Page 9 of Guarded from Havoc

No. I can’t be hurt.

I can’t be forced off another team.

I need Blade and Arrow. Need my teammates. Need the purpose they gave back to me.

Amid the whirling, frantic thoughts, a little voice in my head whispers,Calm down. Use what you know.

Yes.

Breathe. In for five, then out. Relax my muscles. Observe. Listen. Feel.

After a minute or so of deep breathing, I push myself up to a seated position, fighting back the fresh surge of nausea that comes with it.

Then I look around again.

I’m in a small clearing surrounded by a thick swathe of trees. Beneath me is a carpet of grass and small branches and stones. And above, the sun still burns brightly, adding a hint of warmth to the chill in the air.

It’s quiet, almost eerily so.

In all the years I went to the Adirondacks with my dad, all the hikes and hunting trips we took, there was never complete silence. There was always a bird singing or a squirrel skittering along the branches overhead, chittering angrily at our intrusion.

But here? There’s nothing.

I rise to my feet, taking a steadying breath against a wave of accompanying dizziness. Then I test out my body, flexing my muscles and stretching my arms and legs. Everything seems to be responding the way it should, and I exhale a heavy breath of relief.

Whatever happened, I’m not terribly injured. I might have a whopper of a headache and I can’t remember how I got here, but I can move. Explore. Figure this out. Defend myself, if necessary.

Defend myself from who? I don’t know. But one thing my former and current jobs have taught me is toalwaysbe on guard. No matter if your surroundings seem harmless, like these do. You just never know what or who could be out there.

Just as I start to turn in a slow circle, inspecting the woods around me, a soft sound breaks the silence.

I freeze.

All my muscles tense as alarm floods through me. My hand automatically goes for the knife I always carry in my pocket, regardless of where I’m going.

But it’s not there.

Fuck.

It’salwaysthere.

But before I can examine the reasons why my trusty Ka-Bar might be missing, the small sound repeats.

An animal? It’s definitely something living.

A beat later, it registers.

Not an animal. Aperson.

Moaning.

I spin around again, more quickly this time. Searching. Listening.

Then I hear it a third time. About forty-five degrees to my left. Near a cluster of small shrubs and wild grasses.

My hand twitches towards the empty spot in my jeans pocket.

As I move in the direction of the sound, I run through a series of possibilities.

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