Carrion (The Bren Watts Diaries #1)

Chapter 57

"Do you think we should have waited for Steve longer?" Logan asked me from the passenger's seat. I was driving the humvee while Miguel drove behind us.

I shook my head. "We've been out there for four hours," I said.

The spot wasn't far from the refugee camp, maybe a couple of miles, and it would only take Steve an hour or two to get there if our theory was correct that he was trying to shake off some folks following him. Steve was a smart man, so I wouldn't think he'd get jumped that easily. But I was confused about why he would stay in the refugee camp of all places. There was nothing there but people, a cesspool of disease, and heated jealousy for one another.

And if he did get back to the spot, well, he was out of luck and with no ride.

"We'll come back there tomorrow and look for him," I said. "I'm not angry with him; I'm just concerned."

"Have you thought about driving west instead?"

I sighed. "Still the same logistics, Logan. I already told you."

Logan was about to say more, but I was glad he didn't.

I hailed Miguel on the CB radio, checking on him if he was doing okay. He gave me a brief response. I looked at the side view mirror and saw he was following too close to my tail, perhaps too scared he'd lose me under the darkness.

I turned right to a dirt road flanked by heavily thick forests a couple of miles out from the campsite. As I was about to hail over the CB radio to Luke that we were almost there, a small figure dashed out of the bushes, stopping midway as the headlights flooded him. I put my weight on the breaks, screeching to a stop a couple of inches away from the shivering form.

It was Henry.

"Watch the woods," I said to Logan. He climbed out of the vehicle with his rifle at the ready. Henry still had his hands raised over his eyes, covering himself from the headlights' glare, so I switched it off. I climbed out after.

"Bren!" Henry squeaked, running up to me and wrapped his arms around my hips. His white shirt was in tatters, covered in dirt and sweat. I kept an eye on the woods as I held Henry tighter.

"What's wrong? What happened to the camp?"

"It's awful! I—I can't do anything!" Henry cried.

Miguel came up behind me, mouth hanging open as he stared at the kid. It was then I saw a tiny steak knife on his left hand. It was coated with blood, and it seemed fresh. I looked him over, checking for wounds, but it wasn't from him.

"You see anything?" I asked Logan.

"Nothing yet," he said. He had the night vision over his eye, scanning the darkness and the woods.

"Where did you get this?" Miguel asked Henry.

"I...I grabbed it. Margot told me to run, so I did."

"Who's blood is this?"

"I stabbed him," Henry said.

"Stabbed? Who did you stab?"

"He grabbed me, so I did what you would do, Bren. Like I saw," he said.

"Who did you stab, Henry? A vector?"

Henry's lips quivered again, and shook his head. He couldn't say, too scared or too numbed to warp his mind around it—this poor kid—but I was desperate for information. Henry pointed deep into the woods on the path where he came from.

"He's down there," he said.

I started heading toward the path, my rifle in hand. "Miguel, take Henry inside the humvee. Lock the doors and watch over the turret hatch. Any hostiles, fire with one of the machine guns. Logan, you're with me."