Summer Lane - Day One

“I just—I can’t, Elle!”

Georgia’s voice pitched, echoing off the rocks. Elle froze. Georgia held her breath, covering her own mouth with her hand. She looked horrified. At first, there was nothing but silence. But a Slaver guard had caught the sound and wandered to the corner of the encampment to check on the prisoners. From his vantage point, the corral was intact and everything was silent. Elle was a creature of the shadows, invisible. But Georgia was not. She was a head of bright yellow hair reflecting in the firelight. The guard’s face was impossible to see through the hood and mask, tilting his head, walking closer. He stared in their direction for several long, terrifying moments.

Elle didn’t dare breathe. She stared at the guard’s feet, knowing that if she stared at his eyes, he would somehow be drawn to her.

And then he sprinted forward. He was quiet, unspeaking. But he had seen them, and Elle’s heart dropped like a stone to the pit of her stomach. She turned to Georgia. “ Go now !” she pleaded. Georgia shook her head, rooted to the spot.

The guard pulled his sword from the sheath hanging on his belt. It was a curved weapon, glinting like a crescent moon, sharp enough to split hairs. Elle moved forward and knelt down on one knee. She pulled out her katana and leaped forward, striking an overhead blow at the guard. Her blade collided with the guard’s curved sword.

Elle’s arm ached from the impact. Her body slid backward a few inches but she stayed balanced. The guard was strong and highly skilled — a better swordsman than Elle. She realized this immediately. Elle and the guard whirled and struck, thrust and dodged. He dropped a powerful stroke at her head. She caught it, gritting her teeth. She pushed hard against the force of his blade, holding him there. It pulled her muscles.

Tears of effort sprang to her eyes from the strain. She locked gazes with the guard, his blue eyes glittering at her through the slit in the hood. He suddenly shoved her backward and Elle rolled, dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. She staggered to her feet. Georgia was standing on the edge of the cliff, staring at the drop. She looked at Elle.

Elle looked at the guard. He ran toward her. Elle darted to the side, narrowly avoiding him. She ducked left, seeing Georgia disappear over the side of the cliff. It all happened in a split second. The guard moved toward the rope tied to the tree, raising his sword. Elle saw what he was going to do. He was going cut the rope. Jay, Georgia and Flash would fall, and it would all be over.

Elle leaped forward, jamming her shoulder into the guard. The air rushed out of his lungs and he stumbled sideways. There was a long second where Elle thought that he would somehow bob back up and slash her open with his sword, but that moment didn’t come. He lost his balance on the edge of the cliff, grabbed Elle’s arm, and they both tumbled down the side of the mountain.

Elle rolled over and over herself. Her face stung, her bones crashed against objects. It was a dark blur of pain and falling and weightlessness and then hitting the earth once again. Gravity was in control. She was tumbling head over heels alongside the guard, their swords clattering behind them, clanging against the rock.

It vaguely occurred to Elle that they hadn’t fallen off the sheer drop on the cliff. If they had, it would have been one long, airy drop with a short, sudden stop at the bottom. They would both be dead, and that would be the end of it.

But they were still rolling. They were tumbling at a sharp angle, finally coming to a shattering halt on level ground. Elle’s head swam. She tried to right herself, falling over and stumbling. She held her head in her hands, tasting something sour and metallic. Blood? She spit on her hand. Yes, lots of blood.

The guard was only ten or so feet away from her, barely a shape in the darkness. There were trees everywhere. Elle wished she could find her sword. The Smith and Wesson was still jammed into her pants, somehow, but she couldn’t use that. The sound of one shot would alert the entire encampment that there was an escape in progress. She couldn’t compromise the safety of the others to save herself. The guard slowly stood up. Elle was too tired — wracked with too much pain — to take him by surprise, to kill him.

“Please, just let me go,” she said softly. “I promise I’ll never come back.”

The guard tilted his head. Stifling silence. No answer.

He lunged forward. He grabbed Elle by the hair and slammed her face against the dirt, grinding her cheek into the ground. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. This was it. He was going to snap her neck — she was dead. She felt the pressure building on her spine. Her vision went starry.

There was a low scream and the pressure released. Elle wanted to scream. Was she paralyzed? Was this what it was like to lose sensation? The guard fell sideways and suddenly Elle’s vision brightened. The blood returned to her head. She clawed the dirt and forced herself upright. There was a blur of white teeth and a menacing, guttural growl. Bravo had sunk his teeth into the guard’s forearm. The guard was crying out in pain.

Bravo ripped a chunk of his flesh out, tossing it away. He growled lower, lunging again, snapping at his neck. The guard ran backward, tripping over a bush in the darkness, sprawling on his back. Bravo jumped on top of the guard and growled in his face, blood dripping from his fangs.

“Bravo,” Elle said. “Bravo, down.”

The dog’s tail twitched.

“Leave him,” Elle commanded. “Out.”

Elle slowly stood, swaying. She was dizzy. She touched her cheek. It had been slashed open during the tumble down the mountain. It stung. She could feel her lip going numb.

At the base of the sloping hill, she saw the curved sword beside her katana. She picked up her weapon and sheathed it. The guard lay on the ground, trembling, bloody. Bravo backed away, never removing his laser-like gaze from the man.

“Remember that we let you live,” Elle said. “Come on, Bravo.”

They left the guard in the silence of the woods.

Elle ran quickly and quietly, dodging boulders and making her way through the pine trees. The smell of sugar pine and cedar was strong in the air. The morning was crisp and silent. Elle was little more than a shadow, sprinting through the forest. And beside her, Bravo ran, too. He was quieter than Elle, his hunter’s instincts making him fast and alert.

Elle’s heart raced.

There was no stopping now.

There were no more options. This was the last resort.

She had stopped during the night only to tend to the cut on her cheek. It wasn’t as bad as she had thought — surface level. Enough to leave a scar but not enough to kill her. She had a medical kit in her backpack. She swiped the wound with antiseptic — it had stung worse than anything in the world — and slapped a bandage over it. The rest of her wounds could wait. All she could do was run.

Since escaping the Slaver encampment last night, the Slavers had realized that one of their guards was missing about thirty minutes after Elle and Bravo had left him at the bottom of the cliff. An alarm had rung through the stillness of the forest. They hadn’t stopped moving since then.

Elle was tracking the progress of Jay, Georgia and Flash. She had almost caught up with them. They were nearly out of the thickest part of the forest, moving toward the sloping, open mountains that led toward Palm Springs.

Dawn was just beginning to break over the hills. The desert was below Elle, and she could see three figures moving down the slope of the mountains. They were moving quickly, too. Elle’s heart lifted.

“Found them,” she panted.