Undone

I had been rejected, apparently, as not worth the trouble. After the relief—and, strangely, a touch of a

I was not a Dji

I squirmed around and pressed a hand to my stab wound. Still bleeding. I gritted my teeth, ripped cloth from my shirt, folded it, and jammed it into the open lips of the cut.

I might have cried out. I heard the black bear, not yet so distant, make that long, low moan of fear again. Once the sickening pain and shock passed away, I climbed to my hands and knees and then to my feet.

Backtrack, I told myself. C.T. had deliberately led me astray.

My eyes had adjusted well to the darkness, and I could follow the drag marks, and then the stumbling signs of my progress. Blood smeared on a rock. Dragging footsteps.

It seemed to take forever to return to the road, where my poor, dead Victory lay with its flattened tire. It had leaked gasoline into the dirt from the shattered tank. I limped past it, past the last resting place of my four opponents, and just over the next rise, I found the black jeep that C.T. had so convincingly spoken about.

Keys were in the ignition.

I ransacked the contents of the back of the small truck and found a red cross-marked case filled with useful items. I rebandaged my stab wound, shaking antibiotic powder on it as I did, although I knew full well the bacteria would be inside my system by now. I swallowed painkillers and guzzled a bottle of water I found rolling in the back, then picked up one of the extra weapons. It was small, heavy, and clearly meant to destroy—some sort of machine pistol, with a fully loaded clip. The mechanism seemed simple, as most deadly things were.

I tossed it on the front seat next to me, started the jeep, and followed the trail deeper into the forest.

Chapter 14

THE RANCH—IF that was where I was—seemed endless, and empty. There was little to mark this place as having human residents—no fences, no grazing animals other than deer that bounded away from the road at the sound of the approaching engine. I saw no lights, no structures, no other vehicles.

For all I knew, The Ranch went on for many miles in all directions. Any route I chose, if I left the road, would be utterly random.

But the road had to lead somewhere.

Luis is probably dead, my remorseless Dji

I glanced at the machine pistol on the seat beside me, and for the first time, answered her directly. “I will not walk away. I will kill them all,” I said. “And I will take the children home.”

Fine words, fine intentions, but when I topped the last rise and saw the valley, I realized that I could not possibly have enough ammunition to solve the problem that lay before me.

It was a well-lit compound, and by my estimation it covered an area the size of a small town. Tall iron towers ringed the perimeter, and there were two walls, i

It looked like nothing so much as a prison.

Within the walls were square, neatly ordered buildings. Some appeared the size of small houses, and others were as large as schools or city halls. Part of the compound—the town—was a parking lot full of vehicles. Trucks, cars, all-terrain vehicles, large vans.

The lights turned night to day not only within the compound, but on every approach.

A line that Ma

It hadn’t occurred to me that they would be able to detect me at the top of the hill—I’d turned the headlights off—but clearly, I had underestimated my opposition. I heard a wailing alarm rise, and saw people moving down in the compound.

Perhaps it’s not for me, I thought, and then the radio fixed to the dashboard of the jeep crackled, and a voice said, “We have an intruder on the ridge in Grid 157, repeat, Grid 157. All units, intercept.”

I put the jeep in reverse and backed down the hill, turned it around, and drove as fast as I could the way I had come. The bumps and jounces of the road woke new, special pain from my injuries, but I forced that to the background. Escape was my only viable option. I could worry about my internal bleeding later, if I survived.

I saw a flash of lights behind me. Gaining fast.

Another vehicle crashed out of the trees at right angles to me ahead. I swerved and brushed by it, leaving kisses of paint, and dug the wheels deep in the dirt to pull ahead.

Cassiel?

Luis’s voice in my ear. He sounded distant and slow.

“No time,” I growled. I checked the rearview mirror. I was leading a minor parade of armed vehicles, and bullets spanged off of the metal of the jeep and splintered trees ahead of me.

Wait . . . don’t . . . it’s not what you think—

They were trying to kill me, I thought, and so far, my theory seemed quite sound. I shut him out and kept driving, rocked around a sharp turn on two precarious wheels, and less than fifty feet ahead, I saw a row of children standing in my path. It stretched from one side of the road to the other, into the trees.

For just a fatal instant, my Dji

I took my foot off the gas and slammed on the brake, bringing the jeep to a shaking, shuddering halt a foot away from the children. They hadn’t moved.

I had my hand on the machine pistol, but again, there seemed little use to raising it. I wasn’t going to fire, not at a line of children, and they knew it.

C. T. Styles stepped out of the trees and walked up to the driver’s side of the jeep.

“You’re really strong,” he observed. “Most people never make it this far. Come on. I’ll take you home.”

He’d already led me to die in the woods and be eaten by a bear. I wasn’t quite so stupid as to assume he meant me well this time.

Most people never make it this far.

“How do you know how many people make it this far?” I asked him. “You only came here a few days ago.”

His dark, i

“Your father.”

C.T. gave me a slow, superior smile. “My dad doesn’t know everything. I’ve been here lots of times. Mom brings me. For training.”

Training.

I was certain to my bones that Officer Styles knew nothing about this. Perhaps this time, his wife had been unwilling, or unable, to bring the boy home from his training.

Isabel. Had Angela also been sending Isabel here? No, impossible. Ma

C.T. was waiting for my response. I gave him none. He finally dropped his chubby hand and stepped back.

An armed man took his place, holding his weapon steady on me. “Ma’am,” he said. “Get out of the truck and leave the gun, or I’ll shoot you in the head. Try any tricks, and I’ll shoot you in the head. Kill me, and my team will shoot you in the head. Do you understand?”

I did. I let go of the weapon and got out of the jeep. My legs barely supported me, which was helpful, as the soldier kicked the bends of my knees and sent me crashing to the dirt. He yanked my hands behind me and fastened my wrists with thin plastic strips, then pressed the muzzle of the gun against the back of my head again.

“If you mess with your restraints, bullet in the head.”

“I am following your theme,” I assured him.