He answers with another rasp, not words.
I glance back and immediately regret it because the sight of him—arms pumping too hard, face twisted with furious need—triggers a spike of panic so sharp my vision tunnels.
I don’t have a weapon. I don’t have anything but my compad and a drive full of evidence no one will ever see if I get dragged down in the dust.
Think.
My eyes snag on a narrow cut in the rocks ahead—a dry wash that dips steeply and then curves. If I can get into it, I can break line of sight. Maybe lose them.
I veer toward it.
The second inmate appears on the ridge to my left, matching my trajectory, trying to funnel me. His mouth is open in a grin that is not joy, not even malice, but something emptier—pure appetite.
“Stop—stop—” I gasp, more plea than command.
The third inmate limps behind, but he’s closer than he should be, that metal shard flashing in his hand.
I hit the lip of the dry wash and drop down hard, boots skidding on loose gravel. Pain lances up my knees. I scramble, palms scraping rock, and sprint along the narrow channel.
For half a second, I think it’s working.
Then the first inmate drops in behind me with a heavy thud and surges forward.
Too close.
So close I can hear the wet click of his teeth as he pants.
I whirl, backpedaling, and shove my compad out like it’s a shield.
“Back off!” I snarl.
He swipes at it, fingers clawing, and the compad flies from my grip, skittering across the rocks.
“No—!”
I lunge for it.
A hand clamps onto the back of my jacket.
The inmate yanks.
I slam back into him, his breath hot and chemical against my neck, and something inside me snaps from panic into fury so sudden it’s almost clarifying.
I drive my elbow backward.
It connects with ribs. He grunts but doesn’t let go.
The second inmate drops into the wash from above, landing ahead of me, cutting off escape. His eyes are wild. His lips peel back from his teeth.
The third one limps into view, shard raised.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” I spit, voice shaking.
I twist, trying to break the first inmate’s grip, and for a moment it feels like I might?—
A blur of black and scarlet drops into the wash from the ridge above, silent as a falling shadow.
The air changes when he lands, the way it does when something large enters your space and your body registers it before your brain catches up. The ground trembles. Dust lifts.
