CHAPTER 66
We hiked the five kilometers and found another excellent hiding place on a craggy cliff high above a secluded lake. We would have stopped to admire how beautiful it was if we hadn’t been so worried about Tommy.
Shadowed by gray jagged mountains on all sides, the lake was like a volcano crater filled with moon-rippled water instead of lava. On the near shore of the lake, there was another stone table, illuminated by torches and portable camp lights.
But he wasn’t on it.
He was chained to an ancient stone pillar on the lakeshore.
“I’ve got the keys, Tommy boy!” sneered Chet Collier, who had a clinking key ring clipped to his belt.
“You’re just trying to take me out of the game,” said Tommy with a laugh, “because you crashed and burned with Q’orianka back in that village, after the flood. You can’t stand the competition. I’m way hotter than you.”
“You won’t be hot tomorrow, Thomas,” said Chet, sneering. “You’ll be cold because you’ll be dead.”
The keys at his belt jingling like a wind chime, he stomped over to his father, crossing his arms and pouting like an angry toddler.
Collier’s army of goons, all six of them, were patrolling the perimeter of their campsite. But none of them had weapons. They’d all left their rifles back at the temple.