Page 57 of Princess

It’sGrant.

As I watch, he runs toward the motorcycle, leans over, and deflates one of the tires.

His job is disabling all their vehicles so none of them can get away.

When I first heard he was going to do this, I was surprised because I thought he’d pick a job with more direct action. But now I understand why he volunteered for this one. It’s probably the most dangerous role of our entire plan. He must have entered the camp before anyone else, and he’s moving from vehicle to vehicle, spending most of the time completely exposed.

I’ve barely processed this reality when I see someone else. A big, ugly man moves out from behind the camp’s compost pile and aims his gun at Grant, who is still focused on the motorcycle.

I act on instinct, shooting the man before he can kill Grant.

Grant jerks and whirls around, aiming first at me and then at the man who’s now fallen to the ground.

When he looks back toward me, our eyes meet. Maybe it’s just a few seconds or maybe much longer. But I feel his gaze all the way down to my heart.

He knows I saved his life.

He checks his surroundings once more and then runs toward the door of the dining hall, joining us in the building.

“This side of the camp is under control,” Cal says, positioned at the front door. “Did you take care of the vehicles?”

“Yes. Not a single one of them is getting away.” Grant has come over to me and pulls me into a brief, one-armed hug. “They’re having a harder time on the north side. We need to head that way.”

No one has any objections to this plan, so we file out of the dining hall, moving north by taking cover behind any structure or vehicle we encounter.

Grant takes out a couple of guys, and Mack and Gail both shoot another, but I’m not as quick as them so I’m not much help in this part.

There’s a lot more gunfire ahead of us. There must have been many more from the Wolf Packs on that side. I’ve felt a strange sense of calm overtake me ever since Grant joined us, but now that ice-cold panic rises again.

We haven’t gotten through the worst of this yet.

Grant doesn’t leave my side. He moves me behind the cover of a beat-up pickup truck and gestures toward the other side of it.

I understand.

That’s where our targets are.

I peek out, trying to stay out of range of bullets while still seeing what’s happening out there.

It takes a few minutes, but I finally figure out where some of the shooting is coming from, so I aim in that direction. I have no idea if I hit anything or not, but I figure that’s the way this kind of fighting goes.

Shoot and keep shooting and hope for the best.

When it sounds like there’s a slight lull, I reload my pistol and then take the time to peer around again. This time I see Travis hunkered down behind a metal barrel about twenty yards away from us.

He’s got a rifle, and he obviously knows what he’s doing. He takes down two of the men in my range as I watch. One after the other.

But evidently I’m not the only one to see this. He’s suddenly the target of massive gunfire. The Wolf Packs must have some automatic weapons because he’s pummeled with bullets. That barrel provides very little protection, so he’s completely trapped. Unable to fire back. Unable to move.

A slice of terror for him cuts through my chest.

“Grant!” I scream to be heard over the roar of noise surrounding us. Grant has been stationed on the other side of the pickup from me, shooting and ducking for cover like I am.

When he glances over, I gesture toward Travis behind the barrel. “He’s trapped there. Can you help him?”

Grant comes closer and peers out so he can get his eyes on the situation. He assesses it quickly and starts to move. Then he pauses and looks back at me.

I know exactly what he’s thinking. He doesn’t want to leave me unprotected—even to save someone else.

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