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Chapter 50: Off the Grid
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... way platform. They move with the synchronized, predatory loose-limbed swagger of scavengers who are used to easy prey.
One of them takes the point—a twitchy, emaciated man wielding a rusted, jagged machete. He licks his chapped lips, his sunken eyes darting past my torn leather jacket to lock hungrily onto the girls behind me.
He doesn’t look at me like a threat. He looks at me like a meal ticket blocking his path.
I don’t draw my weapon. I just wait, my mind running cold ...
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