Page 27 of Legacy's Destiny

“Fuck!” Deacon barked, his legs pumping harder as they sprinted for cover. Bullets whizzed past them, shredding foliage ahead and beside them. The sharp cracks of gunfire filled the air.

“Ace!” Deacon’s shout was met with an immediate response. The sharp sound of Ace’s M4 erupted in a deadly staccato. His semi-automatic fire strafed the camp. The action of 5.56mm rounds tearing through tents and supplies bought Deacon and Ranger the time they needed. They plunged into the jungle, theirboots sinking into the vegetation as the dense jungle enveloped them.

“Ace!” Deacon commanded his man to get the hell out of there by just yelling his name again.

“I’m moving!” Ace’s voice came through the comms as he moved.

“No pursuit,” Bandit said from his overwatch position. “I’ll watch for a couple more minutes just to be sure.”

Deacon and Ranger didn’t slow down. Well, not until they were out of range. When he finally did, Bandit’s muttered curse made him look back toward the camp. “What?”

“Cap … dogs. They’ve got dogs.” Bandit’s words came in a whisper.

Deacon’s jaw tightened.Fuck. Dogs were a complication they didn’t need. His mind raced as he calculated the odds of throwing the dogs off their trail. However, the most wonderful sound of rain drumming against the canopy shifted his attention. A deluge of rain cascaded toward them.

“Rain’s on our side,” he muttered. The torrential downpour grew heavier by the second, an enormous wall of water. “They’ll lose the scent.”

Ranger nodded. They pulled on their ponchos and pressed through the jungle. The rendezvous point was at least a mile away. If it held, their luck had just thrown them the lifeline they needed to escape the chaos behind them.

“Cap, they’re coming. Dogs and men are following you into the jungle. Get moving,” Bandit warned him.

“We’re taking the long way to the rally point. I don’t want to lead them to Echo.” Deacon pointed away from the course they’d been taking, and he and Ranger moved out.

“I’m almost back to the rendezvous point,” Rip said. “Get those guys off your ass. We’ve got her.”

Deacon didn’t bother answering. He and Ranger double-tapped their comm devices so they could hear but not be heard. He knew his team and knew they would protect Echo with their lives. The monsoon rains came with a fury. Thick sheets of rain hammered down on the jungle canopy. The deluge transformed the ground into a slick mess of mud and decaying leaves. Thunder rumbled overhead. The percussion reverberated through the dense jungle. However, Deacon could still hear the barking of dogs in the distance.

Deacon and Ranger moved with urgency, but they placed their steps with extreme precision. Their breath came in harsh gasps as they raced through the underbrush.

“Keep moving!” Deacon barked over the downpour, his voice carrying over the storm.

Ranger, his poncho plastered to his back and mud streaking his face, nodded. Deacon scanned the terrain ahead, searching for any way to slow down their pursuers. The jungle was alive with sound—raindrops drumming on leaves, the croaks of frogs, and the distant crashes of branches and barks from the dogs as their pursuers bulldozed through the undergrowth behind them.

They kept moving and pushed through a tangle of vines. Deacon’s boots slipped on the sodden ground, which crumbled under him, sending him stumbling into a shallow ravine. It was filled with fast-moving water. Ranger was right behind him. They scrambled up the bank, grabbing at vegetation to haul themselves upright.

“We can use the stream,” Ranger said, his voice low and steady despite the chaos around them. “No way the dogs can follow scent in the water.”

Deacon nodded, and without a moment's pause, they plunged into the rushing water. The knee-deep stream swept swiftly past, pulling at their legs as they moved downstream. Each step proved risky because the rocks underfoot wereslippery and uneven. Heavy rain blurred their vision and transformed the surroundings into a misty blend of gray and green.

Behind them, the barking grew louder. The pursuers were gaining ground.

“Split up?” Ranger suggested, his jaw tight.

“No,” Deacon said firmly. “Better together. We just need them to lose our scent.”

Ahead, the stream forked. Ranger pointed to the right, where the water disappeared under a low, overhanging mass of vegetation. Deacon nodded. It was the best route. They ducked under the canopy, moving as silently as possible.

Time stretched, and each moment dragged as they pushed forward. Their pursuers didn’t let up, though. Shouts punctuated the dogs’ barks. No doubt it was the men giving orders to spread out. Deacon glanced over his shoulder, his sharp eyes narrowing. They needed to disappear—and soon.

“Up there,” Ranger hissed, nodding toward a towering tree with a thick, gnarled trunk and branches that formed a natural ladder.

They scrambled up, their fingers slipping on the rain-slick bark. At a safe height, they pressed their bodies against the trunk, barely daring to breathe. Below, the hunters passed, their flashlights sweeping through the underbrush. The dogs whined, confused by the rushing water and the lack of any trail to follow.

Minutes passed, feeling like hours. The men below argued, their voices muffled by the storm, before splitting into smaller groups to search farther downstream.

Deacon and Ranger glanced at each other. The moment the last pursuer’s flashlight beam vanished, they climbed down and set off again, this time moving parallel in the stream to mask their trail further.

The jungle thickened, the undergrowth clawing at their legs. The rain showed no signs of letting up, turning trails into streams and streams into rivers. They crossed one such torrent, the water up to their waists and tugging at them with a ferocity that nearly swept them off their feet.

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