Page 53 of Fifth
Locus wiped the mud from her face with the side of his thumb, careful enough to make her dizzy. His eyes weren’t soft. They were focused and hot, like coals under water.
“Breathe,” he said.
“I am,” she whispered. Then she actually did. “Mostly.”
His mouth twitched once. He scanned the dark. “They will try to push us toward a kill ground. We will go where they do not expect.”
“Which is?”
“Toward them.”
“That’s insane,” she protested.
“It is simple. And they will not expect it.”
Two torches bobbed close through the trees, coming fast. Athird moved left to cut them off. Locus slid his arm around herwaist and pulled her into the shadow line of a ragged stand of pines. Sap clung to her forearms and stuck her hair to her neck. He angled them between two trunks and pushed her down to her knees. The ground was soft there, thick with years of needles.
The hunters trotted by on the other side, talking low. One laughed and muttered a filthy wager about how long a girl lasted when fucking a dozen hunters. Hannah’s hand closed on a fist-sized stone. It bit into her palm. She pictured his teeth shattering. The image steadied her more than it should’ve.
Locus let the three pass, then followed. The first man didn’t know a hand was on his shoulder until Locus wrenched him backward. The second reached for his pistol—Locus broke his wrist before the weapon cleared leather. The third turned and saw Hannah instead of Locus and hesitated at the sight of bare legs and a halter, his training knocked sideways by a heartbeat of shock. She threw the stone. It cracked into his cheekbone with a sound that turned her stomach. He dropped his torch. Locus was on him a breath later.
“Eyes,” Locus said, calm as if he taught knot-tying. “If one of the hunters comes at you, strike for eyes. Or throat. Or knee.”
She nodded hard. “Okay.” Her voice shook and came back steady. “Okay.”
He pressed a knife into her hand from the first man’s belt. The handle was worn smooth with sweat. “Keep this.”
She closed her fingers around it. It was heavier than she expected. “Don’t take it back unless I’m dead.”
“I will not.”
“Good. Because I’m not dying here.”
“No,” he agreed. “You are not.”
They slipped on.
Torches multiplied behind them. Whistles cut and replied. Metal clanked, not close, not far. Agenerator sputtered somewhere beyond the trees, then settled into a steady rattle. She pictured the headman on a platform with a loudspeaker, calling play by play like this was a Saturday night game. Bile rose, but she kept moving.
The preserve shifted again. Trees thinned and a shallow meadow opened, weeds up to her knees, seed heads brush-soft against her thighs. Out beyond, the broken spine of an old barn rose, roof gone, rafters black against the stars. Fireflies winked once then went dark, as if even bugs knew better than to draw attention.
Locus knelt and flattened his palm to the ground. He was so still she could feel the quiet of his heartbeat. “Vibration,” he said. “Two trucks. Outside the fence. Men will use them along the perimeter. They will try to box us and light us as we near the gate.”
“Then we don’t go near the fence.”
“We will have to. But not yet.” He tipped his head to the barn. “We will cut through there.”
“That’s a choke point.”
“Affirmative. We will be the ones choking.”
It almost made her laugh. “Fine. Lead.”
The barn smelled of dust and old hay. Moonlight fell in pale ladders through holes in the rafters. Arusted trough slouched in one corner. The left wall had been torn down to the studs. Beyond it, the ground looked too smooth. Locus raised twofingers. Warning. He pointed. She followed his line and saw a shin-high wire stretched across the opening.
“Trip line,” she whispered.
“Affirmative. Connected to a noisemaker or a bell.”
