Fighting Rough

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James had been hunting for mushrooms on his own yesterday. He’d become the resident mushroom expert.

The rest of them, Max included, had been back at camp when James had come sprinting back, urgency on his face. He’d been so out of breath that he’d been unable to speak at first.

They’d all seen on his face that something was wrong. Very wrong.

“There’s someone here,” he’d finally said. “Someone from the compound. Less than a mile away.”

“The compound?” Max had said. “Are you sure?”

James had nodded vigorously.

“How do you know?”

“I recognized him. He was in the dining hall with us when we were there.”

“How can you be sure, though?” said Jake.

“He’s got a good memory for faces,” said Sadie.

“I would have just shot him,” said James. “But if there was someone else, I would have just drawn attention to us.”

“You did the right thing.”

It had been a blow to everyone. For the last week, they’d enjoyed an unusual sense of calm at their makeshift camp set up near Jake and Rose’s parked van. No one else knew they were there. They wanted to keep it that way.

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