Page 4 of Sawyer’s Mistake

He smiled at her obvious excitement. “Keep it. I’m not a big fan of citrus.”

She wondered if he was telling the truth or just being chivalrous, but she was too hungry to care. If he wanted his share of tangerine, he should have grabbed it when he had the chance.

She popped the first segment into her mouth. The fruit was ripe, sweet, and a little bit tart. Moaning in appreciation at the sweet explosion of flavor, she looked up to find him staring at her.

She wondered who’d put the tangerine there and where the little arrow led.

“We should follow that arrow,” she said, stuffing another piece of tangerine in her mouth.

“Right. That’s exactly what Hansel and Gretel thought when they saw the house. Worked out great for them.”

“I’m being serious. We haven’t seen any sign of Remur in town, and it’s not like they know how to write. Even if they did, this just isn’t their style.”

He nodded. “You have a point, but we still don’t know who wrote the message … or what their intention is.”

“Is it so difficult to believe there might just be a group of people out here trying to help others?” she asked.

“I have a bad feeling about this, Saoirse. We should go back to the car and get out of here.”

“You have a bad feeling?” she countered doggedly. “You just can’t bear to think there’s any good left in this world. You can do whatever you want, Jake, but I’m going to find out who left this for us and say thank you.”

He shook his head, as if unwilling to enter into this discussion with her.

She popped another bit of tangerine in her mouth, staring him down. The burst of sugar bolstered her courage. Unlike him, she had a great feeling about this. She’d been hiding for too long. If there were people out here who were not hiding, who were in a position to help others, she wanted to meet them.

Sawyer held her stare, his jaw clenched in clear disapproval. He seemed to be debating whether to follow her or put her over his shoulder.

Saoirse kept her gaze firm, waiting for him to make his decision—hopefully the right decision—because if he thought she was going to get back in the car with him, he had another thing coming.

Finally, he nodded.

“Okay, Saoirse. We’ll play it your way. I’ll help you look for your new friends.”

She smiled widely, but he held out a hand. “Hold on. This is the important bit. Whether or not we find them, tomorrow we head back out to meet the rest of the team. Agreed?”

She nodded her agreement. “Yes! Thanks, Jake! So, how do we go about this?”

“It looks like the arrow is pointing this way, let’s follow that small street and see where it leads.”

#

Jake

Sawyer cursed himself for the fourteenth time in the last hour. He had a bad feeling about this—and no difficulty remembering what had happened the last time he felt this way. He’d still been with the Canadian Joint Incident Response Unit. He’d been tricked by terrorists, a chemical weapon had been released into the air, and it was only due to the courage of a young soldier in his team that the outcome had not been worse. The soldier had paid for it with his life, however, and Sawyer would never let himself forget that. It was one of the reasons he had volunteered to join an international team in Morocco, to get away from it all. The reason he’d been all the way across the pond when the Remur invaded, rather than back home, where he could have helped his family.

He knew better than to ignore a bad feeling, and yet he hadn’t been able to bring himself to disappoint Saoirse. She seemed so ready, so determined to believe that there were people, good people, alive in this quaint, little town, and he didn’t want to be the one to let her down.

Perhaps if they kept going a little bit longer, and did not find anything, then … He almost bumped into her as she stopped at the corner of a small, very European-looking square. An empty fountain stood proudly in the center, surrounded by overturned tables and chairs where people used to sit and drink coffee in the afternoon. Once festive flags, now half torn and stained black, still hung from the tops of buildings in a mocking reminder of that past long gone.

Suddenly, a steady banging noise came from a dilapidated kiosk at the edge of the square. Sawyer raised his hand and stepped in front of Saoirse, bringing his laser gun up to his shoulder. He signaled for her to follow.

He readied his laser gun and opened the door to the kiosk. There was nothing there, just piles and piles of old, yellowed magazines and newspapers. Les Echos. Paris Match. Hello. The New York Times. The names were so familiar, visible remnants of a time gone by. Saoirse elbowed her way past him.

“Check this out.” She shook her head sadly, holding a copy of The New York Times. “The Aliens Wish the Best for Us,” it read.

“Yeah, most unfortunate headline ever.”

He turned around for a moment, and when he looked back, Saoirse’s arms were full of magazines. At his look, she shrugged, looking happier than he’d ever seen her before. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had new reading material? I can fit these in my bag.” He was about to offer his help when she stepped around him to reach the back shelf.