Page 79 of Sick(ness)

Sawyer was already grabbing his pack and checking his rifle. “We go now.”

Jay caught his arm. “Hold up. If they were bold enough to come here in daylight, they’re not just a couple of scavengers. They’ve got backup somewhere. You go charging after them, you’ll get her, and yourself, killed.”

Sawyer’s glare could have cut through steel. “You think I’m sitting here while she’s out there?” His hands clenched, unclenched, then clenched again.

“I think you’re not thinking,” Jay shot back, stepping into his path. “We need a plan. Ammo, gear, and a route. We don’t move blind; blind gets you killed.”

Sawyer turned away, then back, pacing three steps before stopping. His fingers brushed the gun at his hip, then moved to the door, then fell uselessly to his side.

“Every minute we wait—” he started, voice breaking. He swallowed hard. “But every minute we rush—”

For a moment, the only sound between them was the wind whistling faintly through the broken window.

Then Sawyer exhaled through his teeth, a tremor running through his jaw. “Fine,” he said. “Ten minutes. We prep. Then we move.”

Jay nodded, already turning to check their supplies. “Ten minutes,” he agreed. “Then we hunt.”

Sawyer stood in the center of the ruined cabin, staring at the spot where Addy’s blanket lay. His throat burned as he whispered under his breath, words only he could hear.

“Hold on, 2B. I’m coming.”

* * *

The forest swallowed them as soon as they left the clearing.

Sawyer moved first, rifle raised, boots sinking into the thin crust of snow. Jay followed close behind, scanning their flanks with practiced eyes. The cold was sharper here, the kind that clawed at skin and lungs, turning breath to mist.

The footprints were easy enough to follow at first: two sets of heavy boots and a third, lighter, uneven trail between them. Addy’s. The sight of it made Sawyer’s chest constrict.

Jay knelt by the uneven trail between the boot prints, his fingers hovering just above the snow. “Look at the depth here. They’re forcing her along, but she’s on her feet. Still fighting.”

Sawyer nodded once. “She’s fighting them. That’s good.”

They moved on in silence. The world was unnervingly quiet, the kind of stillness that pressed against the ears. Even the birds had gone. Now and then, a branch snapped somewhere in the distance, echoing like a gunshot.

The trail wound through the trees, down toward the edge of the frozen creek. Sawyer’s heart slammed against his ribs when he spotted it: a scrap of gray wool snagged on splintered bark, fluttering like a surrender flag. He lunged for it, ripping off his glove with his teeth to feel the threads between bare fingers. Addy’s sweater. The one she’d been wearing this morning, when he’d kissed her goodbye.

He shoved it into his pocket, his hand trembling. “She’s fighting. Leaving breadcrumbs.” His voice cracked. “Goddamn brilliant 2B.”

Jay’s face hardened with grim admiration. “She knows we’re coming.”

They charged across the creek, boots breaking through ice, frigid water soaking to their ankles. Neither man flinched. On the far bank, Sawyer dropped to a crouch, his breath catching at the sight of boot prints filled with pink slush. Blood.

“One’s bleeding pretty badly,” Jay whispered, crouching beside him. “They’re bleeding out.”

“Good,” Sawyer snarled, a sound barely human. “I want them to suffer when I find them.”

His eyes had gone cold, the thousand-yard stare Jay recognized from men who’d crossed into that dark place where mercy dies. Jay said nothing. Some fires you don’t try to put out.

An hour passed. The forest thickened as they climbed higher up the ridge. The wind hissed through the trees, carrying the faint metallic scent of smoke. Sawyer stopped dead.

“Do you smell that?”

Jay lifted his head, nostrils flaring. “Campfire. Faint, maybe half a mile out.”

They crouched low, moving slower now. Every crunch of snow felt too loud. As they crested the next rise, Sawyer dropped to one knee and peered through the trees.

Below them, tucked into a shallow ravine, was a small camp. Two men, just as Sawyer had seen before, one with his arm bandaged, pacing restlessly, the other crouched near a low-burning fire. Between them, near a stack of gear, Addy sat on the frozen ground, wrists bound but her head lifted. Even from here, Sawyer could see her chest rise and fall. Alive. His finger twitched against the trigger guard.