CHAPTER 14

The shriek of an unseen animal erupts as Parker’s patrol makes its steady way through the scrub. Out in front, the mounted tracker slouches on his chestnut gelding; Parker’s eyes cling to the place where his thin shoulder blades meet, sweat speckling through threadbare cotton. Above, the sun beats down from its brassy sky. The flies are bothersome—drawn to every inch of skin left uncovered. They cluster at the back of Parker’s neck, his hands, the bare lines of pink behind his ears. Other winged things arrive too. Things that bite and sting. Things with long, hanging legs and hard, shielded bodies. From under his hat he spots them hovering, then a shot of fire wires its caustic way into his veins. He slaps the things dead easily, flicks their corpses into the dirt. He won’t be bullied away from his task by damn insects.

When they reach a wooded copse, long shadows stain the red dirt a bold black. The men pause in the shade to mutter. Parker wants to know the route; wants assurance they’re covering all ground. When they continue onward, the landscape opens up again into something vast. The orange brightness burns at Parker’s eyes. But he blinks away the agitation. He’ll do this for days if he has to. Whatever it takes to find the man.