Day One

“Okay, let’s go,” Elle whispered.

She crept forward, keeping a close watch on everything around her. They got close to the dirt road. Elle paused. There were no trucks coming, no men. She tensed and darted across the road, vanishing into the other side of the pathway. Bravo followed her, staying close. She gri

“We make a good team,” she said.

The growl of an engine echoed through the forest. Elle dropped to her hands and knees and pulled on Bravo’s collar. “Down,” she commanded. “Stay down!”

A diesel pickup truck blundered by on the road. It was going slow. The pickup bed was packed with a dozen or so prisoners. There were men and women — even a couple of children. Elle swallowed her disgust, peering at the men inside the cab. The windows were rolled down. A Slaver with long dreadlocks was driving, hanging one arm out the window. Two armed men sat beside him, and four or five guards trailed behind the pickup on foot, toting rifles and what looked like AK-47s.

Elle frowned.

This was not an encouraging sight.

She waited until the truck and the guards had passed them to get up and walk. The thought occurred to Elle that the Slavers were going to monumental pains to set up their encampment in the heart of the mountains, and they were bringing in dozens upon dozens of new prisoners every day.

What were they using them for? What purpose could the Slavers possibly have for prisoners? Why did they need so many of them?

There’s a rumor going around, Sie

Elle pushed back the cloud of worry gathering at the edges of her mind and focused on the task at hand. She knew from personal experience that staying alive in hostile territory required concentration.

One wrong move and you could be dead.

Elle and Bravo followed the basic direction of the dirt road, staying hidden in the cover of the underbrush and darting from tree to tree. The hill became steeper, and Elle had to use rocks and bushes to pull herself up. Bravo’s progress was slow but sure. They both fought gravity and exhaustion as they struggled up the hill, pausing only to catch their breaths.

They rounded the right side of the rock cliff, coming close to the clearing at the top. Elle stopped. She stayed low. The road curved around the corner here, opening to a wide space that was hidden behind the large granite face. There were four large, makeshift corrals here. Each corral was built of wood and topped with sharp barbed wire. People were packed into each corral, some of them standing, some of them sitting on the ground. Some of them looked like they had passed out and were lying in the dirt, strewn at odd angles.

Slavers were walking between the corrals, armed to the teeth, dressed in black clothes, scarves tied around their faces. They looked like pirates — like mercenaries. There were guards everywhere — except on the rock. No one was guarding the rock. It was a sheer drop-off on the other side, at least four hundred feet to the bottom. A long fall to a quick death.

The guards were armed with more than just AKs. They had swords strapped across their backs, resembling medieval warriors.

“We are so dead,” Elle muttered.

She searched the corrals for the familiar faces of Jay, Georgia and Flash, but she couldn’t spot them. There was no way to see everyone. They could be anywhere.

They could be dead.

Elle shook herself.

If the kids weren’t here, at least she would have closure. At least she’d know that she had tried to do the right thing. She could live with that.

She could live with try.

At the farthest edge of the clearing, a corral was filled with younger prisoners. Elle saw a flash of dark skin and hair, faded cargo pants and a red shirt. Jay? It certainly looked like him, but from this distance, she couldn’t be sure. Near him, there was a girl with a matted tangle of blond curls. Georgia? God, the resemblance was striking. She was wearing a denim jacket, exactly what Georgia had been wearing the morning they had been taken by the Slavers.

But where was Flash?

She didn’t see him, and her heart sank. Maybe he didn’t survive the journey here. Maybe the Slavers killed him. Maybe, maybe, maybe… Elle’s heart hammered against her ribcage. She knew what she needed to do; it was simply a matter of how to get it done. Elle turned her gaze to the guards — there were too many. She couldn’t possibly sneak past them without being spotted.

“There’s only one way we’re getting out of this alive,” Elle whispered to Bravo, keeping one hand on his collar.

Bravo looked at her. You don’t say?

Yes.

She did.

Chapter Eight

The night was freezing. Elle had left her backpack with Bravo at the edge of the forest. No moon. No stars. Only a canopy of thick, dark clouds. Elle shed her coat, wearing a tee with a thermal. Her hands were wrapped with strips of tape. She touched the cold granite of the rock cliff, barely able to see the outline of the rock against the night sky.

She could do this. It would be a piece of cake.

All of those gymnastics competitions and rock-climbing lessons would come in handy.

Thanks for forcing me to be social, Mom, Elle thought sadly.

She picked up a coil of black rope that she had salvaged long ago and kept in her pack. She slung it over her head and across her chest. She had shoved a pair of wire-cutters into the pocket of her cargo pants, a small tool she had picked up long ago in the city. Her katana was strapped across her back, and the Smith and Wesson was secured in her waistband. She had ten shots in the magazine — only ten. Hardly enough to stave off a Slaver army, but it would have to suffice.

Elle found hand and footholds in the side of the rock and began climbing. It was slow, careful work. She didn’t have much light to work with, so she had to take her time. One misstep could send her down the cliff. She pulled herself up, balancing on her toes. She climbed up the far side of the rock, away from the direct view of the Slavers in the lower encampment.

You’re practically there, Elle told herself. You can do this!

She had climbed many buildings in Hollywood after the EMP — when Day Zero had turned the city into an urban jungle. She scaled walls, drain pipes and boardwalks. She was fast and quick, light on her feet. It had kept her alive.

Her fingers were freezing tonight. Elle struggled to maintain a grip on the slick, gravelly granite rock. She glanced down. The forest floor spun beneath her, a hundred feet below. She inhaled quickly and closed her eyes.

“Don’t look down,” she muttered.

Looking down could distract her.

She kept climbing, resting when the muscles in her arms burned. She found a large crevice in the rock and wedged herself into the crack, placing the bulk of her body weight on her legs, letting her arms hang loose for a moment.

Pace yourself, she thought. That’s another thing Mom had always said. Pace yourself and you won’t get so tired at the end of the game.

Sure, Dad had been the one who paid for all of Elle’s gymnastics and climbing classes… but it was Mom who came to every competition and encouraged her.

Okay, keep going, Elle reminded herself. This is not a game. This is real.

Halfway up the rock. There was no turning back now. She had to go through with this. Her heart raced, fear sending pulses of electricity through her body. One wrong move could end everything.

A gust of fresh, cold wind swept over the rock face, blowing strands of hair into Elle’s eyes. She shook them off, her fingers cramping in the cold weather. She pulled herself up to the next handhold, jammed her foot into a supporting crack, and moved higher.