Chapter Eight

They were heading into the desert. Munroe city lay behind them, and the border wall was a tall, gently glowing barrier on their left. Even at a distance, the wall seemed to loom over everything around it. A reminder that they were all caged in. Prisoners in the Northern Territory.

Sure, the wall had been built to protect the territory citizens from wandering into the Red Zone. At least, that was the theory when it had been put up a hundred years earlier after an experimental weapon had killed everything within the zone and rendered the area a no-man’s-land. History class had taught Friday that the red mist the weapon dispensed should have dispersed over a year or two. The scientists had been wrong. Instead of dispersing, it had grown thicker, heavier, and more condensed. It was unmoved by wind, unaffected by rain, and deadly to any human who touched it. She’d seen satellite images of the Red Zone. It looked like a long, red gash on the planet’s surface, a festering wound that wouldn’t heal.

And she would have to go through it to get to the antidote she needed.

That was, if they could get past the wall.

“Shouldn’t you enable the reflector shield on this thing?” Once again, she was communicating through the helmets they were wearing.

“Don’t have one.” Striker’s voice sounded far more intimate in the confines of her helmet.

“You don’t have one?” A reflector shield would obscure the vehicle and keep it from being visually identified. It worked by blurring the air around it and making it hard to see the machine. She would have thought it an essential item for a man who liked to stay under the radar.

“Don’t have anything unnecessary, chère,” he drawled. “Extra weight will slow us down, and we need speed to outrun Enforcement.”

“But wouldn’t a reflector shield mean we could hide from them?” Didn’t he realize that if they hid, they wouldn’t need to outrun them? Had she made a mistake in trusting Striker and his team? It was quite possible he wasn’t as smart as her contact had told her.

His chuckle unnerved her, making her body tingle in places she didn’t want to be aware of at that moment. Possibly ever. Her powers of denial were already stretched to the limit with pretending she didn’t notice there was a man wedged between her legs, pressing hard against her. She felt overstimulated—mentally and physically—and really didn’t need anything more to cope with.

“I know what I’m doing. If we needed a reflector shield, we’d have one. We don’t need it.”

“Why aren’t we heading for the wall? We need to get over it.”

“You say that like I wasn’t able to think of it by myself.”

She thought it wise not to answer that. “Everybody says the best places to get over the wall are in the crowded areas of the cities.” Although, not that many people had tried to get over the wall, and those who did tended to get swallowed by the mist, never to be seen again. It seemed the general wisdom on the best places to get over the wall stemmed more from speculation than reality.

“Everybody don’t know shit,” Striker said.

A horrible thought occurred to her. What if she was totally wrong? What if this man couldn’t get her where she needed to be? “You do know how to get over the wall, don’t you?”

“No faith,” he drawled.

Having no choice but to hold on and hope for the best, Friday tried to focus on the landscape rather than her fears. The desert wasn’t what she’d expected it to be.

“I thought it would be barren,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

She felt his abdomen flex beneath her hands and regretted that she’d spoken aloud.

“You never seen the desert, chère?”

She shook her head before remembering he couldn’t see her. “I’d never been out of Houston until I came to Munroe to find you.”

That made his muscles clench and relax again.

“Someday I’ll take you to the Painted Desert and let you see how unbarren the landscape can be.”

She felt something melt within her at his declaration. And then she remembered that her chances of seeing anything in the future were slim to none. “Unbarren? I don’t think that’s a word.”

His chuckle warmed her, and she fought the urge to rest her cheek against his back. The bike swerved, turning down a rough dirt road toward the wall, and her stomach clenched at the sight. It was much higher than she’d imagined it would be.

“How are we going to get past it?”

“Probably better if I don’t tell you.”

She opened her mouth to demand an answer but froze when she caught sight of a sign at the side of the road. He was taking her into Scorpion Canyon. Was he out of his mind?

“No!” She dug her fingers into his hard stomach. “You can’t be serious.”

“It’s the only part of the whole damn territory that isn’t walled.”

“There’s a reason for that. People die in the canyon. Everyone who goes into it dies. Everyone. They couldn’t build a wall there because the work crew kept getting killed.”

A hundred years had passed since the first attempt to block the canyon, and still the gap in the wall hadn’t been closed. All the Territory authorities had done to deter people from trying to get through it was to make sure that no vehicle could enter the canyon. You only got so far before spikes and lasers immobilized your ride. If you were going to risk your life with the scorpions, you had to do it on foot.

Striker angled the bike down the trail into the canyon, completely untroubled by her protests. Unlike the Grand Canyon, this one wasn’t large. But what it lacked in size, it made up for in mystery. The place was an anomaly for researchers to study because, when the weapon containing the red mist had detonated, scorpions had flooded the canyon. No one knew why. All they knew was that the creatures had been affected by the mist somehow and had multiplied, becoming even deadlier with each successive generation. The canyon was now home to millions of aggressive scorpions. It was their territory, and to enter meant death.

“Let me off this bike!” Friday thumped at Striker’s shoulders. “I won’t let you kill us both. Let me off. I’ll find another way.”

The bike skidded to a halt, kicking up dust behind them. The blue glow from the wall couldn’t penetrate the depths of the canyon. There was only the flickering light of the stars above and the narrow beam from the bike’s headlight to break up the black void that engulfed them.

As soon as the engine cut, she jumped off the bike, spun on her heel, and started back up the trail they’d come in on. She didn’t get far before a strong arm wrapped around her waist and tugged her back into a solid body.

“I know what I’m doing. This is the way in and out of the Red Zone. You think I haven’t done this before?” Clearly, he was running out of patience. Which was fine with her, because she’d about reached her limit, too.

She pushed at his arm and gained enough space to turn in his hold. She glared up at him. “Have you done this before? Because you don’t tell me anything. You just expect me to follow blindly.”

“That’s what you’re paying me for. You’re paying me to lead you out of the Territory.”

“I’m paying you to keep me alive. That’s why I need to get to Bolivia. Yet here you are, taking me into what is basically a death pit.”

He had the audacity to smile at her. “You’re forgetting one thing, bébé. I’m way more dangerous than any itty-bitty scorpion.”

Of all the ludicrous things to say… “Are you way more dangerous than millions of itty-bitty scorpions?”

“Hell, yeah.” He chuckled at the thought.

He was obviously insane. She’d trusted her life—what she had left of it—to a madman.

“Let me go!”

“No. Behave. We’re on a deadline and I don’t have time to deal with your freak-outs.”

Freak-outs? “Let me—” His large hand covered her mouth.

“Quiet! Enforcement.” The words were hissed against her ear.

She froze instantly, her eyes going to the canyon rim. There were lights. Lots of red Enforcement lights. Striker reached out and, with a flick of a switch, disabled the light on his bike. They were suddenly shrouded in darkness, halfway down the canyon.

“We need to go,” he said against her ear. “Trust me. If you can’t believe that I wouldn’t let you die, at least believe that I wouldn’t let me die.”

He had a point. She nodded, and he released her mouth.

“No noise,” he hissed.

She nodded again, and he gently cupped her cheek.

“I promise you, I will keep you safe.”

Her face tingled under his touch, and for one endless second, the world faded to the man in front of her. He wasn’t like anyone she’d ever known, and much to her own shock, she wanted to trust him.

“Desperation,” she whispered her reasoning aloud.

His lips twitched. “Probably.” He stepped away from her, grabbed her hand, and turned toward the canyon depths. “Come on.” He tugged her forward, down the narrow, rocky path that led to the bottom of the ravine.

And to the scorpions.

Voices echoed through the night. Floodlights came on above them, casting sharp shadows on the canyon walls. They hurried downward as the sheer rock face rose up either side of them. Water trickled, and she thought there might be a stream at the bottom. Could scorpions swim? Were they going to walk through the water to safety?

She clutched Striker’s hand when he dragged her past an official warning sign. Even if there hadn’t been a huge skull-and-crossbones on it, or the word Danger hadn’t been written in large red letters, the photos would have sent her running. Two boards detailed what a scorpion sting would do to a person, showing photos of corpses that had been stung multiple times. It was horrific.

But instead of running at the sight, she felt a strange calm sweep through her and recognized it instantly. She’d experienced the same sensation in the past, when things were out of her control. It was acceptance. Either she would die in the canyon, or she wouldn’t. There wasn’t a whole lot she could do about it. One thing was for sure—she wasn’t going to climb out of the canyon and take her chances with Enforcement. If she was going to die, she’d do it on her own terms. And she’d do it attempting to be free.

The path narrowed and twisted down to the bottom. Friday could barely make out shapes around her as the lights from the wall above them dimmed. Soon, the light wouldn’t be able to reach them, and she would be left in the dark—with the scorpions. Her breathing became shallower with every step she took, and she clung to Striker’s hand as though it were a lifeline. Their descent defied logic. There was no evidence, in over a hundred years, that anyone had survived this trip. And yet, here she was, desperate and terrified, getting deeper with each passing step.

It didn’t take long to reach the bottom. The canyon wasn’t as deep as she’d thought. But what it lacked in grandeur, it made up for in atmosphere. There was an eerie stillness that made her skin crawl with the awareness that something was waiting—watching and thinking in the dark nooks and crannies.

Scorpions.

Her hands started to tremble as the darkness engulfed them and her other senses became acute. She heard the first scurry of tiny feet as they made their way along the water’s edge toward the gap in the border wall.

“Shouldn’t we walk in the stream?” she whispered. Although, common sense told her that the arachnids already knew her exact location and she would give nothing further away by talking.

“The scorpions in this canyon don’t mind the water.” Striker didn’t whisper. Nor did his voice tremble with fear.

In this canyon. Like they weren’t normal scorpions at all.

“Do you have protective suits stashed down here?”

“There isn’t a suit on the planet that would keep out thousands of determined scorpions.”

More scurrying to her left made her head snap around. She pressed closer to Striker. Without breaking his stride, he wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her to him. The darkness became thicker. Friday stumbled on the uneven ground.

“I can’t see,” she whispered, aware her voice was shaking.

“I can.”

“You keep saying that. It doesn’t help.”

The scurrying sounds came from every direction now. Her breathing grew shallow, making her a little light-headed. She felt Striker squeeze her waist. She curled a fist into his belt and held on tight.

Her mind whirled, throwing facts at her. Reminding her of everything she knew about scorpion stings. Their venom was a neurotoxin, which attacked the nervous system. She’d feel pain when they first struck, but it wouldn’t be agonizing. The agony would come later. First there would be vomiting, muscle cramps, paralysis, and convulsions until her lungs and heart stopped working. An excruciatingly painful death, and that was assuming she only received one sting. Each additional injection of the toxin would speed up the process. Maybe it would be better to be attacked by several scorpions, rather than just one—less time suffering. Images of herself lying on the ground, covered in scorpions, flashed in her mind, and she decided one would be enough. She couldn’t even think about her body becoming food after she died…

“You’re gonna be fine. Just focus on breathing normally.” Striker’s words cut through her impending hysteria. “Once we’re around this bend, I’ll turn on the flashlight, and you’ll be able to see where you’re going. That will help.”

She couldn’t see the bend he was talking about, or even a path in front of them—it was that dark. She shook hard now, each step on the uneven path becoming perilous. It was difficult to concentrate on anything other than the sound of scurrying—a hurricane of tiny feet, building in volume and speed, all coming straight for them.

They swerved to the right, and the flashlight came on. She instantly scrunched her eyes closed, terrified of what she would see if she didn’t.

“It’s okay,” he said calmly. “You can look.”

No. She couldn’t. She turned into him, pressing her face into his chest, wishing she could crawl inside him and hide forever. But the noise wouldn’t let her. All she could hear was the scurrying. They were surrounded, and the sound was deafening.

“Look,” Striker said. “You’re safe. You gotta look, bébé.”

Clasping her fists into his shirt, she managed to look up at him, terrified of looking anywhere else.

“Not at me.” He smiled at her. “Look around you.”

Her lips were trembling hard, making it impossible to speak. To tell him that she didn’t want to look. That she might die if she saw eyes staring back at her.

“Bébé, trust me. If you look, you’ll feel better.” It was his tone, more than his words, that convinced her. The gentle conviction. The power in his voice that said he’d stand between her and her fear.

Swallowing hard, she forced herself to look down at the area illuminated by the beam of light. At first, she didn’t see anything, only rocks and dried-out grass, but then, at the edge of the light pool, she saw them. Scorpions. She stopped breathing at the sight, shaking so hard she thought she might pass out. Her eyes shot back to Striker.

“No, no bébé. It’s okay.” He nuzzled the top of her head. “They won’t come any closer. I promise. Look. But you’d best breathe while you do it, or I’ll have to carry you outta here.” His smile was reassuring.

For a minute, she stared into his dark eye while she fought to get air into her lungs.

“That’s it,” he soothed. “Deep, even breaths. It’s gonna be fine now.”

He rubbed her back, slow and firm, in time with her breathing. “See? That’s much better.”

Friday’s fists were still clamped in his shirt, her fingers over his steady heartbeat. She felt the calm rise and fall of his chest and tried to follow his lead, breathing when he did.

“That’s good. You’re doing good. Now, look at the scorpions. See how they stay a few feet away? They won’t come closer.”

She followed his gaze and shuddered at the sight—thousands and thousands of moving bodies, black and red, a carpet of arachnids as far as she could see.

But none within touching distance of them.

She gasped, and her eyes flew to his. “Is it the light? Are they afraid of the light?”

“No. Scorpions are nocturnal and don’t like the light, but it isn’t the light that scares them.” He paused. “It’s me.”

Her mind reeled at his quiet assertion. A million questions flooded it, the first and foremost being, why were they afraid of Striker?

He unpicked her fingers from his shirt and took her hand. “We’ve got a long walk out of here and no time to waste. Stick close to me, and you’ll be fine.”

At his words, her attention flew back to the ring of scorpions, and she held him tightly as they trekked alongside the stream bed. Slowly, they moved deeper into the canyon, all the while surrounded by a crawling carpet of scorpions. The noise was something she would never forget—the sound of a million scurrying feet as they clambered over rocks and dirt, the faint clacking of pincers as they rubbed together. It was unnerving. The sound of nightmares.

“I’m glad I can’t see their eyes.” The thought of millions of eyes reflecting through the darkness was too much to contemplate.

“Especially seeing as they have about twelve each.”

She poked him in the ribs. “That doesn’t help.”

They walked on in silence, making steady progress. When they reached the narrowest part of the canyon, the spot that should have run under the border wall, the scorpions raced up the sheer faces on either side of them, forming a moving gate for them to pass through. They inched forward, passing the scorpions and crossing under the cool glow from the wall lights that came from each edge of the ravine. Friday’s heart stuttered as they crossed the few short feet that took them past the border wall. They were officially out of the Northern Territory.

And heading into the Red Zone.

“Just a little farther,” Striker said.

“Why do the scorpions stay away from you?”

He shot her a look she couldn’t quite read. “Maybe, if we get that poison out of you and you survive, I’ll let you in on that little secret. Right now, we gotta focus on getting out of here. Soon, we’re gonna start the climb out of the canyon and the scorpions will stay behind.”

“They never leave the canyon?”

Now that her terror had eased, she wondered if someone had studied the creatures. Their behavior was off. But then, she didn’t know a whole lot about arachnids in general. She glanced at Striker out of the corner of her eye. It seemed he was something else that might need some investigation. In the logical part of her brain, the part that never stopped working, she was already trying to figure out a reason for the scorpions’ aversion to the man, and she didn’t like any of the theories she came up with. Because each one meant she was in far more trouble with the man than she would have been on her own.

“No, they never leave,” he said, turning her attention back to the scorpions. “Why would you leave a cushy home like this when your prey keeps walking in and presenting itself to you?”

It was hard to believe anyone would be that stupid. “You can’t mean that people still try to get through the canyon?”

“People, animals, insects. They all wander into Scorpion Canyon, but very few wander back out.”

As they climbed the steep path out of the canyon, the sound of the scorpions following them began to fade. By the time they had reached the rim, she was fairly certain they were alone. She grasped the hand Striker held out to help her climb up onto the ridge, and with one hard yank, she was out of the canyon.

And into something far worse.

In front of her, not more than twenty feet away, was the cloud of poisonous red mist that made up the zone. It sat before them like a thick fog, heavy and impenetrable and dense. She looked up but couldn’t see where it ended. To the right and the left, it seemed to go on forever. There was no getting past it. No going under it, or around it. And Territory restrictions meant flying over it was out of the question. That left Friday with only two choices—allow Striker to lead her into the red mist or head back through Scorpion Canyon to take her chances with Enforcement.

With a shaky breath, she looked up at him. “I’ve changed my mind. I want to go back. This isn’t going to work.”

“Have a little faith,” the reckless outlaw said.