“But not a hundred percent?”
“It’ll do. We’d better get going.” His tone shifts, going clipped and businesslike, and somehow that’s more reassuring than anything else he’s said. “Stay close to me. We need to be very quiet. If I have to fight, move away so you don’t get injured.”
“Okay, got it.”
“If I’m losing…run and hide,” he says.
The bottom drops out of my stomach. If he’s losing. If the seven-foot wall of muscle who snapped a man’s neck like a glow stick is losing, then I’m supposed to do what, exactly? Crouch behind a bush and hope the things that took him down don’t have noses? My breathing goes quick and shallow, and I can feel my eyes getting too wide. He must see it, because he keeps going.
“I doubt it’ll come to that, unless I’m outnumbered. Even then… I’m well-trained and in my prime. There will need to be a lot of them.”
He’s trying to make me feel better. I’m almost sure of it.
“Good to know,” I say.
“Let’s go.”
I nod, and we head out.
I pray that we don’t run into any of them, but I know that we more than likely will. The odds are against us.
13
Magma
The light is draining out of the jungle fast.
Carla catches herself against a root with a sharp little intake of breath as she stumbles forward. She manages to keep her footing.
“You okay?” I whisper.
“Yes.” She’s breathing a little more heavily.
She gives me a small smile, but it’s clear that she’s exhausted. There’s a drag in her step and her shoulders are hunched. She’s favoring her right foot. She’s been walking on bare feet for hours over roots and stones.
She isn’t going to be able to keep going for much longer.
“We’ll stop soon to rest. I need to find somewhere we can hide for the night,” I tell her, keeping my voice as soft as I can make it. “Can you keep going a little longer?”
She nods.
I pick the clearest line I can find, holding branches aside, pointing out roots before she reaches them, slowing my stride to half of what it wants to be. She doesn’t complain. Not once. Shejust keeps putting one foot in front of the other, her mud-caked ponytail swinging with each step.
“You must be thirsty,” I whisper.
She makes a noise of agreement. “I would kill for some water.”
My own throat feels like sandpaper. My stomach has been gnawing at itself since midafternoon. If I’m feeling it, she has to be feeling it ten times worse.
“I’ll figure something out.”
“That would be amazing,” she whispers.
We have to push on. There’s no choice. She trips again. Harder this time, pitching forward with a gasp.
I catch her by the arm before she goes down. I’m pretty sure that at this point, she’s walking blind.
I scoop her up, one arm under her knees, the other behind her back, and bring her in against my chest.
