The driver comes around and opens the tailgate. I don’t wait to see if they’re going to offer assistance. I twist, dropping my legs off the back, and slide down. It’s a short drop, so my feet hit the ground easily.
Without a word, I head for the armed men at the door. One has his rifle slung over his back and a knife in his hand as he waits for me to approach. The other has his rifle at the ready.
“Run and I shoot,” the man at the door states.
I roll my eyes. Obviously.
I stop in front of the man with the knife, and he cuts off my zip tie. He rolls my hand so he can take note of the numbers there and then gestures with his head for me to go to the door. I do, and the man there opens it, letting me inside.
If I weren’t so anxious to see Brek, I might have taken note of how there’s electricity here. The lights are bright.
Stepping inside, I’m met with more than a dozen faces. They’re lingering around a large room that’s set up like a barrack with rows of bunk beds on either side. I search the faces for Brek. With every second that passes and I don’t see him, dread settles in my chest. My heart races.
I’m pushed further into the building, and Wade comes in behind me. I take a few more steps inside and try to see if maybe he’s in a bed. Maybe he’s hiding. Maybe he’s… in the bathroom? Is there a bathroom?
By the time all six of us from the pickup truck are inside and the metal door closes with a loudclangand the scratch of the lock sliding into place, I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s not here. Brek isn’t here.
“We’re too late,” I murmur. I feel sick. Tears sting my eyes as I look among the faces staring at me.
“Too late for what?” someone asks.
I shake my head, unable to answer.
“We’re looking for someone,” Wade says. “Brek.”
“He’s not back yet,” the same man says. He points to the wall where there’s a board with five sets of numbers on it. “Seven eighteen. That’s Brek.”
The air rushes out of me, but I continue to stare. “What does this mean?” I ask, waving at it.
“When there’s a hunt, a dozen numbers are put on the board. When the individual returns to one of the barracks, their number comes down.”
I take a breath as I stare at his number. He’s still alive, then. Right?
“How long has he been out?” Wade asks.
The man shakes his head. “Too long,” he answers quietly.
The sick feeling is back. It drops like a lead balloon. I head for the door and try to yank on the handle. It doesn’t open.
“They’re not going to let you out,” the man says. “If they open the door, it’ll likely be to shoot you.”
Wade pulls me back, and I close my eyes, trying to catch my breath.
“He made it back from his first hunt,” the man says. “Admittedly, it’s been longer than usual, but… he made it back from the first. He was looking far more confident this time.”
“Take a breath,” Wade murmurs in my ear. He still has me against his chest, keeping me away from the door. “We’ll give it a little longer before we break ourselves out to find him. Have a little confidence in him, Voss.”
I shake my head. He doesn’t know Brek. Brek doesn’t have any survival skills. In my head, I see him dead on the forest floor. No matter how I struggle to push the image away, it’s stuck. I can’t see anything else.
32
BREK
I’m shiveringwhen I wake up. The pain in my side is sharp and constant. My ankle has a dull throb. My head is pounding. When I open my eyes, there’s a light in the distance that’s dancing, doubling, echoing. I can’t stop shivering.
The light promises warmth, though, right?
I watch the light as I try to convince myself to move. There’s noise and then something louder. Part of the light breaks off and moves away through the trees. It disappears, and the light ahead of me condenses to two bright spots and a dimmer one.
