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Trish tilts her head, a slow grin pulling at her mouth. “So what you’re telling me is there’s a chance.”
Joanie straightens like someone just handed her a loaded weapon and permission slip. “Hell yes. Heist time. We’re back people!”
She slaps Lyla’s hand, the two of them high-fiving like robbing cannibals is the best news they’ve heard all week.
It kind of is.
That’s the problem.
Earl holds up a hand, cutting through the celebration. “Before anybody starts polishing their heist shoes, I need to know how solid this information is.”
Carlos opens his mouth, but Luis steps up beside Joanie. Poppy drifts with him, close enough that their shoulders almost touch.
Alert! Protective systems activated.
Luis clears his throat. His voice stays steady, but his fingers curl at his sides. “We’ve been tracking them. For a while.”
Carlos glances at him.
“At first it was just to stay out of their way,” Luis continues. “Figure out where they moved, what streets they used, where they stored things. But . . .” He swallows and keeps his focus on the map. “We were waiting for a chance.”
I sign to Trish without looking away from Luis.
Trish translates, voice quiet. “To do what?”
Carlos leans forward, forearms braced on the hood. “To take it all.”
His hands spread wide over the map. “Let them do the work. Gather everything in one place. Fuel. Food. Ammo. Batteries.” He taps the side of his head. “Then boom. Blow a side wide open, rush in, take what we could in the chaos, and leave them to the infected.”
“C-4,” Lyla says, already tracking.
Carlos nods.
Trish lifts a brow. “So why didn’t you?”
Luis looks down. “We lost people.”
The fire pops behind him.
His voice dips, but he doesn’t stop. “Our brother. Friends. We didn’t have the numbers anymore. Not enough to take on something that big.”
I look between the two of them. Luis standing straighter than any kid his age should have to. Carlos with his jaw locked tight, carrying more than he’s willing to put into words.
Ballsy kids.
The world keeps making soldiers out of children, then acting surprised when they bite back.
The group goes quiet, everyone measuring risk against need.
Lyla raises her hand like we’re back in a classroom. “I vote that I plan the operation, considering how successful Joanie and I were with the prison attack.”
Jacob turns on her fast. “You must be joking.”
Lyla straightens, offense flashing across her face. “Excuse me? Joanie and I infiltrated a prison full of lunatics, got in, got the hostages, and got out without losing anyone.”
“Barely,” Jacob shoots back, arms crossing tight over his chest, a tattooed rabbit’s foot peeking out from his jacket cuff. “It was reckless. You’re lucky you even made it out.”
Lyla glares at him, chin tipped up like she’s daring him to say it again.
