Prologue #3
Lights appeared farther down the road, sweeping back toward the house as more men closed in from the opposite side. The rain kicked up, running in streams across the muddy gravel, a hollow roar sounding beyond the trees.
Tierney tore through the underbrush, tripping over vines and bramble, scrambling across boulders before stopping at the edge of a massive gorge.
Black water frothed at the edges, churning white as it surged down the quebrada, sweeping branches and debris off the sides.
Logs bobbed along the rapids, cracking apart as they smashed against buried rocks before continuing downhill, the pieces quickly vanishing beneath the surface.
Dogs bayed behind her, more lights bouncing through the brush as the men closed in, a few speculative rounds sparking off limestone and punching into bark.
Either the men would kill her, or the mountain would.
Tierney took a moment to map out a route — watch how the debris swirled through the chaos before sucking in a breath and launching herself into the dark water.
The searing cold hit her like concrete, punching any oxygen from her lungs as the current swept her under. She tumbled amidst the rocks, swallowing muddy water before scrambling to the surface, gasping in a choking breath only to be pulled down, again, when her bad leg buckled.
She rolled, ribs grinding, the shrapnel wounds on her shoulder and side breaking open as she bounced off rocks and stumps, finally cresting the rapids where the gorge turned, crushed her against a limestone wall.
She clawed at the rock, fingers bleeding, coughing up mud and water before pulling herself out of the main torrent, then wedging her body in a narrow, suffocating air-pocket beneath a shale overhang.
Above her, boots crunched on the edge of the rock, raining silt and pebbles over the lip.
A high-lumen flashlight pierced the murky depths, sweeping across the river an inch from where her head barely hid beneath the outcrop.
Water rushed past, the unrelenting current nearly dragging her away, until she shoved her fingers into a small crevice, used it to hold her ground.
Pain throbbed through her thigh, more staples pulling tight, the metal cooling faster than her skin.
She held on, arms shaking, muscles cramping from the cold as the beam made another pass, stopping where the edge of her palm pressed against the lip.
She waited, ready to just let go when the light moved down the rapids, finally darting across the bank.
The guy grunted, kicking a few more stones into the water. “No one could survive that river. The rocks will grind her into dust. The boss can search for her body tomorrow if he wants.”
Another slow sweep, then the light vanished, just the roar of the water and the rain piercing the surface.
Tierney held on, aware she wouldn’t last much longer with hypothermia creeping in, all her strength bleeding into the river. But if she didn’t get clear of the search radius, she’d end up back in the cell, or worse… On that transport in the morning.
She took a shuddering breath, then shoved off, twisting in an effort to protect her head.
Black water churned around her, the current dragging her under, then spitting her back up.
The river roared, drowning out everything but the pounding of her pulse in her head, the occasional echo of gunfire behind her.
The path bent to the right, shifting the torrent, forcing her to kick off boulders, take hits to her ribs and shoulders.
She clawed for a handhold, gulping down more water when the current picked up, funneling her toward a narrow pass.
White water frothed over her head, the walls closing in, pressing on her ribs before the rapids shot her out.
She hung in the air, breath locked tight, pulse racing before dropping into the pool below.
She hit the bottom, the force tearing at her thigh before she kicked to the surface, riding the current for a while until the river slowed, the banks widening.
Black dots frayed her vision, her arms barely moving as she swam toward the edge and dragged herself onto the muddy embankment.
Roots scratched at her hands and feet as she crawled higher, collapsing in the tall grass lining the bank. The clouds thinned, a hint of moonlight peeking through as she glanced back at the jagged rock face.
She pressed her hand over the bleeding wounds, tasting rain and copper as she forced herself to her feet.
She started walking, because stopping here was just another form of death, and she hadn’t survived this long just to die in the mud.
She’d follow the river. Find a remote farm or small town — bleed out the remaining infection for a day or two before disappearing completely.
She wouldn’t trust official channels. Someone at Interpol or MI6 had sold the route — sold her to a group of mercenaries like a piece of high-end inventory.
They believed the river had taken her tonight. Good. Let the man with the silver scythe think she was dead. Let the buyers cancel the transaction.
The woman they’d put a price on had died in the water. What crawled out was something else entirely.