Page 11 of Cyclone

A part of me wanted to be furious—to let her go, to move on. She’d made her choice. She was used to running.

But I wasn’t the kind of man to walk away from someone who needed me.

“You won’t do this alone,” I said under my breath, a vow to the empty air.

I looked at Faron. “I have to find her before she gets herself killed. I’ll see you at home in a few days.”

“You be careful. Don’t take unnecessary risks with your life.”

“I won’t,” I said.

I strapped on my gear, tightened my boots, and set off, determination in every step.

I would find her. I would help her.

Even if she didn’t know she needed me yet. Then I would go home.

5

Cyclone

The morning fog clung low to the ground, masking the faint disturbances Jude had left behind. I moved quickly, every muscle tense, my eyes sweeping the ground for any sign. A broken branch here, a scuffed patch of earth there—subtle hints that she had passed through.

I cursed under my breath as the trail led me to a swollen river. The current was vicious from last night’s rain, and it had swallowed any clear tracks. Still, I paced the bank until I found a place where the mud bore the ghost of a footprint.

“You’re stubborn,” I muttered, a flicker of something like pride flashing through my anger.

Hours later, after pushing through thorny undergrowth and navigating treacherous ravines, I stumbled upon a man leading a tired packhorse along the road—a grizzled merchant with a wary eye.

“Have you seen anyone?” I asked without preamble.

The merchant squinted at him, assessing. “Maybe. You got money?”

I gave him money

“I see girl, moving fast. Looked like she was heading for the old rail tunnels.”

My stomach twisted. I’ve heard about those tunnels they were dangerous—dark, crumbling, crawling with the desperate and the damned. Most people stayed away from them.

I nodded once, a curt thank you, I gave him some granola bars and tightened my grip on my pack. If I could find her I would keep her safe, hopefully she wasn’t far ahead.

6

Jude

Ipulled my coat tighter around myself as I picked my way through the shattered remains of the old rail yard. Rusted tracks twisted like broken bones underfoot, and the skeletal remains of cargo cars loomed in the mist.

The entrance to the tunnels yawned ahead—a mouth of blackness that seemed to swallow the morning light. I hesitated, a shiver running down my spine. I knew it was dangerous, going through the tunnels, but it took miles off my trip.

“You’ve made it this far,” I muttered to myself. “No turning back now.”

Inside, the air was damp and cold. My footsteps echoed against the cracked stone walls. Shadows clung to every surface, shifting with the flicker of my flashlight.

I kept moving, my heart hammering in my chest. Every sound—a drip of water, the distant scrape of stone—made my fingers tighten around the knife hidden in my belt. I kept my guns in my pack where I could easily reach them.

I heard a noise behind me—soft but—I whirled around, my blade drawn. Nothing.

Still, I didn’t relax. I wasn’t alone in the tunnels. I could feel it.

---