‘Did your father say anything about Namir? He did an investigative piece on him, didn’t he?’
It was eight am on Saturday. A clear day, promising to be sunny and warm. A good sleep behind them. No further attacks. There were no more cartel killers left.
No sign of the terrorists.
Sara nodded, wisps of steam surrounding her face as she sipped the coffee Zeb had brewed.
He was feeling better. His injured limbs hindered movement and throbbed continually.
I am alive. That alone matters.
‘It was a long time back.’ She scrunched her face. ‘Dad said he was the most brutal terrorist he had known of.’
‘How so?’
‘Namir likes killing. He has blood lust. I saw that with my own eyes.’
She shivered, her eyes clouding. ‘But something else drives him. I remember Dad saying something. It will come to me.’
The stream was easy to cross. It was shallow, rocky, making it a little more difficult for Zeb, but they got across it without much trouble.
The ascent over its bank had him gasping and sweating, and once on top, they took a breather.
‘I was hoping to reach Erilyn this evening.’
‘We won’t, will we?’
‘I don’t think so, ma’am.’
They came across campers just after lunch.
They had covered thirty miles, not encountering another person.
At one point they had come across a black bear and her cubs.
Sara wanted to get closer to them, but Zeb pulled her back.
‘It’s their land,’ he said, suppressing a grin at her mutinous expression. ‘Besides, going to your grandfather is priority.’
Two miles away from the bears, they sniffed the distinctive odor.
Zeb dropped to the ground. She followed.
A slow crawl, senses alert.
Taking care not to rustle any bushes, until they spotted the tents.
Two of them, green, in front of a bunch of firs.
What was on the ground held his attention.
She gasped, turned away, and retched in the bushes.
Two bodies. Adults.
One male, one female.
Zeb’s Glock was in his hand the moment she had thrown up.
The sound would have given away their presence.
No hostiles emerged, however.
The forest was quiet, except for their breathing and her soft crying.
He gestured at her to stay where she was and approached the camp cautiously.
The bodies bore marks of a struggle. Bruised faces and hands.
Both had died of knife wounds. Multiple stabs.
Someone likes killing, he thought bleakly.
He bit back an oath and tightened his lips when his eyes swept across the woman.
He hadn’t noticed from the distance, but now, it was clear.
She had been raped.
Her jeans were around her knees. Her privates exposed.
He heard the girl moving and blocked her immediately.
‘You shouldn’t see this.’
‘Zeb, I grew up in Mosul. There is nothing that I haven’t seen,’ she sounded confident, but he detected the tremble.
She shoved past him and immediately fell to her knees, dry-heaving.
‘Who could have done this?’ she whispered.
Her hand flew to her mouth in horror when he replied.
‘Namir.’