Page 31 of Princess

Grant inclines his head in a signal to follow him, so I do—taking step by step in a frozen blur. When he stops again, we’re still hidden by the trees, but we’re on the back side of the camp.

He turns to face me, opening his mouth to speak, when he seems to notice something on my face. He breaks off whatever he was going to say and gives his head a brief shake. “You’re dead white. It might not be that bad. If the camp was attacked, then our people would have locked down in the bunker.”

His matter-of-fact words are like a balm, a warm breeze. I take a ragged breath and exhale it slowly. “You think they’re all right?”

“Maybe not all of them, but we’ve been drilling for months now. Most should have gotten into the bunker before that gate came down. But I need more details on the situation so I can figure out what to do.”

This makes sense and sounds doable. Much more feasible than him and me attacking an unknown number of intruders on our own, which was the only option that occurred to me.

I’m about to respond when there’s a loud rustling from the trees to our left. I automatically raise my pistol toward the sound. Propping up his rifle again, Grant starts walking toward the sound.

He probably wants me to stay put, but I don’t. For one, I’m not about to be left alone right now. For another, I’m not going to let him wander off and get killed. So I follow him a few steps behind.

I nearly squeal when I hear the sound of another shot. Then a figure suddenly breaks through the trees. The man is moving at a clumsy run and nearly collides into Grant.

I recognize the shirt he’s wearing before anything else. “It’s Noah!” I gasp a little louder than I should because I don’t want Grant to shoot him.

Grant has already lowered his rifle. He reaches out with one arm and catches Noah before he slumps to the ground.

There’s blood on his face. And all over the back of his shirt. “They…” Noah’s voice is weak and raspy, but he clearly knows who we are. “They got in.”

“How many?”

He gives an awkward headshake. “Don’t… know. Dozens. I tried to… but they were on me.”

“Were you able to sound the warning?” Grant asks him tersely. He almost sounds mean, but I know he’s not. “Were the others able to lock down?”

“Y-yeah. Most. A bunch of us… killed.” His features twist in visible pain that makes me want to whimper.

“He needs help, Grant.” I speak softly, although I’m pretty sure we’re too far away from the camp for regular voices to be heard. “We can ask him more questions later.”

Grant looks like he’s about to snap back an answer, but then he evidently changes his mind. He looks at Noah. Then looks at me. Then gives a curt nod. “Okay. Let’s get somewhere safe.”

I’m surprised but relieved at this decision, and I move to help Grant support Noah as we make our way back to the Jeep. It’s not an easy or a pleasant journey, but luck is on our side because we don’t see anyone else and our vehicle is still untouched where we left it.

Grant dumps Noah unceremoniously in the back before he and I climb into our seats. “Where will we go?” I ask him.

“I know a shelter nearby. It won’t be comfortable, but it will be safe.”

That sounds good to me. I don’t need luxury right now. I need a space where it doesn’t feel like we’re about to be attacked from all sides. And we need to treat Noah’s injuries as best we can.

Grant is silent as he drives us back down the gravel road and then about a mile to a dirt path that’s barely wide enough for the Jeep to fit through. He forces it through anyway. It goes uphill for a while and then around a steep, rocky edge. The vehicle jerks to a stop there. I have no idea why. I see nothing that might constitute a shelter.

I don’t question Grant, however. He obviously knows more about what he’s doing than I do. I scramble out and move to help support Noah as we pull him out of the back.

He’s still conscious. Sickly white and drenched in sweat and blood.

Grant leads us to what looks like a solid wall of rock, but then I realize there’s an opening there. A shallow cave, nearly out of sight from the dirt path.

“How did you find this place?” I ask as we lower Noah to the packed dirt ground.

It’s an irrelevant question. An idle one. But Grant answers me anyway. “Luck. I was looking for somewhere nearby to stow some emergency provisions and managed to find this.”

I gasp as I see there are a couple of cases against the back wall. There will be stuff in there that we can use. Grant stashed them there probably months ago in preparation for exactly such an emergency.

He really is good at this kind of thing.

“Wow,” I murmur.

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