| |
AMOS WOKE WITH A START from a dream he couldn’t recall. He squinted at the rough stone above his head, his pulse racing, unable to recognize his surroundings.
He levered himself into a sitting position, mindful of the low ceiling. His mental fog cleared, and the reason for his frantic trek into the wilderness flooded his mind again.
He stretched in the cramped space, his aching body reminding him of every bruise, every stiff joint, and in particular the dull pounding at the back of his skull.
He explored the bandage around his middle with a tender hand. The incision under his ribs seemed to be healing well. He’d need to be careful not to overdo it when he left the cave. There’s some good news, at least.
Right. The cave. His relentless inner voice roused itself, not wasting any time in making its sardonic presence known. Remember the cave, Amos? Just where you wanted to be, and also where you don’t dare stay.
Amos didn’t bother to acknowledge or respond, but other memories came flooding back—too many dark images from his past. He mustn’t allow the distant flashbacks to overshadow the present.
He shook his head in a futile attempt to clear his thoughts, regretting it as the dull headache morphed into a thundering hammer. Focus, Amos, focus. You managed to get this far. Now what?
He massaged his temples as he considered the question. True, he’d made it out of the City, and as far as he could tell, he hadn’t been followed.
The Mission might still be intact, or it may have been leveled by the Hoarders. In either case, it didn’t matter—the Mission could no longer function as a sanctuary for Runners and their allies.
The benign, nondescript building in the heart of the City’s downtown served them well for many months. Perhaps too many. Discovery was always just a matter of time. He grimaced involuntarily, his mind flinching away from that particular memory.
On the street level, the Mission was just what it appeared to be, an oasis of respite and shelter for the less-fortunate.
It was the sub-basement—hidden in plain sight, or just below it, in this case—where their Hub was located. He’d been fortunate to escape, but even now, Amos couldn’t be sure if the trapdoor leading into the sub-basement remained undiscovered. He hoped it hadn’t been found, but that hope was little more than wishful thinking.
Of course, if their Hub’s location was still a secret, it meant any pursuers would have less opportunity to follow his trail into the wilderness. If they’re just casting about, trusting in dumb luck to find me, I’ve got a much better chance.
Fear clamped down, hard, galvanizing his pessimistic inner voice yet again. Oh sure, why don’t you just let your guard down—pretend things are the way they used to be? When nobody wanted to slaughter you over the little trinket you hid in the crevice last night?
Amos ground his teeth together, wishing—not for the first time—he possessed some coping mechanism to shut off the accusing voice. He needed a clear head to plan his next steps, and the nagging inner sarcasm was no help at all.
Amos felt a new surge of adrenaline as he heard a peculiar noise outside the cave. A scratching sound, not unlike metal on stone, raised his suspicions along with his blood pressure.
He unclasped the knife in its sheath, every nerve tingling as he inched closer to the cave’s entrance. He peered cautiously around the edge of the rock, alert to any movement, listening for anything out of the ordinary. Left, right, all clear. Above . . .
Amos flinched, ducking his head as the gray squirrel chittered in alarm. The startled animal scurried away, claws scrabbling for traction on the mossy stone. He watched with relief as it disappeared up the rough bark of a towering evergreen, willing his heart rate to return to normal.
Breathe, buddy, breathe. It’s just a squirrel. He continued to scan his surroundings in all directions, not daring to relax his vigilance. Something else might have spooked the squirrel in the first place. Assume nothing.
Reassured he was still alone, Amos settled back into a reclining position inside the cave. His stomach still felt like it was tied in knots, but he knew hunger was partly to blame. Hunger, at least, was something he could deal with.
Fear retreated for the moment, and Amos pulled the rucksack to him, digging into it for the trail rations he’d packed a lifetime ago. Or two days earlier.
Amos chewed his food without tasting it, grateful for the Runners’ strategy of keeping a quick-escape pack stocked and ready at all times. If there was one commodity he didn’t have in abundance during the attack on the Mission, it was time.
He opened his shirt to check the twist of bandage around his ribs, and was pleased to find no fresh blood stains. The wound wasn’t deep, but it was a ragged cut and there hadn’t been adequate time to properly tend to it. His thoughts wandered next to the Implant he’d hidden in the cave.
Am I right to leave it behind, unprotected? They didn’t know enough about the Implants—not yet, anyway. But he didn’t have a lot of options. With the Mission compromised, he’d have to find another way to regroup with the others.
His thoughts darkened as he chewed on the dried rations. How would he reconnect with anyone, let alone gather the Runners again? I got careless, and it’s my fault the Mission was discovered.
Restless to move out, he surveyed the interior of the cave with a practiced eye, alert for any clues he might leave behind. If they succeeded in tracing him to this location, there couldn’t be anything to prompt them to dig into the crevice below.
Too much was riding on this, which was only one of several reasons why he must keep moving.
He stepped into the direct sunlight, taking time for a careful visual survey of the surrounding forest. Just as the small cliff-side had served him as a hidey-hole, there were a lot of comparable outcroppings around him which could serve as a shield for unseen adversaries.
He felt rested despite his aching body, and the food gave him new energy. His headache faded, no longer as distracting. Even the tenderness under his ribs had diminished more than he would’ve expected.
Amos pivoted in a wary circle, listening with careful attention. His eyes took in every towering evergreen, every rock-face, every shadow and sunlit patch of ground.
He let his mind go into free-fall, the utter reliance on instinctual knowledge. The thinking mind could sometimes race ahead of itself, seeing only what it expected or wanted to see. I am a predator. I am a hunter. I am . . .
Amos froze, shocked by the thought forming in his mind. I am NOT a Tracker. He felt the razor teeth of fear again. I am Amos.
The shock passed, releasing its grip on his pounding heart. Amos continued his all-directions reconnaissance at a slow and steady pace, every nerve alert for the slightest discrepancy. He completed his circuit, and then repeated the action, counter-clockwise.
Observe. Listen. Feel.
Convinced at last he was still alone, he trekked up the steep incline, heading east. He couldn’t risk an attempt to re-enter the City, not until he knew more about the aftermath of the attack.
He remembered hearing about the location of another hidey-hole—not a proper Hub, like the Mission, but a way-stop which should be safe. He might find some assistance in contacting the others.
He had to try. His hasty departure left him in the dark. All he knew for sure was the Mission had been attacked, which meant they were running out of time. Worse yet, he couldn’t be sure the tiny treasure he’d left buried in the cave would be safe there for long.
Assume nothing. He clenched his fists, mustering a new resolve. And don’t concoct doomsday scenarios that may or may not come to pass. I can’t afford the distraction.
Urgency quickened his pace, and he made excellent time, despite the steepness of the climb. Part of his mind remained occupied with scouting out the best footing ahead. The gnarled roots, poking haphazardly out of the rocky ground, provided far too many opportunities for debilitating injury.
The other part of his mind floated in free-fall, alert to anything out of the ordinary. Any sight, any sound, anything that wasn’t as it should be.
I am a predator. But I am also a Runner.
He had to be. A Runner who kept one step ahead of his pursuers, eluding the fanatical hunters on his trail. Everything depended on it.