Bastian's Storm (Surviving Raine 2)

I couldn’t.

Aside from Arden, there were still two others out there with bloodshed on their minds—Erik Dytalov and Hunter. If I paused long enough to attend to the bullet scrape, I might as well strangle myself and get it over with because the chances of one of them finding me when I was vulnerable were too great right now. I’d just have to ignore the ache.

Pain is weakness leaving the body.

Push on. Always push on, no matter what you feel.

Get your fucking ass up and move!

Fuck it all. I couldn’t stop because I had to get back to Raine.

A mile or so up Mount Windsor, I finally found a place secure enough to briefly peel back the leggings around my right thigh and take a look at my leg. It wasn’t bad—just a scrape, as I had figured. I cleaned it up a little and got the bleeding to stop before covering myself back up again. The possibility of frostbite was more dangerous at this point than a scratch.

I was covered with Reaper’s blood, and the stench burned my nose as I peeled back the facemask to get myself some water and nutrition. There was only silence around me. From where I was perched in the center of a grouping of rocks, I could see all the way to the ice floes below. Somewhere nearby, there were still three other people out to kill me, but for now, it was quiet. I took the time to center myself, remember my objectives, and concentrate on what I had to do next.

Far below me, a pod of whales surfaced, blew streams of water out their blowholes, and disappeared below the ice again. The giant marine mammals were the only signs of life to be seen in the harsh environment, save a few crusty lichens on the north side of the stones. There weren’t even any trees anywhere on the island.

Franks couldn’t have found a less hospitable place in the world.

It was probably a fitting place for such activity, though. I couldn’t begrudge him that. There was no habitation on the island. There were no settlements of people and very little vegetation to attract any animals. Only those creatures that actually adapted to live in the Arctic Ocean could be found here.

Knowing there were no living creatures around except for the people trying to kill me did nothing for my peace of mind, of course. Every time I heard a rock tumble across the ground, I had to assume one of my opponents was nearby.

I drank from my canteen of frigid water and then pulled a tube of gel packed with vitamins, protein, and carbohydrates out of my pocket. It was supposed to taste like chocolate and peanut butter, but it didn’t. It just tasted nasty, but I downed it anyway along with a handful of high-fat nuts. I hadn’t seen anyone for an hour and was grateful for the break though I still remained on alert. I had heard one additional shot ring out from high up the mountain, but that was twenty minutes ago. There had been nothing else to see or hear since then.

Lack of knowledge was my biggest enemy. I had to locate the other three players before they found me. Their best chance was to catch me off guard, and I couldn’t let that happen. I had to keep moving.

The sun was high in the sky but did nothing to warm me as I hauled myself out of the rock cluster and started up the ridge again. I kept low to the ground, watching everywhere around me—especially farther up—for any kind of movement. I walked several hundred yards without seeing anything and then found myself at the bottom of a short cliff. The high ridges on either side of me would have been as difficult to scale as the rocks in front of me, so I decided to climb up to the top.

Climbing was difficult with the mittens over my gloves, but it was a move I’d practiced with Landon a thousand times over the past few weeks. As I hauled myself to the edge of the small plateau and looked all around, my skin tingled. I couldn’t see anyone, but every instinct inside of me told me someone was there. I examined the area, trying to identify the places large enough to hide a person. There were two groups of rocks on the left, a depression in the ground to the right, and another ledge up above.

I considered the options.

If I was in Arden’s sights, he could take me out at any time. That went for most anywhere I could go. Without cover from above, he could take a shot anytime he found me in his crosshairs. To climb farther up the mountainside, I either had to get across the plateau or drop back down to find another way up. I’d waste time and energy—energy I couldn’t spare—if I headed back down again. If one of the others was up here, and I was pretty sure someone was, they were going to try to jump me as I crossed the open area. It would be either Hunter or Erik.

I was fairly certain Hunter wasn’t much on stealth—he relied on his brute strength, which usually worked in a tournament setting. Here, it was wise to be cautious as well as silent. If Hunter was close by, I would have heard him already. That left Erik and his knives, some of which could be thrown. This would be a perfect place for him to plan an ambush. A throwing knife could definitely be deadly at a distance but not when you’re covered in Kevlar.

Knowledge is power, so says Schoolhouse Rock.

I decided to chance it.

My instincts were rarely wrong.

I was halfway across the plateau when the knife lodged in the center of my chest, right up against the Kevlar vest. I glanced at the blade, grabbed the hilt in my hand, and looked up in the direction it pointed as I pulled it out with a smile.

Erik didn’t duck behind the rock fast enough for me not to see him. Wasting no time, I raced in his direction. He must have heard me coming because he stepped out from behind his shelter to throw another knife. Before he even released it from his hand, I could see the panic in his eyes. I was too close, and he knew he’d lost his advantage. The knife that flew from his hand went wide and disappeared over the cliff.

With a grin on my face, I tossed his throwing knife back toward him. I watched him clench his fingers and crouch down to retrieve the blade, looking up at me with incredulity. As he hesitated, I charged.

There was no taunting or banter as Erik and I moved around each other in a circle on top of the plateau. He held the Busse in his left hand and the throwing knife in his right. I didn’t know what was going through his head, but his eyes remained wide and his steps unsteady. For an experienced tournament fighter, he was acting like a newbie. Something had changed since his last fight. He didn’t have the confidence I was expecting.

Good.

When it came to those who were unsure of themselves, the waiting game always worked to my advan

tage. He tossed the last knife at me, but we were too close for a projectile weapon like that to be effective. Losing it only gave me an additional advantage. He was sloppy and afraid, which made me calmer and surer of myself. He was hoping for me to make a move, but I won on patience. Eventually, he took a step closer to me, jabbing with the Busse.

He was quick but not quick enough.