Sparrow’s Flight by Jenika Snow Page 0,3

covering of protective trees, she had to press forward. Sparrow couldn’t remember the last time she slept a full night, because it was as if her body was programmed to come to attention at the slightest sound.

“You want something to eat?” She looked over her shoulder at the sound of Mason’s deep voice. The only thing she knew about them was that Asher had been a trained MMA fighter, but for the last few years before the infection hit, he hadn’t fought legally. She overheard him talking to Mason, telling a story about a fighter he trained for a back-alley fight. Sparrow didn’t even know those things even happened outside of a Street Fighter video game.

Mason had to be in the military, and although she didn’t know what branch, or even if her suspicions were accurate, her father had been a Marine, and she could spot a man in the service a mile away. Mason had that air about him, one that was commanding and dominant.

The men were on their haunches, going through their packs, so she took a moment to look at them. They were big, easily a foot taller than her five-foot three, and muscular. God were they muscular. Even under the smudges of dirt covering parts of their flesh and clothing, they were attractive, to put it mildly. Was Sparrow in that much need of male attention that she had become some kind of hormonal teenager? It sure as hell felt that way, and to be honest, it scared the shit out of her.

It was clear that even on the road they made sure to keep in shape, although it was imperative to be strong, especially if someone had a handful of the infected coming after them. Supplies were scarce, but whatever training Mason had allowed him to find things in the woods that were edible. They even caught a few fish in a lake they had come across. That was at least one positive thing in this whole situation: the infected didn’t give two shits about the wildlife, and because of that, overpopulation of the animals was astounding. Good for them, especially when she had Mason and Asher in her corner.

Sparrow stood and dusted off the dirt from her ass. Making her way toward them, she pulled up one of the toolboxes that had seen better days and sat down. The sun had set hours ago, and a lone lit candle sat between them in a rusted-out cup. Mason took out a can of beans, a spoon he kept obsessively clean, some jerky, and a bottle of water. Their supplies were running low, but Mason said there was a town about ten miles from them.

“Once we reach Rockport, it should only be another twenty-five or so miles to the cabin.” Mason pulled out a scary-as-hell-looking knife—one that could easily saw a human body in half, at least in his hands—and went to work on getting the can open. Asher secured the front door, the bay door was locked from the outside with a padlock, and the small side door led to a postage-stamp-sized office that was missing half a wall. Even though all exits were secured, they could easily get out of them if they needed to. The windows were high and small enough that the infected couldn’t get through.

“You think Rockport will have anything left?” Asher sat next to Mason, and the three of them started passing around the can of beans and jerky.

Mason shrugged and swallowed the mouthful of food before speaking. “Not sure. I know the smaller towns lasted longer after the infection than the bigger cities, but it has been months. I doubt there’s much left, but we might be able to find a few supplies.” They finished eating in silence, and then they sat there, no one speaking, but the discomfort was thick.

Maybe she was the only one who felt this way? She certainly hadn’t been very social before the infection hit, and it kind of made it even more awkward for her now, given the fact that she felt like some kind of third wheel in their relationship.

“So, Sparrow.” She lifted her eyes and looked at Asher. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, and for a moment, Sparrow let her eyes travel over the hard, defined lines of his biceps. “You got a last name?” His white T-shirt, or what had once been white, molded to his chest, and even with the single candle being the only