Nothingabout him was meant for hiking.
He watched as Dustin finished laying out his gear and stepped back to survey it. Next, Dustin turned and walked away from the truck, shielding his eyes against the sun, scanning the desert. Was he looking for his landing point?
Whatever he was doing, this was Greg’s chance.
He moved.
He tried to stay low, which was difficult because he'd never had to stay low before. Invisibility had always handled the stealth portion of reaper work. Now he was scuttling across open desert like some kind of crab in formal wear, praying Dustin didn't turn around.
He reached the truck and knelt beside the tarp. His hands were shaking as he pulled out the small blade from his pocket.
He carried it to cut souls free from bodies that clung too hard.
Not for this.
But he was here now and he had a job to do. The chute’s lines lay before him, neatly coiled. Strong and clean and well-maintained. Dustin took care of his gear. Greg had watched enough of his videos to know that.You can be stupid about a lot of things, but never be stupid about your rig.
Tyler had said that. In one of the old videos.
Greg's hands shook harder.
He couldn’t think about this. If he thought too much, he’d never do it.
Morrith said fix it. Morrith said make sure the next one sticks.
Greg positioned the blade against the lines.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
He made the cuts. Small cuts, just deep enough to weaken, not enough to show.
When he finished, he felt sick.
But he didn’t have time to wallow in that feeling.
Dustin was walking back toward the truck.
Greg's entire being clenched. He couldn't retreat the way he came—Dustin would see him. The truck was right there but he couldn't hide under it, Dustin would notice. The rock formation was fifty yards away across open ground.
He spotted a cluster of scrub brush about fifteen feet to his left. Not great cover, but better than nothing.
He ran.
Or, to be more specific, he scrambled, hunched over, shoes sliding on loose dirt. He threw himself behind the brush and pressed flat against the ground, heart pounding.
Dustin’s footsteps were getting closer.
Through the gaps in the brush, Greg watched Dustin return to his gear. He knelt down and ran his hands over everything one more time. A final check.
Please don't notice. Please don't notice. Please don't?—
Dustin's hands paused on the lines.
Greg stopped breathing.
For a long, terrible moment, Dustin just held them. Frowning slightly as he ran his fingers along the cords.
Then he shrugged, set them down and stood up.
