Page 30

LOKAN

T he motorcycle's engine whined in protest as Lokan downshifted, struggling up the steep grade.

Loose rocks scattered beneath the tires, tumbling into the darkness below.

The mountain pass had narrowed to little more than a goat track, barely wide enough for the bikes, with a sheer drop on one side that disappeared into shadows.

As the bike lurched over another outcropping, Carol's arms tightened around his waist, and his healing ribs protested, but he didn't say a thing. Having her body pressed to his was soothing to his soul.

The terrain had deteriorated so much over the past hour that he regretted having bikes and not yaks. The animals were well adapted to the cold, high altitude, and rugged, steep terrain.

They would have also made little to no noise and not attracted unwanted attention.

The yaks' smell was another issue, which would have bothered Carol, but given all their advantages, Lokan was sure she wouldn't have objected.

Not that what was coming off the bikes was pleasant. They were overheating, and the acrid smell of burning oil filled the air, mixing with the sickly-sweet scent of engine components that were starting to melt.

If the bikes lasted all the way through, he would count it as a miracle.

Ahead of them, Grant's bike suddenly lurched, and the Guardian raised a fist as he dismounted. "Hold up," he said.

Lokan brought his bike to a halt, and he and Carol got off.

"What's wrong?" He walked up to where Grant was standing at the edge of the path.

The Guardian pointed ahead to where the track seemed to disappear entirely, replaced by a series of rocky ledges that would require climbing rather than riding. "We need to ditch the bikes. We can't get them through that."

"Bloody hell," Camden muttered. "The contact said this was passable."

Dougal joined them. "For smugglers on foot, maybe, or mountain goats."

Lokan studied the terrain with a sinking feeling.

"I was just thinking that we would have been better off riding yaks, and that Turner's contact should have thought to warn us that even mountain bikes were not the best choice for this terrain.

Now we are stuck making the rest of the way on foot, and that's going to take much longer than we accounted for. "

They would run out of supplies, but as immortals, they would survive. The bigger problem was that the longer they were exposed, the more vulnerable they were.

"Maybe we should backtrack and find another route," he suggested. They'd already deviated significantly from the planned path to avoid potential ambush points, and he wasn't at all sure that there was a more accessible route.

"Lokan," Carol said quietly, and something in her tone made him follow her gaze.

She pointed at the sky. "Can you hear that?"

He focused, trying to ignore all the nocturnal noises and isolate a sound that didn't belong. He heard it then, the distant whine of a small engine. Once he knew what he was looking for, it was easy to spot the small dark shape in the clear night sky.

"A drone," he said. "Two o'clock, about three hundred meters up. We wouldn't have heard it over the engine noise if we hadn't stopped."

"How long has it been tracking us?"

"Damn." Carol pulled her weapon. "We need to shoot it down. It's transmitting our location."

"Don't." Lokan put a hand on her arm, lowering it. "They already know where we are. It's better to let them think we're unaware of it while we plan."

Carol snorted. "Too late for that. They saw us looking up. This thing is transmitting in real time."

"It's dark," Camden said. "They might not see details."

Lokan's mind raced through their options. The drone changed everything. Even if they found a way to continue with the motorcycles, they'd be tracked. The enhanced Doomers could be closing in already, guided by real-time surveillance.

"We don't have much choice," he said. "We need to leave the bikes, continue on foot, and pretend that we didn't notice the drone.

If they think we don't know that we are being followed, they won't send people after us in the mountains.

They will just wait for us to come to them.

We let Turner's people know what's going on and ask for help.

Perhaps they can mobilize the Russian army and send it this way.

I'd rather we get caught and brought in for interrogation than fall into the hands of Doomers. "

His father's minions would kill Carol and the three Guardians on sight. The Russians, on the other hand, would take them into custody. That wasn't ideal, but manageable.

"We have a lot of gear to carry," Dougal pointed out, gesturing at their supplies. "We are already down to the minimum. We can't leave anything behind."

The Guardian was right, but there wasn't much they could do about it.

"We need help." Lokan told him his idea and then sent a text to Turner.

With that done, he shouldered his pack, wincing as it pressed against his still-tender ribs.

"Let's move. The drone is small and built for surveillance.

It can't keep tracking us for long on one battery charge.

Eventually, it will have to return for recharging.

So, stay alert and listen for it. When we can no longer hear it, we could potentially find cover. "

These mountains were mostly bare, so he didn't hold out much hope of finding a place to hide. His original idea was still the best, provided that Turner could pull that off.

As they began the arduous climb over the rocky ledges, the irony wasn't lost on Lokan. They were reduced to climbing through mountains like he had done hundreds of years ago.

"This reminds me of Afghanistan," Grant muttered, hauling himself over a particularly challenging section. "Except with immortal drug-enhanced hunters instead of Taliban."

"And no air support," Camden added.

"What were you doing in Afghanistan?" Lokan asked.

Grant cast him an apologetic smile. "That's classified information. Sorry, Lokan."

Well, at least it gave him something to think about. What could the clan possibly want with Afghanistan? Had their people been there and needed to be evacuated? Or maybe they had gone to save someone important or a friend?

"The drone is gone," Carol said.

To his great shame, he hadn't been paying attention. Not that it mattered. There hadn't been any places to hide before, and there weren't any ahead.

"I need to rest," Carol said quietly. "Can we take a break?"

"We can't stop here," Lokan said. "We need to find better cover first."

"Where?" She took a sip from her canteen. "There isn't even a tree in sight."

"There should be caves," Dougal said. "I'm on the lookout for those."

"When we get to the village," Carol murmured, "I'm sleeping for a week."

"Only a week?" He pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'm not getting out of bed for a month. We will watch reruns of I Love Lucy and all of your other favorite shows, stuff our faces with ice cream and popcorn, and do other fun stuff without having to worry about being discovered."

They'd lived with the fear of discovery for far too long, and they both needed a real vacation to recharge.

"I wish," she said. "We'll have to go through debriefing, then find a house we like, your brother will want us to come for dinner at his place, my friends will want me to come over to theirs..." She sighed. "Maybe we should stay in Mongolia and become yak herders."

"Right." He laughed. "My cosmopolitan mate a yak herder. I can just picture you doing that with a designer clip over your nose."

"True." She straightened, squaring her shoulders. "Let's keep moving, people. We don't have all night…oh wait, we do."

They resumed their trek, following what might generously be called a path through the rocks, and as they got lower down the mountain, the landscape became less severe.

The drone didn't return, which Lokan didn't know what to make of, but the good news was that they were now trekking through scattered pine forests that provided some cover from aerial surveillance.

On the other hand, the trees also limited visibility, making it easier to ambush them.

Lokan constantly scanned their surroundings, every shadow potentially hiding an enemy. The enhanced Doomer from the canyon had moved faster than anything he'd encountered before. If more were coming, they needed to be ready.

"Movement ahead," Grant whispered.

Everyone froze, weapons coming up smoothly. Lokan extended his senses, feeling for the telltale presence of immortal minds. Instead, he found something else entirely.

"Humans," he said quietly. "Six of them. Military, by their mental patterns."

"Border patrol or Turner's people?" Carol asked.

"Wrong location for border patrol," Camden said. "We are still many kilometers from the border."

Through the trees, Lokan could make out lights—flashlights moving in a search pattern. Occasionally, he caught the sound of Russian voices, though distance made the words indistinguishable.

"It's more likely the welcoming committee Turner arranged," Dougal said hopefully. "I just didn't expect them to cross so far into Mongolia to get us."

Neither had Lokan.

He closed his eyes, extending his mental reach toward the approaching soldiers. Human minds were usually easy to read and influence, but he needed to be closer to do so. From this far, he could potentially get glimpses of their thoughts.

Hopefully.

The moment he touched the first mind, he immediately felt that something was off. These weren't the disciplined thoughts of a professional soldier. There was an eagerness there, an anticipation that spoke of a man expecting action, expecting a payday.

"Mercenaries," he whispered. "Or rogue soldiers doing some freelance work."

"You think they are paid by the Brotherhood?" Carol moved her hand to her sidearm.