The Headhunters Race (Headhunters #1) (12 page)

The farther I descend the darker it gets. Once I think I hear voices but when I stop to listen, I hear nothing. I realize it’s probably my imagination or the echoes of my boots hitting the metal and playing tricks on me. But if nothing else, it’s a reminder that I need to be alert. Anyone could be waiting for me at the bottom. Cannibals, prisoners, even McCoy, who was the one that put it in my head to veer this far off course and follow the stream in the first place. The more I think about it, the more I prepare myself for the fact that it might be a trap.

I’m relieved when I finally see a bit of light. I stop for a second to listen again, my heart thumping wildly and my breaths quick. I don’t hear anything, but I swear I smell the faint scent of smoke, so I keep watch on the ground as I descend the last few steps.

I land in a foot of sand and follow the cave as it curves around. My senses are sharp, my hand rests on my knife. There has definitely been a recent fire. The scent of smoke is stronger, as if the fire was put out only moments ago. I pause when I hear the clink of a rock. I palm my knife from my sheath, ready for an attack. I peek around the corner, stopping dead in my tracks, stunned at the two prisoners sitting near a smoldering fire.

The Greenies. Martha is lying with her head in Jim’s lap. Her leg is wrapped in cloth cut from one of the packs. I rush over to them. At first Jim doesn’t recognize me and I see the fear in his eyes spring to life.

“It’s me, Avene,” I say, kneeling next to Martha. “What happened to her?”

“Avene!” he says, his eyes brightening. He rubs Martha’s forehead.” It was the raid. They cut her leg wide open. They were about to do worse when McCoy came along.”

“Is she going to be all right?”

His eyes fall to Martha as he shrugs and shakes his head, like he doesn’t know.

“She can’t walk?”

“No. McCoy told us to stay put and let her rest. He’ll get the proof we need for the leisure prison.”

I’m relieved to hear that McCoy is okay. “What about Jake? Was Jake with him? A little kid?”

Jim nods. “Yeah, he had a kid with him. Nice kid. He and McCoy made sure we had plenty of wood and water before they left.”

Thank goodness
, I think. He’s just a kid. If anything had happened to him …. “How long has it been since they left?”

“A couple of hours. Not much ahead of you.”

“Has anyone else come through here? Any of the prisoners?” I ask.

Jim carefully moves Martha’s head to a blanket and gets to his feet. “No. McCoy said no one knows about it, unless they stumble on it by accident.”

“I hate to leave you like this but I need to get going.”

Jim adds wood to his fire. “We’re fine. McCoy said if you came by, to head due south and don’t deviate, unless you want to be fresh pickings for the cannibals. He said to meet him at the three ladies at nightfall. McCoy said you’ll know the monolith when you see it.”

Suddenly, I remember my worth. How do I know it’s not a trap? I’m worth legions and he knows it. But what he doesn’t know is that I know. I decide that’s how I use this to my advantage. I’ll use him just like he uses me. I can use McCoy to get safely to Millers Creek and back. Let him think he’s got me, and when we’re almost home, I part ways without his knowledge.

Jim relights the fire, looking up at me, probably wondering what I’m thinking. I can’t tell him. If McCoy is returning with the proof the Greenies need, Jim would be loyal to McCoy, not me. “Thanks for the info.”

“One more thing,” he says, holding up a canteen. “You’ll need to take more water. There isn’t anywhere to fill up for about fifteen miles and two canteens won’t cut it.”

“Don’t worry,” I say, grinning. “I’ve got three full canteens. You keep it.” I remember all the extra food I’ve got. “Here, I’ve also amassed a pile of food.” I hand over several bars and dried meat, and a couple of packets of nuts.

Jim’s shaking his head, smiling, and I’m wondering why when he tells me. “You know, Avene, you are one of a kind. I said that to McCoy too, but actually you’re two of a kind. You’re both special people. Take care of each other out there.”

That’s not what I expected to hear. I try to smile anyway. McCoy is one of a kind for sure. But we are definitely not alike. He’s got his agenda and I’ve got mine and it doesn’t include taking care of McCoy. He can take care of himself.

I start through the cave toward the light, focusing my thoughts on finding the three ladies. When I’m clear of the cave I check my compass and look out over the flat, dry land to where the brass arrow is pointing. Directly in my path are four large pillar-type rocks, each separated by a lengthy distance. They’re as tall as the skyscrapers my mother once showed me in an old photo she kept of her hometown. I’ll use these as my goals to move across the desert. I’m certain I can make the day’s journey with just one stop in between, as long as I stick to a steady pace.

The sun is already relentless. I shed my flannel shirt, stuff it inside my pack along with the compass, and set my sights on the first pillar. I decide I better take a few swigs of water if I’m not planning to stop for a while and, when I’m finished, I take off.

I remember to control my breaths. Breathing right is important so I don’t invite a side ache.

In. In. Out. Out.

Breathing, jogging, breathing, jogging.

I center on my first goal as dust swirls up around my feet and the sun continues to hail its blistering rays down on me. By the time I reach the first pillar, the top of my head burns like the inside of an oven.

My legs propel me to the second goal in no time and then the third. After I pass the third tower-like structure, two more materialize through a dusty haze in the distance. This is good. Mini goals keep me on track and give me something to work toward.

Once I reach the fifth pillar, I allow myself to stop. I find a spot on the shady side of the rock where the sun can’t harass me. I pull out my water and some nuts and dried meat. For some reason, the nuts taste really good, so I spend the next several minutes gorging myself on them in between downing one canteen of water. Afterwards, I find my lids getting a bit droopy. A slight breeze caresses my skin, but with too much ground still to cover there’s no time for a nap. I snap myself awake and check the compass to make sure I’m still on track.

Using the sun as my clock, I figure it’s high noon and time to get moving. It’s directly overhead and I think I’ve gone half the distance I need to before I meet up with McCoy and Jake. I’m ready to step off for another long jog when I realize something has been bothering me, but I’ve been too consumed by eating and drinking and resting to stop and think about it until now. My scalp is burning and itchy.

I touch the top, gently. It feels as raw as my neck where the death collar continually rubs at my skin. I pull out my flannel shirt and wrap it around my head so that it forms a legionnaire-style hat, covering my scalp and neck and ears.

With everything put away, I move out and look ahead to see how many pillars I can spot. I’m pleasantly surprised there are only three more until the desert is swallowed up by a mountain range, which means Millers Creek isn’t too far off.

I’m just settling into my pace when a glimmer flickers from the ground and catches my attention. The shiny object is ahead on my left, about ten yards from a dead tree. At first I think it’s a pile of clothing and assorted junk. Until I see the bodies, lying face down, and a gasp catches in my throat. As far as I know, McCoy and Jake are the only ones that know about this trail. I slow a bit, knowing I should check. Knowing if it’s them they might need my help. But I’m not to deviate from my plan. I told myself I can only stop once, yet my conscience tells me the right thing to do is to check. More than that, I need to know.

I slip the hunter’s knife from its sheath, ready for anything. A trap, a hoax, I don’t know, but the closer I get, the faster my heart beats. The wind picks up and my chest tightens in sickening realization when I see that one is tall and the other is short. The stench of death hits me in a gust of dirt and sand and I scramble to cover my mouth and nose with the corner of my legionnaire’s hat.

Don’t let it be McCoy and Jake.
I sweep the area once to be sure no one is watching me, but it’s clear. I circle round them because if I’m still running, I’m not exactly deviating. When I’m finally looking down on the bodies, relief is what overwhelms me, so much so that I find myself tearing up. It isn’t Jake and McCoy. It’s an older man and a woman and it looks as though someone has already rummaged through their belongings. The man’s pockets are turned out and their shoes are gone. Except for the barrette shimmering in the woman’s hair, they have no valuables.

I notice they don’t have collars either. I’m not sure if they came from Millers Creek or Water Junction or somewhere else. It doesn’t matter now so I say a little prayer and move on.

I’m back on point and nearing the sixth pillar when the wind starts howling and whipping, stirring up dust and bearing dust devils all across the landscape, like someone got inside Mother Nature’s craw and she’s throwing a tantrum over it. I slow a bit to adjust my hat to cover my face, leaving only my eyes exposed, and tuck the end through a buttonhole. I push ahead.

But when I get to the seventh pillar, I’m overcome with flying sand and dust and nearly blinded. I can’t breathe. The wind shrieks all around me. My body is pelted by small rocks and grains of sand. My exposed arms sting with each gritty impact and my eyes burn. I can barely open them as I fight to take a step under the darkening sky.

Lightning cracks overhead. I duck instinctively. I need to reach the pillar but I can no longer see it. I count on my sense of direction to get me there. Two steps forward, one step back is all the storm allows. Visibility in every direction is zero, but sometimes I get a flicker of the rock ahead, when the wind takes a stunted pause. A gust of wind swells under my leg as I take another step and I lose my footing. I’m knocked sideways to the ground.

I’m thinking my only option might be to hug the desert floor and wait it out when powerful arms reach around and yank me up. For a moment I’m stunned senseless, because I’ve been caught completely off guard. I’m barely on my feet while I’m being dragged away, and with a surge in the beat of my heart, I realize I’m in the hands of a cannibal.

The cannibal steers me behind the pillar where the wind is not as strong. I see a figure huddled next to the rock and that’s where the cannibal shoves me to the ground.

“Jake!” yells McCoy and I start breathing fast, overwhelmed and relieved all at the same time that I won’t be eaten.

Jake peeks out from the blanket, though I can barely see him as we scoot in underneath. He reaches for my hand in the darkness. “I’m glad you’re back.”

I smile even though he can’t see me and squeeze his hand. I shake off my pack and set it in my lap. “You guys didn’t get very far,” I say, looking toward McCoy, but his head is right next to mine and our foreheads gently collide.

“We stopped to rest when the dust storm swept in on us,” says McCoy. “I thought I’d go out and watch for you, just in case you made it. I’m lucky there was a slight lull and I caught a glimpse of you.”

The space beneath the blanket brightens a bit so I smile and nod because I don’t know what to say. McCoy smiles back and the way his lip curves so high and his eyes shine, I think maybe they do care for me. Jake leans his head on my shoulder.

“Did you run into any trouble with the prisoners?” asks McCoy.

My smile disappears. Instead my jaw flexes because I’m trying to hold my tongue as the reality of Clint smacks me upside the head. Of course they care for me! What am I thinking? I’m the backup plan for their freedom. Or at the very least, I’m freedom for one and Gavin is freedom for the other. This is what happens when I don’t keep Verla front and center, and right now she’s telling me to lie so I don’t let on that I know I’m a prize. “No, no trouble.”

McCoy doesn’t say anything else and I think Jake has fallen asleep. I lean my head against the rock and close my eyes, dozing in and out of a restless slumber, waiting for the storm to end, replaying the events of the last few days in my head and worrying about whether I’ll make it to the end.

***

“You guys ready?” says McCoy. He’s standing over us, the blanket no longer covering our heads. “We should try to make it to the three ladies tonight while we still have a little light.”

I rise to my feet, blinking myself awake. I feel gritty, like the sand has embedded itself in my skin. I scratch at my head and even though my head was protected, my hair and scalp have been thoroughly washed in tiny particles of sand that found their way beneath my head covering. This on top of the mud and ash Zita scrubbed into me.

Jake grabs my wrist, which startles me. “What happened to your arm?”

The piece of flannel I used to cover the wound must have been blown off in the storm. “It’s just scratches,” I say, covering it with my hand. “It looks worse than it feels.” It’s a lie. It’s actually sore, especially with all the grit that has been lodged within it.