Colt turned his attention back to the trees. Whoever had done this might still be close. Or they might be watching, waiting for a chance to strike again. Either way, the search for Wallace had just become even more urgent.
He kept moving, boots sinking into soggy ground as water pooled around fallen limbs and scattered debris. The air was thick with the smell of rust, mud, and something scorched. He heard Brenna before he saw her. Her footsteps were uneven, and when she stepped around a battered tree trunk, he saw her limp.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she said, brushing wet hair off her face.
He wanted to believe her. The gash near her knee and the way she favored her left leg said otherwise, but he didn’t press. Not now.
They moved together, putting more distance between themselves and the ruined tower. The land sloped downward, leading to a narrow creek, shallow and fast-moving from the deluge. Colt scanned the trees, eyes darting to every shift of shadow, every broken twig. No sign of Wallace. No sign of whoever might’ve done this.
Brenna paused near a half-fallen cedar. “Any idea which direction Wallace might have gone? Or been taken?”
“No,” he admitted. “But if Wallace crawled or limped off, he’d head away from the blast. He might be hiding.”
She nodded, falling in step beside him. They pushed through the brush, soaked clothes clinging to them, the only sounds the rush of water and their own breaths.
Something had to give soon. Either they’d find Wallace alive… or they wouldn’t.
Colt spun toward the sound of Harlan’s voice, heart thudding hard against his bruised ribs.
“I found something!” Harlan shouted again.
Colt and Brenna took off through the trees, pushing past soaked brush and downed limbs. The mud sucked at Colt’s boots as he jogged the last few yards and found Harlan crouched near a clump of reeds at the creek’s edge.
“What is it?” Colt asked.
Harlan held up a phone, dripping wet, the screen dark. “Found it right here. Could be the one Wallace used.”
Brenna leaned in, peering at it. “Can you tell if it still works?”
“No clue,” Harlan said, rising. “Could’ve been dropped when the water hit. Or knocked out of his hand.”
Colt frowned, scanning the area. No tracks. Too much mud and runoff. “Doesn’t mean he’s not close. He could be hurt.”
“Or taken,” Brenna added quietly.
They all went still at that. The possibility hung heavy.
Colt looked down at the phone again. “Let’s keep going. If he dropped this, he might’ve tried to reach higher ground.” He turned toward the rise of trees ahead. “He can’t have gone far.”
Colt froze at the low sound drifting through the trees.
A moan.
He glanced at Brenna and Harlan. Both had heard it, too.
“Could be Wallace,” Brenna whispered, already shifting her weight like she was ready to run.
“Or it’s a setup,” Harlan said, lifting his weapon as he moved toward the noise.
Colt followed, gun up, scanning the trees and brush. Garrett and Cal had heard it too and were fanning out, watching the flanks.
Another moan. Closer now.
They moved fast but cautious, boots squishing through mud and water-soaked ground. The moaning grew louder with each step. Pained. Weak.
A sharp call echoed through the trees.
