Page 54

CHAPTER 53

ALL SIX OF us—the five giants and me—were inching through the forest in a staggered line. We were in head-to-toe camo. When we moved, we looked like blowing leaves. When we stood still, we were simply invisible.

Our exercises so far had been arduous, but basic. Long hikes with full packs. Hand-to-hand combat. Night recon.

For some reason, today felt different.

I was on the right wing of the formation. My only weapon was a hunting bow—a compound carbon model with string silencers. Apart from a toy I had as a kid, it was the first bow I’d ever held. For some reason, archery wasn’t in Kira’s curriculum. She was more about guns and knives. But I watched my teammates and picked up the basics in about two minutes. I realized that I now possessed an intuitive grasp of killing tools. My first practice shot was a bull’s-eye.

Every time we were out in the field by ourselves, I had no doubt that Leo was watching us from somewhere. I assumed he had the whole forest wired. Or maybe he was somewhere nearby in camouflage himself.

I took three or four small steps at a time, with the outer edge of my feet touching first. Low impact, minimal sound. The five guys to my left probably weighed at least 280 pounds apiece, but they moved as softly as foxes through the leaves. Well-trained stalkers, all of them.

We held our bows ready, arrows notched, prepared to shoot at any moment. But we had no idea what was out here. It was a seek-and-destroy exercise, with no designated target.

I scanned the trees ahead, looking for movement or unnatural patterns. I listened for cracking twigs or shuffling brush.

Then something made me stop in my tracks.

I looked up and saw two startled sparrows fly off a sycamore branch.

Suddenly the air cracked with gunfire. The bark of the tree at my elbow was blasted into splinters. Live ammo! I saw the others hit the ground. Another volley kicked up leaves and black dirt right in front of them.

I jumped behind the bulk of a fallen tree as bullets zinged overhead. I crawled to the uprooted end and peeked around. Another blast blew the moss off the bark two inches from my face.

These weren’t warning shots. Somebody was trying to kill us.

I rolled back to the cover of the log and took a breath. I’d seen all I needed to see. Smoke from a rifle barrel, about forty yards ahead and twenty feet up. The shooter was hidden in a tree stand.

I glanced to my left. My training partners had all taken cover in depressions or behind stumps. They blended in with the forest floor.

Another blast swept our position. A large branch dropped behind me, sliced off by automatic rounds.

Enough.

This was no game.

And I didn’t come this far to die in the woods.

I stayed low behind the trunk and drew my bowstring. I made my mental calculations of distance and height. I glanced up into the leaves for wind direction. The rest happened in an instant. I rolled into a kneeling position and aimed. The smoke was just clearing from the last volley.

I sent the arrow.

A half second later, I saw a figure drop from the stand and jerk to a stop, dangling by one ankle. A rifle clattered against branches as it fell.

Then all I heard were birds.

I reached into my quiver and notched another shaft. I saw my teammates break from cover and start advancing.

I wondered who the hell I’d just killed. But did it really matter?

It was him or me.