Page 121 of Breaker

Viper makes a sound in his throat. “Let’s keep moving. We’re bound to find something. That truck can’t be far.”

I fall instep behind him, splashing through the creek. My boots squelch in the soft mud as I follow him to the other side, Striker right behind me.

We took turns sleeping throughout the night, huddled together for warmth. As the sun rose, we set off to the west, in the direction we saw the plane. By some miracle, we came across old tire tracks and have been following them for hours. Viper calculated that based on the time it took for us to reach the clearing and the time we saw and heard the plane, we couldn’t be far from its takeoff point. He estimated that the rough terrain would have limited the old truck to a speed of no more than twenty-five miles per hour, and it seems he was right. We found tire tracks.

We keep along the tracks and continue west, away from the clearing we slept in, deeper into the woods.

And we walk, leaving the creek behind.

And walk.

Hunter told me that night how they survived the wilderness. How they found a little cutout in a large rock formation. And I hope we find it because I’m not sure how much farther we can go without water.

“Can we stop for a minute?” I ask, leaning over to rest my hands on my knees.

“No,” Viper says, walking ahead. The trees have thinned, and the tire ruts are deeper, more like a regularly traveled dirt road. “We keep going.”

“I’m tired too, Vipe,” Striker says, leaning a palm against a tree. “Let’s rest.”

“If we stop, we die,” Viper says, still walking ahead. “And that’s not happening.”

“Viper,” Striker calls.

Viper turns, arms spread out, face contorted with dread. “I said no,” he snaps, glaring at Striker, then me. “We keep going until we reach the truck.”

“We don’t even know if it’s out here,” I point out.

“And where would it be?” Viper asks. “They took off in a plane and had to leave the truck. If we find the truck, we can drive it—”

“Where?” Striker asks. “And what happens if we run out of gas?”

“Or if they didn’t leave the keys,” I say, which earns me a glare from Viper.

“We’ll hot-wire it,” he says, marching toward me. “Now get your ass moving, Break. Or I’ll fucking—”

“What is that?” Striker asks, pointing behind me.

My arms tingle and I turn, moving away from Viper, who’s still stalking toward me, but he hesitates as his eyes follow Striker’s pointed finger.

That’s when I see it.

My stomach lurches. A shivery sensation snakes up my spine, wrapping around my chest, and clawing at my neck. It spreads out, moving over my shoulders, then down my arms, causing a tingling sensation in my hands.

“Viper,” I whisper, barely able to form the word.

“Fuck,” he says, grabbing my arm and dragging me back against him. “Don’t fucking look.” I feel Striker’s body crash into mine. “Neither one of you look.”

He turns me to face him. My vision blurs and my face growing hot. My heart thunders, beating so hard that it’s pounding through me and stirring up my gut. I think I may be sick.

“Vipe.” I hardly recognize Striker’s voice. It’s so choked with fear. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

My cheek is suddenly smashed to Viper’s warm chest, and my eyes land on Striker’s face, contorted in a way I’ve never seen before. Brows knit, eyes wide, chin almost trembling.

Fuck.

We’re going to die out here.

It’s my punishment. God’s way of paying me back for so desperately wanting a name.

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