The Headhunters Race (Headhunters #1) by Kimberly Afe Page A

stream and even though I have an iron stomach, I shouldn’t risk it. Luck only takes you so far , that’s what Verla used to say. But sometimes it’s just not possible to take all the precautions. I find a big rock and position it on the fire, on the edge where it’ll burn hot enough to heat my canteen to a boil on top. I learned how to sterilize water from Lyle Roscher, my father’s best friend, before he was taken by the cannibals a few months before my mother married King.
    I let the water sit there for at least half an hour before I switch it out with the other. I fill my belly with water, nuts, and some of the dried meat. It isn’t until I’m ready to sleep that I remember I’m not the only prisoner running the race. I glance around, but it’s so dark I can’t see beyond the fire’s glow. Anyone could spot me for miles if they’re high enough, or coming up the stream through the meadow, or from the edge of the forest on either side of me. Even though I’m freezing, I’m wondering if I should put out the fire.
    It doesn’t take an Einstein to weigh the options. Essentially, I can put out the fire and freeze. Or I can keep the fire and not wake up in the morning after someone has put a knife through my heart. When I think about it in the context of my life, it’s not a hard decision. I put out the fire. I douse it with handfuls of water from the stream and stomp out the last of the flames.
    The night turns out to be like a nightmare. Chilling temperatures, howling wolves, noises I can’t explain. I toss and turn, trying to find a way to keep myself warm. The blanket the goodie two shoes club provided doesn’t do much to help. I’ve lost feeling in my toes. I think about the desert. I think about McCoy and Jake huddled together and quickly push thoughts of them away. I’m so desperate to be warm that I finally scoot myself over to the fire and half lay my back across the coals. I don’t care if I’m covered in ash. I don’t even care if I catch on fire, but it turns out there’s barely any heat left.
    Soon after I’ve found a new section where the coals are still warm and I’m finally drifting off to sleep, I hear shouts—a man and a woman. My eyes fly open. At first I’m not sure I really heard anything, or if I was in that conscious awareness sleep, where you don’t know if you dreamed something or actually heard it.
    My heart beats with fear when I hear the cries again. The voices are frantic, but I can’t see a thing. All I know is that something is horribly wrong. I listen, first turning my head one way and then the other, to see if I can locate them. The yelling grows louder, more desperate, somewhere behind me. I start gathering my things together, unsure if the voices belong to other prisoners, or cannibals, or someone else altogether.
    I shove the blanket inside my pack. I’m still deciding whether it’s best to stay put or run when I hear the pounding of feet so close it’s like I’m in the path of a racehorse. Someone trips over me. A woman screams, her legs fumbling all over me while I try to push her off. A man leans down to help her up. It’s the Greenies! They’re disheveled. Haggard. Martha’s top is ripped, exposing her abdomen.
    “Avene,” Jim gasps, leaning his face toward mine. “Is that you?”
    “Yes,” I say, seeing torches bobbing up and down several yards behind us. “What’s going on?”
    “Run!” Jim and Martha are already on their feet, running when he answers.
    I don’t have to be told twice. I’m on my feet, pack in hand, sprinting to my left, in the opposite direction of the Greenies, toward the forest, knowing it’ll give me cover. I duck behind a bush and throw my pack on my back, ready for a quick escape, but I wait because I don’t want anyone to hear me scrambling through the forest. I watch as a group of people rush toward the Greenies. I count four torches, but there are definitely more than four people involved in the chase. They’re