The Hunted Read Free Page A

the duffel. He uncapped it and held it out to Carmen. When she was done drinking, she passed the jug to Shy, who took a few desperate gulps of his own. He could feel the cool liquid settling in his stomach as he moved the jug along to Marcus.
    Once they’d killed the water, Shoeshine capped the empty jug and looked around. “I plan to track down a few supplies tonight and get my bearings,” he said. “First thing in the morning I’ll start east.”
    “How?” Marcus said.
    The man unlocked his journal with the key around his neck, flipped through several pages and used his teeth to uncap his pen. “Trust I’ll find a way,” he said.
    Shy watched Shoeshine start writing.
    Their monthlong journey in the sailboat had been filled with a whole lot of nothing. The sun rose and fell. The ocean whispered. Their tattered boat crept through the water, leaving a subtle wake that Shy would stare at for hours. They took turns fishing and steering and manning the sail. They spoke in quiet voices, and often didn’t speak at all. But there was one topic they kept coming back to: what would they do if they actually made it back to California?
    Shoeshine wanted to get the syringes into the hands of scientists as soon as possible. According to the report they’d heard, groups of them had gathered somewhere in Arizona to try and create a vaccine they had no idea already existed. Shy understood how important it was that the duffel get to Arizona—hundreds of thousands of lives were on the line—but he wanted to see about his family first. In case they needed him. It was the same for Carmen and Marcus.
    After some back-and-forth, Shoeshine settled it by agreeing to take the duffel to Arizona himself. “No one said we had to stay together forever,” he’d told them, looking directly at Shy.
    When Shoeshine was done writing, he slipped his journal back into the duffel and zipped up. “Not much daylight left,” he said, climbing to his feet.
    “Maybe we should go with him,” Carmen said to Shy and Marcus. “Just for the night.”
    “We need supplies, too,” Shy said, struggling to stand. He didn’t understand how he could feel more seasick on land than he’d ever felt on water.
    “We can split up in the morning,” Marcus added.
    This was what they were all saying, but Shy knew the truth: they wanted to stay with Shoeshine as long as possible. He was the only reason they were still alive.
    —
    The farther they moved into town, the more devastation Shy saw. He studied the battered fish restaurant they passed on a street named Windward Avenue. The roof was caved in, and all that was left of the windows were long, blackened shards. The place next to it was burned beyond recognition. The poles holding up street signs were all tilted at odd angles, and many were spray-painted fluorescent green. Everything smelled of burned plastic and charcoal and brine. A small battered boat was on its side in the middle of the street.
    Shy studied the fluorescent-green street signs, wondering who was going to fix all this. And how. What if they had to level the entire city and start from scratch?
    He tried to imagine his own neighborhood back home, then thought better of it and focused on his surroundings.
    They were halfway through the first cross street, Pacific Avenue, when Shy spotted the kids on bicycles riding back into view. Only this time they were followed by a handful of adults. Some on bikes. Others on foot.
    Shy stopped in his tracks when he noticed something else.
    Two of the men were carrying rifles.

4
Fair Trade
    The group spread out around Shy and his crew, forming a crude semicircle of masked faces. All of them had shaved heads or wore hats, and they were too far away for Shy to make out the look in their eyes, especially in the fading daylight.
    One of the men with a rifle lowered his medical mask slightly and called out: “Turn around slowly and head back where you started.” This man was naturally bald, it looked like.