was. He could only hope the camera and comm device were still with her.
She’s five hours ahead of me. At least. What the fuck has she been through in that time?
The terrible answers to that question conjured spurred him forward. He kept a steady pace as he cut his way up the mountain. He scanned his surroundings as he moved, trying to maintain situational awareness. The last thing he needed was to stumble onto a predator like that bear that had tried to snatch Brook out of the ventilation shaft.
A smell that didn’t belong in the forest caught his attention. He stopped moving and closed his eyes, breathing in deep. It was a smell any human would recognize: vomit. Not the least bit squeamish, he followed the scent to a tree a few yards away and crouched down to examine the drying splatter. He recognized the rations in the slurry. He had thrown them up enough times during the more excruciating physical training at the academy to identify them.
Why was she sick? Was it overexertion? Or an illness?
He stood and glanced around the area. His gaze fell on the trampled grass. He took a few steps and crouched down to study the bent and crushed blades. The tips of his gloved fingertips moved over the depression in the shape of a boot. A man’s boot. A heavyset man, by the looks of the track.
He walked the perimeter of the crushed grass and found three more tracks belonging to men and one set of very small boots that belonged to Brook. He noticed the way her tracks ended right near a convergence of the men’s boots.
They picked her up and carried her out of here.
Shit.
He followed the tracks of the men out of the clearing and into a nearby camp. He recoiled at the horrible stench of blood and offal. Disgusting sounds—crunching and licking and wet growls—met his ears. Raising his rifle, he stepped forward carefully. His footfalls were as quiet as he could make them, and he managed to sneak up on a pack of ravenous wolves tearing apart the carcass of a bear.
He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the same bear from the ventilation shaft. Had it smelled the scent of the men cooking at their camp? Followed the scent of bacon or sausage all the way up here looking for a meal? Whatever the reason, the bear had made a big mistake.
Looking at the kill, he could tell the men had packed out some of the meat. With four men, they should have been able to take even more than they had left behind. The hide would have been worth a lot of money with fur traders, and the claws would have been a novelty some rich asshole in The City would have loved to own. So, what had sent them on their way before finishing the job?
Brook.
They must have heard her getting sick. They probably decided she was worth more than any bear hide or trophies. So—where did they take her?
Not turning his back on the wolves, he crept backwards toward the campsite. He spotted a red miner’s helmet in the brush on the edge of the site. He knelt down and picked it up, turning it over and seeing her name scrawled inside. Tucked inside the headband was a folded piece of sweat stained fabric. He pulled it free and opened it to find beautifully embroidered words.
Bless My Heart. Keep Safe My Soul. Give Me Clean Air Down In The Devil’s Hole
The piece was obviously precious to her, and he stowed it away in a pocket of his vest for safekeeping. He clipped the helmet to the back of his pack, but not before running his fingers over the divots and scratches. How many times had she been close to death in the mines? How many near misses had she survived? After all of that, he couldn’t let her life end this way. He had to find her and save her.
With renewed purpose, he followed the human boot prints away from the campsite to another set of tracks. They belonged to some sort of vehicle with rugged wheels. The tracks would be easier to follow, but the vehicles meant she would be farther away from him. He couldn’t hope to run nearly as fast as the vehicles could move, but he had to try to catch up. Surely, they would have to make camp before sunset. He could close the distance and find her