"What do we do now?"
After Tracy left, Anna rubbed her arms to ward off the cold and looked to her father.
Wilfred scanned the on-ramp, then surveyed their surroundings, searching for a spot where they could hide while still keeping eyes on the road.
"Hey, look—is that the creep from before?" Allen suddenly pointed toward a young man with a mohawk who'd just climbed down from one of the trucks.
"How is that guy still alive?!"
The mont Anna spotted the mohawk, disgust twisted her features. She turned her head away, unwilling to spare him another glance.
Bryan recognized the familiar figure without needing to guess. Sure enough, it was Ogden.
After being transferred to a different vehicle that day, the mohawked punk had stopped appearing around Anna—seemingly having given up on pursuing her.
But Bryan didn't believe for a second that Ogden had truly abandoned his interest. He'd filed the man away in his mory. While he didn't actively track him, whenever their paths crossed, Bryan made note of what he observed.
He'd seen Ogden multiple tis, always surrounded by other survivors from Greenwood, laughing and chatting—clearly trying to build himself a little following with him at the head.
But reality wasn't a script. Though Ogden fancied himself the leader of those dozen-odd people, that was only because they'd been trapped in that church, convinced they'd never escape alive. They'd tolerated his posturing out of desperation. Once they were free, no one was about to let so clown play king.
Soon enough, a burly white man had beaten the hell out of Ogden. The mohawked punk was cast out, and the "group" he'd worked so hard to build was absorbed by the man who'd thrashed him.
After that, Ogden had vanished from Bryan's radar. Not long afterward ca the disaster at the hospital entrance, and the convoy scattered.
If not for Ogden's distinctive mohawk being so eye-catching, Bryan might have forgotten him entirely. He certainly hadn't expected the guy to survive the Infected attack—and apparently join up with these hunters.
VROOM—VROOM—VROOM—!
While everyone's attention was fixed on Ogden, the distinctive roar of motorcycles suddenly echoed from the highway behind them.
All heads turned. Two motorcycles appeared, racing along the tire tracks, zooming past their hiding spot.
Each bike carried two people. When the riders spotted the military trucks at the on-ramp ahead, they whooped excitedly and waved frantically at the uniford figures standing guard. Then they pulled to a stop at the entrance.
The hunters had noticed the approaching bikes the mont they heard the engines. Cruel smiles flickered across their faces—quickly suppressed as they straightened up, assuming the posture of professional soldiers.
When the motorcycles stopped, the hunters made no move to attack imdiately. Instead, one of them stepped forward to engage the newcors in conversation.
The four riders dismounted and removed their helts—three n and one woman. One of the n approached the hunter who'd co to et them, and they began talking.
"Dad, what should we do? Should we help them?"
Anna watched the four newcors chatting with the disguised hunters. She edged closer to her father and whispered her question.
"Let's wait and see..."
Wilfred's expression was inscrutable as he observed the scene. His instinct was absolutely not to get involved. Help them? That was laughable. Those hunters had rifles—one burst of automatic fire and their entire group would be turned to Swiss cheese. And their main fighter, Tracy, had just left.
But he wanted to understand how these hunters planned to handle the survivors they intercepted.
Bryan shot Wilfred a barely perceptible glance but offered no comnt. Internally, he agreed that self-preservation was the wisest course.
Before long, the uniford hunter finished his conversation with the male survivor. The man waved to his companions, and all four followed the hunter deeper into the on-ramp area.
They walked without suspicion, completely oblivious to the predatory looks being cast their way.
When they reached what appeared to be a checkpoint, the four were stopped. They removed their backpacks and placed them on a nearby crate—apparently for inspection.
anwhile, two hunters who'd been "patrolling" began drifting toward the survivors' rear, moving slowly to avoid drawing attention.
A hunter erged from the checkpoint booth, glanced at the approaching pair, then walked to the hood of a vehicle and opened the confiscated backpacks. He made a show of searching the contents, buying ti.
The other hunters near the trucks subtly raised their weapons, all attention focused on the four survivors. Their expressions were casual, dismissive—they clearly didn't consider these people a threat.
From their hiding spot, Bryan and the others watched the four being gradually surrounded. Their throats tightened with tension.
The survivors remained oblivious, eyes fixed on the man searching their bags, worried about having their belongings stolen. They had no idea a crisis was closing in.
When the two "patrolling" hunters reached striking distance, the survivors finally sensed sothing wrong. Their heads snapped around, scanning their surroundings.
"NOW!"
Soone shouted. The hunters dropped their pretense and lunged at their targets.
The survivors heard the yell. Alarm bells scread in their heads. They reached for the pistols at their waists—but before they could draw, they were tackled to the ground.
All except one. A young Black man had sensed the danger first. Instead of going for his weapon, he threw himself into a forward roll, narrowly dodging the attacker who'd lunged at him.
He'd clearly had so training. During the roll, he smoothly drew his pistol and fired in one fluid motion, dropping the man who'd tried to ambush him.
BANG!
Without sparing a glance for the bleeding figure on the ground, the Black man pivoted and fired again—this ti at the hunter pinning down the woman.
The bullet slamd into the hunter's arm. He scread, losing his grip on his victim as he collapsed, clutching his wound and howling in agony.
The other hunters stood frozen in shock. Most of them had only recently been ordinary survivors themselves, having joined the group just days ago. They'd never encountered anything like this.
The previous survivors they'd ambushed had all surrendered ekly after being tackled—no resistance whatsoever. There'd never been any need to actually use their rifles.
This had bred dangerous complacency. Many of them had their weapons raised in a purely theatrical manner—so hadn't even released the safety. It was all for show.
But not everyone was caught flat-footed. Just as the Black man was about to fire again, soone finally raised a rifle with intent to shoot.
"RUN!"
Seeing this, the Black man imdiately shifted his aim, firing wildly at the hunters trying to bring their weapons to bear, covering his companions' escape.
The woman, freed from her attacker, let fury flash in her eyes. She delivered a vicious kick to the face of the hunter still pinning one of her companions.
The man had been focused on subduing the person beneath him. When the gunfire erupted, he'd turned to look—only to see a boot heel filling his vision. His head rang like a bell, and he crumpled unconscious to the snow.
The woman scrambled up and hauled her companion to his feet. Understanding there was no ti to save their fourth mber, she sprinted toward the checkpoint—there were vehicles there that could provide cover.
As they moved, the Black man retreated steadily, covering them. He glanced at his captured companion, calling for help—hesitation flickered in his eyes. But it passed quickly. After emptying his remaining rounds, he turned to follow the others past the checkpoint.
Then everything changed.
The instant he turned his back, a figure with a distinctive mohawk rose from nearby cover. A savage grin spread across Ogden's face as he leveled his pistol at the Black man's back.
BANG!
The Black man's body seized. Searing pain exploded through his back. His legs buckled, and he crashed face-first into the snow. Dark blood began pooling around him.
The woman heard the shot and spun around. Her eyes went wide with horror.
"MILES!"
...
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