Chapter 8 · First Shot at Iron Gate

The freight yard gate was already open when I rolled up. Not a good sign.

Two men with rifles stepped out from behind a rust-eaten shipping container. One was maybe fifty, gray beard, the kind of eyes that said he'd seen the world end twice. The other looked younger but meaner. Both guns tracked me as I cut the engine.

"Out," the older one said.

I climbed down slow, hands visible. The beacon was still strapped to my vest. I could feel it humming against my ribs.

"You brought trouble," the younger guy said. He spat into the dirt. "We heard the engines. Hammer's crew, yeah?"

"I lost them," I said. "Check the ridge if you want. Nothing followed me in."

The older man didn't lower his rifle. "You Evie Cross?"

I didn't answer right away. Names were dangerous now. But the way he asked—flat, no surprise—meant he'd heard of me already. Great.

"Yeah."

"Figures." He jerked his chin toward the yard. "Get inside. We'll decide what to do with you."

The freight yard was bigger than I expected. Three rows of containers stacked high, a rusted crane leaning over the center like a broken spine.