“There’s a Suncatchers camp over here,” Jimmy said. He used a dirty thumbnail to scratch a circle on the map printed on the back of the old Camp Cypress pamphlet. “And I heard there’s this bunch calls themselves…”
I tapped our location on the map, cutting him off. “We’re here, headed west.”
“We’ll run into the Plonks. That’s what Karch called ‘em. That’s what they called ‘em when he was a Hunter, I guess. A real one. Plonks are a bunch of crazy hillbillies. With bows and arrows and moonshine and shit.”
I took the pamphlet and started walking again. “Enough rest. Those kids have hours on me and I need to cut ‘em off before they run into any of these scavvies.”
“You need to?” Jimmy said. “Didn’t you understand what I was sayin’? This place is dangerous. You sure you need to go there?”
“You’ve heard the stories about the bunker underneath Camp Cypress?” I said. “The one the government didn’t tell you about. The one reserved for politicians’ families, with food and weapons…”
“And a big steel door to hide behind,” Jimmy said, nodding. “The Andersonville Vault, yeah.”
“Well, the girl I’m after heard those stories, too. I know ‘cause I’m the one who told ‘em to her.”
