“Some kind of bird that cackles. Be ready when you hear it.” I wriggle back into the trees, moving further away from where we came from. I pause and catch my breath. I’m sure I’m sucking in as much air as I am rain. I’m not even sure if the sound will carry, and if it does, I don’t want to be standing and making myself a target. I crouch next to a tree that will provide cover and get my eye on Reed through the scope. If he’s conscious, he’ll hopefully give me some kind of sign. If he hears it.
If I do it right. But we don’t have any better ideas.
I use the comms to tell Hargrave that I’m about to disturb the peace.
“Proceed.”
I don’t need to ask him to repeat it.
I give my best kookaburra impersonation. The noise bounces off the trees, loud enough that my blood runs cold as I wait for the bullets to ping me.
At first, nothing happens. I swing to the guys who are meant to be on watch—two of them have lifted their rifles—then back to Reed. Reed’s fingers move slightly, his middle finger extending until he is flipping me off. It collapses just as slowly, and it appears he hasn’t moved.
One hostile is on the move. He walks to the edge of the camp, beyond the pool of light. Then he lets rip with a spray of bullets that fan in my direction. Leaves and chunks of wood fly through the air.
I don’t move, expecting him to make a second attempt.
He does.
There’s some more movement. Probably some shouting and carrying on, not that I can hear them. Then the shooter and another man are walking toward the jungle, though not directly at me.
I let Hargrave know I have two inbound that I’ll dispatch and that he should make a move.
“Acknowledged.” That’s it.
We’ll approach from two different sides as quietly as we can, and take out as many as we can, so we have a chance at freeing Reed and getting him out of there. If we have to carry him, so be it.
I track the men as they hit the tree line. They’re swinging their rifles as though waiting for something to jump out at them. I don’t move. I’m not about to put a target on my back and we don’t want a gun fight. They aren’t quiet.
They don’t fan out or do much searching at all.
When then let out another wave of bullets, it’s all I can do to keep still and not flinch. They are close enough I can see them, which means they will be able to see me. The shrubs aren’t enough cover and the tree is no longer between me and them.
I hope my face paint hasn’t washed off, leaving my skin pale and bright in the dark. For a moment it feels as though I am sitting there naked, waiting for them to spot me.
They shout something, and after what seems like the best part of an hour, they turn around. It was only about three breaths.
I let them come within a few steps of me before moving. My rifle hangs from its strap as I free my knife. They’re muttering with each step, hardly being quiet.
The one at the back says his last words, then he twitches in my arms as I lay him on the ground. The other man turns. He lifts his rifle, but I’m on him, knocking him to the ground and cutting his throat.
There’s no blood on me. The rain has already washed me clean.
Two down.
I give another cackle that echoes through the night.
CHAPTER19
Reed
I don’t knowhow long I’ve been tied here, or how much of my blood has mixed with the mud. It’s easier if I keep my head down—so the light isn’t in my eyes—and let myself drift. I wouldn’t call it sleep, more like drifting in and out of consciousness.
The sound of a kookaburra, or something like it, drags me back to wakefulness and for a moment, I think I’m back home before the tendrils of pain remind me where I am. The call is as eerie as fuck and it’s weirding out the very well-armed militia that strung me up in the hope of luring Ashley back. I hope she didn’t look back, and that she kept on running straight in the arms of the rest of the team.
I manage to move my fingers enough to signal that I’ve heard. I’m assuming it’s my guys. If it’s not, and it’s some weird monster…
At least I know I’m not imagining things based on the way the assholes are behaving. When two of them leave to investigate, I don’t tell them it’s a bad idea. I don’t move at all, mostly because I can’t without inviting another bullet. Given how twitchy they are, I’m likely to be shot if they think I’m about to be rescued.
