I nod.
A shadow bursts out of the trees, and Thorin snaps up his own weapon. He draws a dagger with his other hand. A cloaked figure leaps over the side of the wagon, but before we can see anything, Francis tackles it. He and the shadowy figure go sprawling into the hay-covered floor of the wagon, rolling, fighting for purchase in the rain. Someone lands a punch, and then Francis cries out. There’s athumpagainst the wood as the stranger slams him to the floor. Nook inhales sharply, and I realize he’s got a blade from somewhere, too.
“What?” cries out Bert from the driver’s bench. “What’s happening?”
“Keep driving!” Thorin grabs hold of the stranger’s cloak and puts the crossbow into his back. I don’t think he’s going to shoot, but Nook looks like he’s about to leap forward with that dagger.
“Hold!” I snap. I keep my own crossbow pointed. My heartbeat is a roar in my ears, matched by the pounding rain. “Who is it?”
The stranger lifts his hands in surrender. “It’s Reed!” he says, his voice strangled from the grip Thorin has on his collar. “I was advised to climb into the wagon.”
Thorin lowers his weapon, and Reed turns around. He jerks his cloak straight, but he meets my eyes and chases the agitation off his face. “Forgive me.” He gives a peeved glance over his shoulder at Francis. “I didn’t expect to be attacked.”
“We haven’t reached the crossroads yet,” Francis says.
“The roads are flooded from the storm,” says Reed. “I had to walk out a bit. There are trees down across the path, too.”
My heart is still pounding, refusing to settle. “Can the wagon get through?”
“It was too dark to tell on foot. I didn’t want to risk a lantern.”
“What about Sommer?” says Thorin. “Or Saeth?”
Reed glances around as if realizing Saeth is no longer with us. “I haven’t seen anyone else. How many others are joining us?”
“You and Sommer,” says Thorin. “Saeth went to fetch his family. You haven’t seen anyone?”
Reed shakes his head.
Thunder rolls overhead, and the rain continues to pour down, rattling against the wood of the wagon, punctuating the silence between us. The horses begin to splash on the path, and I wonder how deep the flooding is.
I told Saeth we’d give him extra time, but now I’m worried about getting trapped by this storm.
The wagon rolls on. My breath keeps rattling into my chest. Maybe the weather is delaying them all.
Somewhere in the distance, a shout breaks through the sound of the storm. My eyes lock on Thorin’s to see if he heard it.
He did. “Stay low,” he says to me. He looks at Reed. “We had four men in the woods, trailing the wagon, watching for trouble. You didn’t see them?”
“No.”
Thorin’s eyes skip over the other guard’s form. “Were you watched? You didn’t bring weapons.”
“I tried to tell you. Much has happened. Huxley searched our homes and confiscated our weapons. No one knows who to believe.”
Thorin swears and hand Reed the last remaining crossbow.
Thunder cracks again, and we all jump—including the horses. They shy left, causing the wagon to shift and rattle. Up front, Bert shouts, “Whoa!” and the wagon tips dangerously before righting itself. Wood cracks, hooves splash, and I realize we’ve driven right into the flood. Another cry sounds in the distance, closer this time.
Followed by the clear snap of a crossbow.
Nook cries out, then slaps a hand over his shoulder. “It hit me. It hit—”
Reed shoves him back into the bales, pressing a hand over his mouth. “Don’t give them a loud target, kid. Stay down. Are you all right?”
Nook huffs a breath, then nods fiercely.
“Could it be the night patrol?” hisses Francis.
