Chapter 27
Viper
The terrain changed as we traveled west, becoming rockier and less dense.
The air feels thinner, yet somehow thicker with a humidity we’ve never encountered before.
Yesterday, I noticed the terrain was steeper, which means we’re climbing in elevation.
We can’t be far from the cavern Breaker told us about.
Another slow, steady step, then I bolt between trees, taking me further from my brothers and sending a panicking dread through my gut. I glance over my shoulder to make sure they are following, and my stomach sinks when I don’t see them.
My eyes dart about, every rustle of leaves sending a fresh wave of ice down my spine. I can’t make out Breaker in the dark woods, and Striker is only the faintest outline in the darkness. I press my back to the large tree, trying to shove down the rising tide of terror.
Dear God, please let them make it out alive. Take me if you must, but please keep them safe.
I curse under my breath. Why do I constantly pray to be saved? The only one capable of saving anyone in these hellish woods is me. Praying does me no good. I have to get us out of here, or at least somewhere safe, so I can figure out what to do next.
It’s our second night out here in the wilderness, and we’ve made it this far. I will fight tooth and nail, kill anything in my path, so we don’t end up like that man, gutted and tied to a tree.
The image of what we encountered yesterday flashes through my head. The man’s intestines glistening like wet rope in the sunlight, raw bits of flesh from where his arms had been sawed off, covered in black flies.
Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow hard. My fingers curl into fists, nails digging into my palms as I fight the surge of panic.
I have to get us somewhere safe. Someone is out here with a shotgun.
Someone killed that man. Tortured him. Who, I’m not entirely sure, but my gut tells me Commander Maxy is involved.
Scratch that. I know that bastard has something to do with this.
He’s the one who drugged us, then dropped us in the middle of this hellscape.
But why? Maxy is a dedicated dog to Father.
But he’s also been even more volatile this past week.
Ever since Reap and Hunter came back from their first mission.
Whatever happened on that mission has fucked everyone up.
Father’s been off too. Quiet, which is not unusual for him, but he’s barely come out of his office.
Hunter stomps around the school, angry and quiet, more and more like Reaper every day.
Reaper.
Something happened. Something went wrong on that mission.
Stay focused. Reaper’s words ring in my head. That’s what he always tells Striker when things get too hard to cope with.
Stop floating and focus.
I inhale through my nose, breathing in and out, pressing the back of my head against the tree and glance up at the canopy.
Clouds cover the night sky, blocking out the moon and stars.
Reaper and Hunter survived this place. Fuck, Hunter killed Seeker to ensure they came out of this alive, and if they can survive all that, I can do this.
I have to.
I glance back at Striker as he creeps between two large trees.
Like the devil himself flicked on a flashlight, the clouds pull back and moonlight spills through the trees, lighting up everything around us in a cool blue-tinted glow.
Fuck.
The sharp boom of the gunshot slices through the stillness of the woods, echoing in my ears. Instinctively, I drop to a crouch, my heart pounding wildly against my ribcage like a terrified rabbit.
Striker drops, flattening his body to the ground, his forehead to the dirt. The moonlight catches the rapid rise and fall of his back. He twists his head just enough to look my way and when our eyes lock, and my throat closes. I scan the gaps between pines. No lanky silhouette.
No Breaker.
Where the fuck is he?
My shoulder scrapes the rough bark as I shift position, leaning out from my cover. The woods shimmer like we’re underwater before the clouds swallow the moon and blackness veils the forest.
“Move,” I hiss through clenched teeth, waving him over. “Get over here.”
Striker shakes his head, but then he braces himself and pushes up slowly from the ground. I immediately notice the way he stumbles when he places pressure on his right foot. Panic flashes through me.
Damn it. He’s hurt.
When he attempts to take another step in my direction, his leg gives way, and he nearly collapses back to the ground. I dart away from the tree and grip his arm, tossing it over my shoulder, helping him to the shadow of the tree. Our backs slam against it, chests heaving.
“Fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth.
I crouch and grip his boot. “What did you do?”
“Kinda sprained it while running for my life,” he snaps, then hisses when I squeeze the leather boot, assessing the damage to make sure it’s just a sprain. “I’ll be fine. Where’s Breaker? He was right behind me.”
I let him go and rise slowly, scanning the dense shadows for any sign of movement. Breaker must be terrified and hiding. I need to find him and get all of us away from whoever keeps shooting at us.
“Stay here,” I whisper, peering around the tree. Another blast of a shotgun rings through the woods. I duck, my heart nearly punching through my chest.
Far behind us, a stick cracks, and what sounds like boots thud, but quickly fades. Is someone running away? The person with the shotgun?
“Goddammit,” Striker hisses, and the terror edging his voice mirrors exactly how I feel. He presses his fingers to his eyes. Even in the darkness, I can see the fatigue etched on his face. “We need to find him and get out of here.”
I adjust myself against the tree, trying to slow my breathing, my damp shirt sticking to my back. I’m surprised I can sweat at all. We need water. Bad. I drag my clammy hands over my pants, once again scanning the woods.
I don’t see Breaker at all.
“I think it’s just one person out here,” Striker says.
“More than one person gutted that man,” I say. “But maybe only one has a gun.”
I fucking hope.
Striker grates out a sound as he shifts next to me. “I don’t see him.”
Another shotgun blasts through the woods. My heart gallops in my chest. I grip Striker’s shoulder and drag him with me to the next tree.
“Do you think it’s Maxim?” he asks, “Out here? Doing this?”
“He’s involved somehow,” I say. I turn him to face me, and grip his shoulders. “We can’t be far from the alcove. Can you walk?”
“I’ll manage,” he says.
“You keep heading west like Breaker said. Find that alcove and stay there.”
“And what the fuck are you going to do?” Striker’s voice squeaks as panic heats the last few words, turning them high-pitched and too loud.
I clamp my hand over his mouth. “I’m going to backtrack a little and find Breaker while you move ahead.”
“That’s the worst idea ever,” he says. “We don’t split up.”
“We don’t have a choice,” I snap. “We’re going to end up with gaping holes in our chests if we don’t get moving. And I sure as hell am not leaving Breaker out here.”
Striker rakes a hand over his face. “Okay,” he says. “You’re right. I’ll just slow you down.”
I nod, squeezing his shoulder. “I’ll catch up once I find him.” Leaning over, I reach into my boot to grab my knife and place it in his palm. “Go straight. Every single tree, leave a gouge knee height so I can track you. Move slowly.”
“Fuck. Okay.” A faint hint of terror threads his voice. “I swear to god you better find him and come back.”
I grip the back of his neck and press my forehead to his, my heart hammering. We’ve been through hell. Our father is a madman. Cruel. Dangerous. We’ve only ever had one another, and we’ve all clung to each other over the years.
I’ll do anything for them.
My lips press to his forehead before I squeeze the back of his neck and let him go. “I’ll find you.”
He gives me one last nod, then turns and limps ahead. I wait until I see him crouching, doing exactly as I asked, cutting a notch in the trunk toward the roots.
With my heart in my throat, I backtrack, darting between the trees, running at full speed, sticks and leaves cracking under my feet.
I skid to a stop, my breath coming in ragged gasps, and press my back against a tall pine.
My head throbs, the lack of food and water taking a toll on my body.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, and peer behind me through the skinny, tangled branches, scanning the shadows for any sign of Striker.
The forest seems to swallow him whole, and a knot of worry tightens in my chest.
Did I make the right call in leaving him alone? Should I have had him stay in that spot?
No, I know in my gut we’re close to the cavern Breaker was talking about. Striker will find it, and I will find Breaker.
The image of that man tied to the tree flashes through my mind. I clench my jaw.
I’m going to find Breaker.
Alive.
And when I do, I’m going to fucking strangle him.
***
My tracking skills suck, so every broken limb lying on the ground makes my heart race, thinking Breaker may have gone this way.
Or whoever took him.
It has to be Maxy. But why? To kill him? Is Maxim the one out here gutting people? Does he plan to do that to us?
To Breaker?
Shaking my head to clear the thoughts, I grip my long spear-like stick tighter in my grasp. Carrying a stick won’t help me against a gun, but it makes me feel better being armed with something.
My gut twists with each step I take away from where I left Striker.
I don’t have my knife, but I did my best to mark my path back to him, placing rocks at tree trunks or breaking the low-hanging limbs.
Hopefully, it doesn’t lead whoever’s out here to me.
Or him. My throat tightens when I picture him limping, alone in these woods, and I worry I’ve made the worst mistake of my life.