Five of the men in the group startle at the sound. The man with the AR falls to the ground as the back of his head explodes. I switch my aim to the right, targeting the guy with the bulge under his arm—he’s reaching into his jacket—and shoot again before the remaining four men begin to scramble. As they dive for cover, they all look around for a moment before they catch sight of me.
I get o
ne more shot off, but the tall man moves too quickly. I hear his scream and know I’ve hit him but only to wound. I fire again, and the shot goes wide to his right.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
I aim again, following his movement in the sparse undergrowth. One more shot and I see his body drop to the ground. I only have four bullets left. I’ve wasted more ammo than I can afford. I shove the gun back in its holster and rush down the hill, drawing one of my knives.
I tackle the nearest adversary immediately, shoving the knife into his side and shoving him to the ground. He screams in pain as the other two take position, trying to flank me.
“I don’t know what your problem is, bro,” one of them says. “We ain’t got no fight with you.”
I don’t reply. I stand at the ready, waiting for either of them to make a move.
“Hell, we can even share a little, if that’s whatcha want.” He motions to the woman on her back. She’s pulled her hands up in front of her face and is trying to get her ropes untied. “We got other breeders, too. We got a whole camp nearby.”
“Where?” I keep my eyes on both of them as I utter the single word.
“Not far. I kin show ya.” His eyes widen just a little. He has no intention of showing me anything. There’s a hint of fear, but it’s not exclusively because of me. He glances up the side of the hill and then quickly back to me.
At least I know in what direction to begin my search.
I stand up a little straighter and move my hand to sheath my knife. I watch his muscles relax as he glances at the man beside him.
With one quick movement, I switch the knife to my other hand and draw out a shorter throwing knife. I flick my wrist, and it slams into his neck.
He drops to his knees, gurgling.
The younger man to his side stares open-mouthed for a moment. When the body drops the rest of the way to the ground, the young man takes off, running up the side of the ravine in the same direction the older man had indicated with his eyes.
“Don’t move.” I glare at the woman on the ground but don’t wait for her to answer before I head off after the runner. They mentioned others, and I can’t risk him getting back to his camp and warning them about me. I also can’t risk anyone else knowing about the woman they found.
My thighs burn as I propel myself up the hill. The runner isn’t coordinated enough to navigate the forest floor, and once I get to flat ground, I catch up with him quickly. I leap forward and grab him around his waist, sending us both into a patch of mayapples.
With a quick thrust, I jam my knife into his kidney. He screams and thrashes on the ground, but I press my weight into his shoulders and stab him again. Withdrawing the knife from his side, I grab hold of his hair and pull his head backwards to slit his throat, ending his cries.
As his head drops to the ground, his profile is clearly visible. My chest clenches slightly. He can’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen. I exhale sharply out my nose, push off the boy’s body, and head back to the ravine.
As I get to the edge and look down, the guy I had stabbed first is stumbling over to the woman on the ground. She’s trying to simultaneously push herself away from him and tug at the knotted rope around her wrists.
One target left.
Turning my feet perpendicular to the downslope of the hill, I shuffle down as quickly as I can. The wounded man holds his side as he tries to keep his footing and lurches for the woman on the ground. I don’t know what he thinks he’s going to do; he’s in no condition to haul her off somewhere.
I stride quickly to him, and he turns at the sound of my footsteps. He reaches for his belt and pulls out a long hunting knife. He crouches slightly, defensively, and grimaces against the pain.
“You think you can take me, you piece of shit?” His taunting has no effect on me.
I don’t respond. I’ve been in this position far too many times, especially in the beginning. I discovered early on that my silence is more unnerving than any clever, threatening retort.
He tosses his knife from one hand to the other. I watch, still and silent. I’m not sure if he thinks his display makes him look more skilled with the weapon or if he’s trying to make me think he has equal skill with either hand. If the latter is his intent, it doesn’t work. I can tell by the way that he grips the knife that he’s predominantly right-handed.
He lunges, but the wound affects his balance. I sidestep easily, catching his ankle with my boot. When he stumbles, I dive on top of him. We roll twice, and he knees me in the side, trying to gain the advantage. For a moment, he’s on top of me, and he slams his elbow into my face.
I’m stunned just long enough to feel his blade at my throat. I twist my neck away from the cold metal and punch at his existing wound. He grunts, and the grip he has on the knife loosens. Wrapping my legs around his, I flip us both over and pin him to the ground.
His eyes widen as he feels my blade slip deep between his ribs. He grabs my shoulders with both hands, but his grip is weak. I twist the blade, feel the gush of blood from the artery I’ve severed, and he sags to the ground.