broke his leg. All the hunting and fighting have worked up the virus in me. I have this insanely powerful urge to kneel down and rip a bite right out of his belly, right through the protective suit, right in the spot where my mom used to blow raspberries on my tummy when I was little…right in the spot where I used to tickle Amber. 

“Don’t eat me!” he groans. 

Fighting against the viral instincts inside me, I look around for Bridger. He’s nowhere in sight. They’re so stupid with their prejudices. They sent one Snatcher after the girl and the other two after the boy. Idiots. Bridger is down to about the mentality of a toddler. A well-armed grandma could have handled him. I abandon the guy with the broken leg and sprint through the weeds to the van. As I race past the driver’s window, he shoves his door open and yells to his buddies. In the back of the van, the others are tying up the closest thing I have to a friend. I snarl and they turn.

“Don’t shoot her, Joey!” the taller guy yells to the driver in camouflage. Without taking my eyes off them, I back away towards the trees that surround the mill yard. “If she took Williams out,” he yells, “she must be fresh. The doc’s gonna want her alive. Get Williams in the van!”  Joey runs for the injured Snatcher. 

The two Snatchers that captured Bridger are wearing heavy black suits and the gloves Animal Control wears to protect themselves from bites. The smaller guy’s suit isn’t done up all the way. I catch a little snip of a dingy red jacket hanging out. His eyes meet mine. Something told me the homeless guy foraging was too convenient—they’re setting traps for us now. 

I should just run. There’s no way they can catch me and my hideout is pretty secure. But I can’t walk away from Bridger, not like this.

“Ev’lyn…dog…” I hear muffled moaning from the bed of the van. The door is still gaping wide open, waiting for them to toss me in. The Snatchers climb out, brandishing poles and bags, never breaking eye contact with me.

“Bridger, come on. You gotta get out of there!”  I yell. He’s struggling in one of the bags.

Williams cries in pain as Joey drags him. I have to go through these other two losers to get Bridger, but I’m not sure I can take on two at once. I’m no Lara Croft. 

“I’ll work around behind while you distract her.”  The big guy has the bag in his hand, the kind they use to throw over a wild animal’s head to catch it. He blurts out his plan like I’m some dumb beast that doesn’t know what he’s saying. 

I play along, pivoting slightly, watching the Snatcher by the van, but never losing sight of the guy with the bag while he tries to get behind me. When the two are far enough apart from each other, I spin around and spring on the Snatcher with the bag. He doesn’t know what hit him. I toss him into a patch of knee-deep dry weeds. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just need to get him away from the van long enough to fish Bridger out of it. 

Of course, the other Snatcher is functioning on the conviction that my driving goal in life is to sink my teeth into his liver and enjoy a little moonlight dinner out. He launches himself into the back of the van, yelling, “Go. Go!”  I think he’s warning them away from me. Why can’t he catch a clue, see that I just want Bridger, and toss him to me?

Then the movement from the shadows in the trees catches my eye. The Snatcher who played decoy is not abandoning his buddy with the bag; he’s caught sight of a whole gang—at least half a dozen ZVs—closing in on the guy. I’m totally stunned. I had no idea there were that many ZVs roaming around Eli. Now I’ve got more than Bridger to save. I race for the Institute man I just tossed into the weeds. He’s got a nasty gash on his head, like he slammed right into a rock. Unfortunately, he’s not dazed enough to let me hoist him up without a fight.