Zeb moistened his lips. Stopped thinking about Sara Ashland. Only his pursuers mattered.
Namir will not send all. He has lost too many men. Tavez won’t, either. He is in a new situation.
Those three men I saw. They’ll come.
No more, I hope.
Time didn’t matter anymore. He worked out various scenarios in his mind for how he would take down three shooters, in whichever formation they approached.
It was still light. The sun was close to setting, and through gaps in the leaves, he could see the sky had turned orange.
He tried to look at the ridge, but there was too much foliage in his way. All he could see was a narrow section of the flats. Grass swaying lightly in the thin breeze. The chirp of birds.
He let his chi roam and summoned that grey fog. The one that enveloped him and turned him into a killing machine.
After precisely eight minutes, a shadow crossed the small area of the flats that he could see.
No human sounds. No other blocking of light.
He turned his attention to the ground beneath him, about twenty square feet of which he could see. The tree trunk that he had climbed. Chest-high growth on all sides.
The narrow opening through which Sara and he had run.
They’ll have to come through that. Any other way and their clothing will snag.
Zeb waited. It was the most natural state for him to be in.
There had been a time when he had waited thirty hours in the desert to take a kill shot.
The first sound reached him.
A step. It sounded unnaturally loud since he was so focused on that small universe of space and motion.
First came an AK’s barrel. Pointing straight ahead. Below him. Then a head of thick hair appeared. Black or brown, he couldn’t be sure. Tanned neck.
A second man appeared below him. Similar appearance, wearing a leather jacket.
Both men stood motionless for long moments. Assessing. Listening.
All they could hear was the forest.
A bead of sweat rolled down Zeb’s nose and splashed on the branch he was perched on.
He thought it sounded like a waterfall, but knew that was his imagination.
One man nodded slightly, and they went out of sight to his right.
He didn’t move.
Ten minutes later, the third man appeared. He seemed shorter, though it was hard to say from Zeb’s position.
Zeb sighed in relief.
Only three men. If there had been more, the third man wouldn’t be alone.
Because no shooter went alone in hostile territory. Unless he had no choice.
The third gunman was as careful as the first two.
He, too, stopped below Zeb to survey his surroundings.
He was the cover for the advance men. It was his job to take care of their six.
However, there was no one to look out for him.
Zeb jumped.