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Make sure you take some knives. Shovels and axes as well.”
    He made a mental list of the tools they’d need to survive the wilderness—and the Skulls. Rachel, the more senior of the midshipmen, didn’t delay in putting her pack together. Rory, too, worked diligently to execute his orders. Shepherd couldn’t help but admire the two cadets’ adherence to military discipline and urgency. Since he’d rescued them from that underground prison in Virginia, they’d treated him like their new XO, and he appreciated having them on his team.
    But despite having subordinates, he no longer felt like a commander. He glanced at the broken glass twinkling in the lantern light. No, he felt more like a homeless refugee desperate to make it in an unfamiliar land. He had no idea how his real command, Fort Detrick, had fared after his arrest for suspected treason and conspiracy.
    “Sooner we get this stuff, sooner we can get to Kent Island,” Rachel said, almost more to herself than to Shepherd and Rory.
    “Right about that,” Shepherd said as he examined the canteens. “Dom and Meredith need to know Kinsey and the CIA believe they’re involved with the Oni Agent.”
    Rory huffed. “That fucking sucks, sir.” He straightened. “Excuse my language—”
    “No apologies necessary, cadet.” Shepherd almost grinned. Almost.
    “Well, as long as those guys think the Hunters are responsible, that means the real bastards”—Rory looked to Shepherd for approval. Shepherd nodded—“are still out there getting away with who knows what.”
    “Exactly,” Shepherd said. He tested the weight of his pack and decided he could carry a few more pounds. He packed several tarps they could use for shelter. “The sooner we reach Kent and get that radio Dom gave you, the better.” He tossed each of them a sleeping bag. “We’ll camp here tonight. I haven’t seen many Skulls, and at least we’ve got four walls to protect us.”
    The trio settled down. Shepherd took the first watch. He turned off the lamp and watched the clouds float past the stars through the broken door window. The sound of chirping crickets and the hoot of an owl reassured him nothing was prowling clumsily through the undergrowth looking for its next meal of human flesh.
    The thought made him sit up straighter, checking the exits to make sure they were still secure. Even if he hadn’t been on guard, Shepherd didn’t think he could manage sleep. Too many thoughts rushed through his mind. Rustling from another sleeping bag proved he wasn’t the only one with the issue. While Rory’s eyes were closed and his chest seemed to be rising and falling with the slow rhythms of sleep, Rachel was staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open.
    “What’s bothering you?” Shepherd asked in a low voice.
    Rachel sighed. “Even if we do warn Captain Holland, what then?”
    “What then?” Shepherd parroted her words. He knew what she was asking. What would they do? Radioing Shepherd wouldn’t change Kinsey’s view of the Hunters or of Rachel, Rory, and Shepherd. Kinsey saw them as terrorists and traitors. They had nothing concrete or substantial to counter whatever faulty intelligence Kinsey was operating with.
    This certainly wasn’t the only time someone had looked to him for guidance in dark times. People had looked to him for all the answers when Fort Detrick almost fell to the Skulls. Twice. He’d been forced to lead the entire base when the commander before him had been killed by a Skull. And he’d risked his own ass, knowing it was worth it to save the military and civilians sheltered behind the base’s makeshift walls. He’d always believed the correct course of action was the one that saved the most lives—something he knew Dom Holland believed, too, despite what Kinsey might think.
    Now, in a world where the people he’d sworn to protect had been altered by a biological agent into the most fearsome weapons the US had ever seen, Shepherd wasn’t sure how to answer