Page 119 of Last Light

Then the worst would happen. All of us know it.

“Remember,” Travis says softly to the group before we disperse to get in our places. “Don’t fire a gun unless you have no other choice. You fire even one shot and everyone down there’ll hear it.”

Then we’re set. I walk to the driver’s side of the Jeep. It’s so dark that I almost trip on a tree root, and Travis reaches out to catch me.

I cling to his shirt, and he gives me a quick, hard hug. “Y’okay, darlin’?” he murmurs into my ear.

“Yes. I’m ready.”

“I know you are. We’re gonna be fine.”

I don’t know if he really believes the words, but they make me feel better just the same.

Our little convoy starts off slowly, moving at about five miles an hour. We crest the hill, and I can finally see the lights of the group in the valley.

The camp is a lot bigger than I expected. They’ve got bonfires burning at all four corners. Music is still pounding. I hear shouts and raucous laughter.

I’m almost shaking with fear as I creep forward.

I’m first, with Travis walking beside the Jeep. The dog is curled up in a tight ball on the floor of the passenger side. Anna follows with Mack keeping pace with the pickup. I’m somehow the one responsible for setting the speed of our journey, but I figure Travis will let me know if I’m going too fast.

It’s difficult. Terrifying. To drive in the dark without any headlights. It’s not pitch-black now that the almost-full moon is out and the lights from the camp are casting a dim glow up in our direction. But it’s mostly dark. I can’t see more than a foot or two ahead of where I’m driving.

I know it’s better that way. It means they can’t see us.

But I’m sick to my stomach with anxiety, and at one point I’m afraid that I’ll actually vomit.

I don’t.

I keep driving.

I’m aware of Travis walking beside my vehicle. I can’t see more than his silhouette, but his presence makes me feel better.

Occasionally my wheels will run over a branch, and the crack of sound makes me gasp in fear.

But it never alerts any of the perimeter guards. I’d be surprised if they can hear anything with all that music blaring.

It seems to take forever, but it’s probably just about twenty minutes. We’re on our ascent to the other side when I see a flicker of light ahead.

Light.

There shouldn’t be light.

Light can only mean danger.

It’s a beam of light moving ahead of us, and I realize it’s a flashlight.

It’s close. Way too close. Whoever it is will see us for sure.

Travis is already reacting. He moves silently—like a predator—and I hear a rustling of sound. A low grunt. Then something drops to the ground. Something big. Maybe a body. The beam of light goes out.

I’ve stopped, but I start moving again when Travis reappears beside my vehicle, motioning me to go on.

Whoever was in front of us, Travis took care of them.

We’re almost clear now.

We’re almost through.

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