Page 10 of Forest Reed
“Sensor.” I slid past her on my side, careful, keeping my weight distributed like I was moving across broken ice. The device was new, cheap, effective—a pressure pad with a battery taped to it, wired to… I squinted. A little steel can further in, nestled in leaves.
“Nonlethal?” she asked.
“Maybe.” I eased my knife in, drew the wire up and out without tension. My chest didn’t unclench until the thing lay in my palm, cold and disconnected. “Or not.”
We were three yards past it when a beam of light jittered at the culvert mouth. A silhouette crouched in the opening, head cocked. He spoke into a radio.
“—Switchback two. They’re in the pipe.”
A second voice answered, clearer now that the blast had dug out my ears. Calm. Confident. The kind of voice that didn’t worry about pushback.
“Copy. Herd them. They come out at the ravine, bring the net.”
Zoe’s eyes met mine in the dark, understanding passing between us like a current.
“Net?” she mouthed.
I nodded once. “They want us alive.”
She smiled without humor. “Good. I have questions.”
“We’re going to make them regret the Q&A.” I shifted the pack, counted backward from three in my head, and felt her move with me before I reached one.
“On my mark,” I whispered. “We run.”
7
Zoe
The culvert spat us into a ravine like a pair of coins shoved through a slot. I landed on my palms in damp moss, Forest right behind me. The sky was a jagged slice of blue above, cliffs rising steep on either side.
I’d barely caught my breath when a weighted net dropped out of the trees.
“Seriously?” I shouted as rope and lead tangled us up like fish in a trawler.
Forest swore low, steady, working the knots, but every time he pulled, the net cinched tighter. Above us, masked men leaned over the edge, hauling ropes.
“This is not how I wanted my morning,” I muttered. “Also, if I get dirt in my bra, you’re buying me dinner for a week.”
Forest gave me a look through the rope. “A week?”
“Minimum.”
“Done.” His knife flicked out, blade sawing clean through the hemp. The men above shouted as their leverage vanished. The net sagged, we dropped, and Forest ripped a hole wide enough for me to crawl through.
“Go,” he said.
“I don’t take orders—”
“Zoe.” His voice was all command, but his eyes were all trust.
Fine. I slid out, grabbed a rock the size of a fist, and winged it up at the closest mask. It cracked against his shin. He yelped, lost balance, and tumbled into the ravine like a sack of potatoes.
Forest caught the next one halfway down and introduced him to a tree trunk. I climbed onto a boulder, hair wild, lungs burning, and yelled, “Anyone else want to meet my bra full of dirt? Because I amdonebeing polite!”
The ravine went quiet except for the sound of someone retreating fast. Forest dusted off his hands, breathing hard, eyes sparking.
“You’re terrifying,” he said, and there was pride in it.
