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AUBREY SHIVERED IN the damp tunnel, huddled in her threadbare blanket against a rough cinderblock wall. She massaged her scarred hand absent-mindedly, imitating Doc’s careful kneading, acutely aware of her newest bruises.
Megan’s enhancements may not work like they used to, but she’s still got some of her Tracker grip. I’m lucky she didn’t break my hand.
“Here, you need to keep your strength up.” Don’s gruff voice interrupted her thoughts. He handed her some dried trail rations—some kind of salted meat and leathery fruit. “It’s some of Sheila’s gourmet best. I’ll be sure to send her chef’s compliments on your behalf.”
Aubrey smiled as she accepted the rations. His jokes aren’t as funny as he thinks they are. But I appreciate him trying to keep our morale up.
“Go easy, though.” Jane ran a hand through her dark hair in a futile attempt to loosen some of the tangled knots. “It’s not going to last much longer. When they stocked this hidey-hole with provisions, nobody expected we’d be staying here more than one night.”
To Aubrey’s right, Megan chewed mechanically on a tough piece of meat. Her expression was unreadable, and the patch covering the ruin of her left eye obscured a portion of her face. She continued to be an enigma, a former Tracker who once pursued them with murderous intent.
In a twist of fate none of them could have predicted, she was now a part of their Hub.
The Hoarder kid—the blond one—seemed to recognize her. Aubrey pictured the stunned expression on the young man’s face. Is that good news or bad? How we can be sure whose side Megan is on?
Her paranoid musings were cut short by Jane’s sharp voice. “Don, let me look at your arm. You’ve soaked through the bandages again. We’ve got to get the bleeding under control.”
For once, Don didn’t argue, upending his metal rod. It was just under two meters in length, well over Aubrey’s height, and raised a faint echo as he set it down. He slumped next to Aubrey, his massive bulk dwarfing her.
They’d lingered in this spot for a night and a day already. Wisdom dictated they bide their time before attempting to return to their Hub. No one balked when Don insisted on waiting. There was no telling whether or not their Hub, located in a sub-basement under the downtown Mission, was still secure. Not after the Trackers showed up.
“We make for the Hub tonight,” Don said as Jane loosened the bandages. The fabric was soaked in blood. Doc needed to treat the nasty gash on his forearm, soon. “I don’t think anybody—or any thing—is following us, but we’ll take it slow and careful. We don’t know if the Mission’s been compromised or not.”
“Deja vu,” Jane replied in a sour voice as she re-bandaged his wound. “Trackers attacked the Mission last spring, too, remember? Maybe they didn’t find the sub-basement, but they were closer than they realized. Too close.”
“True enough.” Don’s easy-going voice was a welcome contrast to Jane’s stark pessimism. “But I don’t want to sleep another night in this stink-hole.”
I couldn’t agree more. Aubrey wrinkled her nose, weary of the oppressive reek. She’d been able to ignore the stench for the most part, until Don mentioned it.
“Garr warned Uncle John to shut down the Mission for a few days.” She hoped the Mission’s manager had responded in time. “If Trackers are scouting around the area, there should be nothing to attract their attention.”
Don winced as Jane tightened the fresh bandage with a deft tug. “Plan for the worst and assume nothing. Megan, can you can tell if other Trackers are nearby?”
Megan shook her head, still chewing. She swallowed with difficulty before replying.
“No more voices,” she said in her halting way, tapping two fingers against the side of her head. “No more Givers.”
She ducked her head and resumed eating. Conversation over.
Aubrey studied her covertly, unsure of her own feelings. A few months earlier, Megan had been just another nameless Tracker, obsessed with killing a child for his Implant.
At their first encounter, Aubrey was sure she was about to die, along with the young boy. She’d thrust an electric prod into the Tracker’s scanning eye in one final, desperate attempt at self-defense.
The resulting surge of energy had flattened the Tracker like a bolt of lightning. Garr insisted on bringing the crippled Tracker back to their Hub, although Doc’s diagnosis was that her wounds would prove fatal within a matter of days.
But the Tracker survived, and it was through her they first learned of the real enemy behind the Hoarders—the aliens who called themselves the Givers. In an unanticipated reversal, the damage caused by Aubrey’s impulsive action also triggered Megan’s awkward and incomplete journey of recovering her humanity.
She’s gone from a mindless killing machine to something of an ally. Aubrey examined her own damaged arm, hidden under the blanket she’d wrapped around herself. I don’t regret what I did. I was protecting myself, and the boy.
“That’ll have to do for now.” Jane twisted an improvised sling over Don’s shoulder to support his injured arm. “We can move out whenever you give the word.”
“The word, my friend, is given,” Don replied with a facetious grin. “I’ve always wanted to say that. Why should Garr have all the fun?”
Jane snorted as she handed him the metal rod—his sole weapon after their meeting with the Hoarders and the Tracker ambush. “Garr’s never said anything like that, even when he was still the Colonel.”
She paused, her eyes haunted. “I lost sight of them during the attack. Do you think they made it? We can’t be the only survivors.”
“We’re not.” Don exuded cheerful confidence. “Amos will go to ground and lay low. Once we know the Hub is secure, I know just where to find him.”
“What about Garr?” Aubrey got to her feet, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Everything happened so fast, I couldn’t see what happened to him.”
Don chuckled, his baritone voice providing reassuring warmth in the dank atmosphere. “He had Sheila right beside him, and she’s a force to be reckoned with. You’ll see—they’ll have each other’s back.”
He paused, looking thoughtful “Y’know, we’ve got to give Mateo credit. He’s a slippery fish, but all his Tracker abilities were directed against the other Trackers, not for them.”
Megan’s tortured voice startled them. “Trackers . . . for us? Or for them?”
All eyes were on her. The eye patch and its surrounding scars made her expression difficult to read, but her remaining eye seemed to hold a pleading look. Aubrey couldn’t tell if she was asking a legitimate question, or trying to warn them.
Don broke the prolonged silence, flexing one massive hand around the metal rod. “Were we the targets, or was it the Hoarders? That’s an excellent question, Megan.”
“And who told them where to find us?” Jane wondered aloud. “That’s what I want to know.”