The forest was quiet. So quiet that Rena’s careful steps seemed loud against the damp earth. So quiet she could hear herself breathing. Each exhale drifted away from her mouth in a thin, white cloud. The air was cold, but her supple, leather clothing held in her warmth and a layer of perspiration.
Somewhere ahead, through the morning fog and dense trees, a deer wandered. Rena had caught a glimpse of it a short while ago. It had been moving casually, unaware that it was being stalked. And if Rena had done exactly as she’d been taught, it would still be moving at the same pace and in the same direction. When it reached the clearing, it would stop, hesitant to move through the open space. That was the moment Rena was going to exploit.
Her father was approaching from a different direction, in case the deer decided not to cross the field and instead move along the edge of the trees.
The forest began to thin. An indication that the clearing was nearby. Rena pulled an arrow from the quiver at her back and set it into the notch in her bow. With a finger on either side of the nock, she tugged until the bowstring snapped into place.
Though she couldn’t see the deer, she knew the moment had come. Her heart was racing in anticipation. She scanned the horizon, looking into the sunrise for a silhouette that was different from the narrow, vertical tree trunks.
The light suddenly dimmed and changed direction. Fog swam in through the trees and enveloped her. The aroma of pine was displaced by an older, musty stench. Rena looked down and saw rotting leaves where pine needles used to be. And instead of her tan boots of animal hide, there were black boots of a synthetic material. Above that, camouflaged pants with square splotches of black, gray, and mossy green. The wooden bow she’d been holding was now a black, metal carbine fitted with a suppressor.
The excitement of the hunt that had sped her heart rate a moment ago was now something else. Colder. More calculating. Adrenaline coursed through her body. A body that felt more powerful and agile than before. The confusion that had been creeping in from the edges of her mind was gone. In its place was a clear and distinct resolution. Her prey was near. Revenge was at hand, and she had to move.
Rena stalked forward, weaving through the thick, gnarled trees with precise steps. The forest was growing thinner. The sky brighter. The clearing was close. She could feel it. Her eyes scanned the terrain, taking in the smallest of details—a cluster of brush, a broken branch, the upended root ball of a fallen tree. Dozens of observations noted, evaluated, and rejected in an instant. She’d been trained for this. Done it hundreds of times before.
Ahead, the fog began to clear. The breeze moved more easily across the open field below than up here in the trees. It left the convoys exposed. That was why the enemy sniper had chosen this position. Elevated. Concealed. Protected.
Or so he thought.
Rena’s eyes settled on a large clump of moss and weeds, two meters behind a leafless thicket. It looked natural except for the thin cylinder sticking a few centimeters out the opposite side. Rena was twenty meters behind the sniper and three to the right.
She raised her weapon and took aim.
A section of the weeds turned. Strands of moss hung down over a painted face. The eyes were now looking straight at Rena. But they weren’t human. They were large and black, with a narrow band of golden brown around the perimeter. And the painted face was now long, covered in tan hair.
Rena’s arms began to tremble from the exertion of holding the bowstring taut.
The slight movement alarmed the deer, and it sprang into motion.
Rena pivoted, first matching the animal’s speed, then leading it to account for the delay between release and impact. All traces of hesitation were gone. She was operating on instinct.
She opened her fingers.
The bowstring made a low, breathy twang.
The fletching of her arrow spun as it shrank from view.
The deer’s legs went limp, and its body dropped to the ground before rolling over and sliding to a stop.
The forest went silent again. So silent Rena could hear her own breathing, more rapid than before.
She raised her fingers to her mouth and let out a whistle that echoed through the trees. A signal to indicate her position and also that she’d fired on the deer. Seconds later, another whistle sounded. An acknowledgment.
Rena quickly nocked another arrow and sprang forward. When she reached the deer, she circled around to its back and approached it from the side opposite its legs. The arrow was sticking up from its body, just behind the shoulder. She’d taken it in the heart. There were no signs of chest movement from breathing. No blinking eyes or quivering muscles. But her father had taught her to be careful.
She knelt and touched the animal’s eye.
There was no reaction.
She slid the unused arrow back into her quiver. Then she laid her hand on the deer’s body. It was still warm.
The sound of running footsteps brought her attention upward again. A tall man came through the trees, slowing as he neared. Like Rena, he was also clad in soft, tan leather. He had Rena’s face and eyes, except for his nose, which was long and narrow. And instead of dark brown hair, his was silver, covering his head in finger-length strands and his face with stubble. Eldric was his name. Rena’s father.
“Hey, Chipmunk. You got him!”
Rena smiled.
“And a perfect shot too. Well done!”
Eldric knelt beside Rena and put his hand on the deer, verifying it was dead. Then he glanced around the forest. “This is as good a place as any. Here,” he said, pulling a knife from the sheath on his belt.
The blade was elegantly curved and razor sharp, with a handle made from a deer antler.
Rena took the skinning tool and held it for a moment, feeling the weight of it while her father rolled the deer onto its back and spread its legs. She reached out and slid her fingers through the animal’s hair, probing for its sternum. A place to make the first incision without puncturing the internal organs. When she found it, she moved the knife into position.
“Your skin for my clothing,” she told the animal. “Your meat for my food. And your bones for my tools. Thank you for your life.”
The tip of the blade lingered. Rena hesitated.
“This is how we used to live,” her father said. His voice was kind. When he placed his hand on Rena’s shoulder, it was gentle. Warm.
Rena looked up.
His eyes were full of love. He was teaching her something incredibly important. “If you’re not ready … I’ll do it.”
“No. It’s my responsibility. I’m ready,” she said.
But when she looked down again, there was already blood on her hands. The knife in her grip wasn’t elegant. It was crude and rusted. A sharpened piece of scrap metal with cord wrapped around it for a handle. And the deer was gone. Instead, there was a man on his hands and knees, dressed in thick, dirty clothing. On the back of his right hand was a glowing number.
002.
Blood gushed from his wrist.
Rena dropped the knife and let out a gasp of surprise as she stumbled backward.
The man realized what Rena had just done to him, and he turned his head to look her in the eye. “I’m gonna kill you,” he grunted. Then he began climbing to his feet.
Panic spread through Rena’s chest like fire and grabbed hold of her throat. Her heart thumped so powerfully it threatened to break through her ribs. She couldn’t breathe.
“And now … you’re back with me,” said Dr. Mallory, her voice calm and soothing. The vocal signal was followed by the sound of snapping fingers. And Rena found herself in her counselor’s office once again.