Page 49 of Ember Rising

“We aren’t supposed to be operatives.” Evander’s tone has an intensity I’ve never heard. “You need to trust me.”

Damn. He’s right. Our cover story won’t hold up if I’m battling him for every inch of control. Reluctantly, I move back behind him like a dutiful wife, my arrow still nocked.

“Next time we work together, you’re a cuck and I’m in charge,” I mutter.

“Fucking stop. They might have lip readers,” he growls through his teeth.

The truck in the lead is flanked by two smaller vehicles. One is a Jeep Wrangler with heavy modifications, and the other one is an ATV. The man driving the ATV is wearing giant aviator goggles and a helmet covered with spikes.

“This is some Mad Max bullshit,” Evander mumbles.

“Lower your weapons,” a voice calls out from a loudspeaker. “If you shoot at us, we’ll shoot back.”

Evander’s body completely conceals me, his shoulders rippling with movement as he glances at me over his shoulder and says, “Lower it, but stay ready.”

I try to ignore the swishing wind and roaring motors, concentrating on what’s beneath those sounds. There’s the chittering of small animals, the buzzing of insects, and ...

“At least six people,” I say, keeping my mouth hidden behind Evander’s back. “At least one is a woman.”

I can’t make out what any one person is saying because the voices are all jumbled. As I peek out from around Evander, the truck comes to a stop in the middle of what was once a road.

Dread coils in my stomach, my breath coming in short bursts. We’re at the mercy of these people. We might be in the final few seconds of our lives.

“Weapons on the ground,” a man calls out over the loudspeaker, which is mounted on top of the truck.

“We don’t want trouble,” Evander calls out. “We’re just passing through.”

“Put your weapons on the ground.”

I glance over both shoulders, making sure we’re not being boxed in. Not that it matters. We don’t have a chance if we run.

“We’re scouts, and our group will come looking for us if we don’t get back,” Evander says.

“Scouts without vehicles? Or horses?”

So much for that lie—I fight an urge to jump out and spin a story of my own.

“We’ve hit hard times,” Evander says.

“What’s in your bags?” the faceless voice on the speaker booms at us.

“Just a few supplies. Nothing valuable.”

“Do you have anything to trade?”

Trade for what? Our lives? If they take our weapons, we’re fucked.

“No.”

“Do you have medicine?”

I put a palm on Evander’s back, grounding myself as I focus on a woman’s soft voice. She’s worried. These people aren’t cold-blooded killers. If they were, we’d already be dead.

“No,” Evander says at the same time I move out from behind him, setting my bow on the ground and putting my hands in the air.

“What medicines do you need?” I ask.

I know from the growling noise Evander makes that he’s pissed. He was warned, though—I’m not the meek and compliant type, especially when men think they know better than I do how to take care of me.