| |
AMOS GAINED THE RIDGE moments after Don and Jane, dropping to join them behind the fallen tree.
Don, still panting, pulled out the binoculars and resumed his survey of the forest below. Jane leaned against the mossy log, eyes closed as she fought to regain her breath.
“Anything?” Amos cupped a hand over his still-tender incision. “What’s happening?”
Don laughed, the note of triumph unmistakable. “The Tracker’s still at the bottom of the hill. Looks like it’s lost its way. Here, see for yourself.”
He handed the lenses to Amos.
Amos steadied his elbows on the fallen tree, scanning back and forth for a moment before spotting the Tracker. It was just as Don said. The creature appeared to be casting back and forth, like a hunting dog after losing the scent of its prey, desperate to find it again.
It made good time from the checkpoint, but it can’t sense the Implant anymore. Amos felt a growing elation. The prod worked!
He lowered the lenses and glanced at Don, a wide grin on his face. “It works. The Implant’s deactivated. The Tracker followed us this far, but now it’s lost the scent.”
He handed the binoculars to Jane, who mimicked his posture, elbows braced on the fallen tree. Amos knew she wouldn’t relax until she’d confirmed for herself the Tracker was no longer following.
“I don’t believe it.” She sounded giddy, lenses fixed on their pursuer far below. “We beat the Tracker. It’s got no idea where we—or the Implant—have gone.”
“That’s the first bit of good news I’ve heard in a long time,” Don said, cautious nonetheless. “But let’s not give our position away. If the Tracker spots us, it might try for a suicide run.”
The explosion caught them off-guard, the concussive sound echoing over the hills. Amos dropped, covering his head with his arms. He felt Don’s heavy hand on his shoulder, and he knew the big man had also thrown himself flat to present a smaller target.
As the thundering echo faded, Amos raised his head, catching sight of Jane. She hadn’t moved from her earlier position. The binoculars were still screwed to her eyes, and her mouth hung open. She looked stunned.
After a long moment, she lowered the binoculars, her eyes wide.
“It blew itself up,” she said raggedly, a wild note in her voice. “It was scanning for us, and then it just stopped and looked up at the sky. And then all of a sudden . . .”
She swallowed hard, clapping a hand over her mouth as her body heaved.
“That’s what they do,” Amos said, to nobody in particular. “When they can’t kill their target cleanly, they blow themselves up and try to bag their prey in the blast.”
Like Jane doesn’t already know? His inner voice was quick to scold him. She saw what happened to Stephen.
Don pried the binoculars out of Jane’s grasp, probing downhill. “Not much left. It must’ve been desperate. It didn’t even know our position. Still, this is no time to let our guard down.”
His decision made, he got to his feet and strode back to their vehicle. Amos stood, offering a hand to Jane.
“I don’t need your help.” She slapped his hand away, glaring as she struggled to her feet. “Don’t confuse me with Country Girl.”
Now, that’s the Jane I know. Amos raised his hands in mock surrender. But it wasn’t ‘Country Girl’ who almost lost her lunch a minute ago.
They trudged up the slight incline to the truck. Amos climbed into the back seat and Jane resumed her position beside Don in the cab.
Don flashed them an incredulous grin as they settled into their seats.
“Can you believe it?” he asked as he started their vehicle. The engine turned over with a roar, and Don raised his voice to be heard. “The prod works, we’re bringing the Implant back for Doc to study, and the Tracker blew itself up. Maybe our luck is finally changing.”
Jane held up the metal box, regarding it with a skeptical look. “Let’s hope you’re right.”