Epilogue
EPILOGUE
BECAUSE IT’S NOT THE END YET…
M ud made slopping noises each time the military boots made contact with the saturated earth. The man who traveled along the river’s edge held no name. He’d given it up a long time ago, right alongside his soul.
He’d tracked his quarry to this small town but there’d been no sign of him for weeks. Just when he thought perhaps his target had moved on, news of the attack on the bridge last night had reached his ears at the diner that morning over breakfast. Search parties were further down river. They’d missed what the nameless man had not. They didn’t know what the nameless man did.
Half buried in the brown sludge lay a body. Was it possible, even after all this time?
The nameless man squatted down. Turning the body over was more difficult than it should have been. The mud was caked around him like a suction cup trying to cling to a glass window. Finally, he was able to roll the body.
He reached for the exposed neck. Between the mud on his own hand and the amount coating the body, it was difficult to find the pulse. After several tries, he found it. Faint, but present. A wound in the center of the man’s chest was packed with mud, both wet and drying. The discoloration of the mud told the nameless man just how dire the wound had been—and still could be.
Taking a handkerchief out of his pocket, he wiped at the man’s face, clearing away the mud and grime. When his eyes landed on the jagged scar running from the man’s left temple, down his cheek, and over his lips, the nameless man smiled.
Pulling out his phone, he made a call to the only number saved in the disposable device.
“Yes?” The gruff voice was male.
“Alpha,” the nameless man said, unable to keep the elation from his voice. “I found him. He’s alive but in need of medical attention.”
There was a long pause. Then, “Bring him in.”
The nameless man’s smile turned cruel. “With pleasure.”