Shit, shit, shit.
Noah stalked slowly forward, the tip of his rifle raised, his body sideways to make a slimmer target. Right foot crossing over left, left foot stepping out, he slowly advanced through the field.
He wasn’t off the family property yet, but he was within feet of it. Something from his sense-memory made the invisible line feel physical and his stomach clenched.
His eyes flicked away from the scope for a second. First to his left, then to his right. He still couldn't see his fellow agents.
He and Walter and GJ had spread out just enough so they couldn’t all be taken at once. Instead of being one target, they’d become three. He was rethinking this plan, but it was far too late for that. It was possible—since he couldn’t see or hear any of them—that either of his colleagues had already been dragged backwards into the grass and trees, just like he had last time.
There was no recon on this mission, only the attempt to catch one or two enemy combatants. It wasn't a term he liked: “enemy combatants.” He’d always preferred to think of himself as a guardian, but a lot of his training had been about taking out the enemy. He still tried to function in the better capacity. But here? He didn't think there was any guardian factor to be found here. He’d been sent out to stun, disable, and take a hostage.
Still, despite the cold sweat running down his back and the massive concern that all of his teammates had been killed, he was finding the job was growing on him.
Noah, shut up, he told himself. Now is not the time to have a midlife crisis.
They'd made the assumption as a group that the northern pods they'd seen before were probably on higher alert. They knew that they'd been found out and had lost several members. Even if it was their own decision to kill those members—or so Noah thought from what he’d gleaned.
So, the three agents had headed west.
The landscape was hillier this way. The trees came in clusters that Noah could easily maneuver around. But having lost sight of his fellow agents made him very, very nervous. Working without Christina there to make anyone they encountered think they were on fire also made him very, very nervous. As far as he knew, Walter and GJ wouldn’t be able to help with any extra-curricular interventions.
He told himself that’s why they’d put him in the middle. Not because he was the weakest link. Though that was entirely plausible.
His orders—should he encounter one of the soldiers they were looking for—were to head forward. Get in close enough range to use a stun gun—without getting dead. Then zip tie and drag his capture back to the compound.
No problem, he whispered to himself.
Then he heard the grass rustle in front of him in response.
He stilled for a moment, but when nothing else came, he crept slowly forward. The tip of the rifle still sweeping the landscape in front of him, looking for “enemy combatants.”
The attempt to stay low was wearing on his thigh muscles. He figured even he wouldn't bet on himself being the one to capture their next prisoner. Walter—definitely. Hell, even GJ had a better shot at this than him. He could imagine her dragging some massive soldier behind her, commenting how she’d calculated the angles and estimated the mass of her opponent to use his momentum against him.
Noah, on the other hand, was sweating bullets out here.
Christina had gone to talk with Will once again, and that left the three of them to execute Westerfield’s orders of getting someone they could interrogate. Though Noah was radically against torture—though he was confident that, between himself and Christina, they could avoid that—they did need information. They were surrounded, getting killed, and had only a vague idea of why.
Few grand conclusions had been drawn.
Walter, Noah, and GJ had spent some of their time reviewing the short list of those that Jen had scented near the bodies.
“Add Jen.” GJ had pointed to the list.
Walter had merely raised one eyebrow at her, but she’d written the additional name down on the piece of paper. She’d pulled out a legal pad, not wanting anything hackable or traceable.
Even between the three of them, they’d not come up with much of anything. No one on the list jumped out, despite the fact that it only included ten people. Some of them might have been in the room before the soldiers had been killed. About half were referred to as new or returning flock. Very few people had stayed to guard the compound after the last big fight with Marks’ people.
So most had returned after the compound was up and running. Others were like Jen, who had only the slimmest genetic relation. Once she’d figured out what she was, she'd gone looking for others of her kind. And once she found it, she'd stayed put. Aside from a short stint when they scattered, Will could account for Jennifer Crunk’s whereabouts for the past eleven years. If she was the mole, she’d been here more than a decade, or she’d been radicalized during the three months the wolves were scattered. Neither seemed likely.
Jen had rapidly returned to the compound once Will had opened back up for a few who wanted to stay and help the family integrate back into their home. That move had helped her rise up in the informal ranks and become a coordinator for the family.
Noah still couldn’t tell if that had been her plan or a serendipitous happenstance.
But though his brain wanted to wander back to the list, he couldn’t—shouldn’t—try to solve any of that now. He had to stay focused on staying safe. Taking three more steps forward, he crouched down lower for a minute. Stopping gave him the opportunity to get a better view, swing his rifle a good one-hundred-eighty degrees, and keep an eye out for his fellow agents.
If he was the only one who returned, then this was not going to go well.
To his right he heard a small pop and hiss. Then a yell, the gurgling kind that a person made when they’d been hit. For a moment, his shoulders relaxed and his lungs breathed easier.
Walter.
He'd been on the money. It sure sounded like she'd hit someone.
But it was GJ's voice that came over the comms, breaking the agreed-upon silence.
“One more,” she said.
One more than we agreed to get, Noah thought testily. Then again, maybe something was wrong with this one. He didn't know.
He sniffed the air, his mere human senses detecting an odd smell. It wasn’t enough to make him change course, so he took three more steps forward. He was slowly setting his foot down again, when the man appeared suddenly in front of him, naked and pushing to his feet.
Noah quickly came to the conclusion that this man had just transformed from his wolf shape. However, that didn't tell him if this was friend or foe—not with what was going on.
The man stared, his moss green gaze turning to a glare as Noah failed to obey whatever psychic command he must have thought he issued. His brown hair shone in the late afternoon sunlight in a way that was wholly inappropriate for the situation. Whatever he was upset about, it seemed aimed at Noah.
Then, in a deep and almost feral voice, the man growled out one word.
“Run.”