Survivor (Rewinder Series Book 3)

by Brett Battles

  I can’t keep a tear from streaming down my cheek. The next thing I know, I’m sobbing in Iffy’s arms.

  I destroyed the world I was born in for two reasons: to give my sister a chance to defeat the cancer that killed her, and to be with the woman I love. In that moment, I finally allow myself to acknowledge I’ve achieved both. There’s no denying what I did was a supremely selfish act, but as I cry, I know I would do it all again.

  “Denny.”

  Someone’s shaking my shoulder.

  “Denny. Are you all right?”

  I open my eyes. Clora is leaning over me, concerned. It takes me a moment to work out I’m slouched against the wall.

  “You were…” She mimes something moving down her face.

  I touch my cheek. It’s wet. I’ve been crying real tears to go with those in my dream.

  I sit up and wipe an arm across my face. “I’m fine.”

  The subdued yellow light of late afternoon filters into the cabin.

  After a scan of the room, I ask, “Where’s Jovan?”

  Worry touches the corner of her eyes. “He went to look around.”

  “How long gone?”

  “An hour already.”

  “A hour?” I jump to my feet, hurry to the door, and look outside.

  The sun hangs low in the sky. In no more than twenty minutes, it’ll dip behind the ridge to our west and plunge the area into shadow. I look out as far as I can but detect no movement.

  “Did he hear something?”

  She shakes her head in a way that’s more I don’t think so than no.

  “Then why did he go?”

  “Not say. I-I-I think maybe he looking for...” She mimes hiking. “For us.” She thinks he’s scouting out the trail we will take.

  I point in several different directions, asking which way he went.

  “I see him walk out. Think he turned left, but not sure. After, not see again.”

  I step outside and check the ground for prints, but the dirt is hard packed and reveals nothing.

  If his plan is for us to continue east—and I see no reason why it wouldn’t be—then he would have gone around the building before heading off. So that’s what I do, checking the ground for footprints as I go.

  I discover some crushed leaves at the side of the cabin that may or may not be fresh, and could have been caused by an animal as easily as by Jovan. But then I find more of them, in a line angling off from the cabin, right where I expect us to head when we leave. It has to be him.

  I check the sun again. While our little dip in the mountain will experience an early start to the night, the sun won’t officially set for nearly an hour.

  “Stay inside,” I tell Clora. “I won’t be long.”

  Her eyes widen. “No! I go, too.”

  “You need to stay in case I miss him. I won’t be long.”

  From her expression, I know she hasn’t fully understood me. And she’s scared to death I’ll leave her.

  “Okay,” I say. “Never mind. Come with me.” Hopefully, leaving our supplies behind will let him know we’re nearby.

  We weave through a grove of trees, the light dying around us. Now that I know to look at the fallen leaves, Jovan’s trail is easy to follow. There are a few gaps of bare ground that worry me, but I always find signs of him on the other side. Until we reach the end of the grove, where his trail stops.

  I survey the area ahead. The wide expanse is covered by weeds and dead grass, everything brown. Nothing is moving. I don’t spot any vegetation that might have been bent under the weight of a shoe.

  Jovan must have gone farther than this. He would have returned to the cabin long ago otherwise. There’s no cover for as far as I can see, only the meadow continuing over a rise and out of sight. I can’t imagine Jovan crossing it in daylight.

  So where is he?

  I look both ways along the line of trees. To the right, the ground stays level for maybe another hundred feet, and then slopes up toward the western ridge that’s now blocking the sun. Though I can’t see it, the long descent to the ocean should be beyond the ridge. To the left, the ground is flat again for a while before it also slopes upward, but this time all the way to the mountain summit.

  These are old mountains, a minor coastal chain that’s well on its eroding way to a future as a range of quaint hills. From where we are, it’s at least a couple of hours of rigorous hiking to the closest mountaintop. Going even halfway up would provide an extremely useful overview of the area, but I can’t imagine Jovan making the climb without letting us know first.

  The ridge to the right is the more likely destination.

  Staying in the trees, Clora and I head toward it. I check the ground like before but the shadows have darkened, making it difficult for me to pick out any tracks.

  As we near the ridge, the trees thin out until there’s not enough left to be called a grove. While it makes me nervous to be more exposed, at least the sun’s not shining down on us. We move as quickly and quietly as possible to a point just below the ridge, and then crawl the rest of the way to the top. There, we ease in among some bushes and peer down the other side.

  The sun has begun dipping below the ocean. The sooner night comes, the better. I scan along the ridge but Jovan’s not there. I check downslope. Just scrub and rocks and a few ruined buildings and—

  What was that?

  A flash of light, like the sun reflecting off a mirror. But it came from a hollow in total shadow. I stare at the area, waiting.

  There it is again, lasting several seconds this time before disappearing.

  A flashlight. I’m sure of it.

  But Jovan doesn’t have a flashlight. Unless he found one while walking around.

  When it shines for a third time, I can tell whoever possesses it is moving down the slope. I’m torn about whether to investigate or leave it be. It could just be someone exploring the forbidden area. Or someone who lives out here. There must be a few people chancing life in the wilderness to escape the insanity of civilization.

  Or maybe it’s one of Shim’s soldiers who has captured Jovan.

  I need to check. Even though he will cease to exist when I correct the timeline, I can’t do nothing if he’s in trouble now.

  I tell Clora to stay where she is, making it clear she has no say in the matter, and then I sneak down the slope to a gulley that I use to conceal my movements. When I reach the point level with where I last saw the light, I ease out of the small ravine and sneak through the brush in a crouch.

  Soon I’m dipping into the depression where the light was. The ground here is softer than up by the cabin, and even in the diminished daylight, I can see prints in the dirt. Three distinct sets. I wish I knew what the prints of Jovan’s shoes look like.

  I follow the prints out of the depression and across the slope. When I start to hear noises ahead, I slow. Soon the footsteps stop. I decide to circle out through the brush until I’m on the opposite side of them.

  There are three people, all right. Two looking back the way they came, while the third—Jovan—lies on the ground. I can’t tell if he’s conscious or not. What confuses me is that his captors aren’t wearing uniforms and are dressed more in outdoorsy gear.

  Because they’re facing away from me, I can’t tell if they’re holding weapons but I assume they are. They’re big, too. Even if they are unarmed, there’s no way I could subdue even one of them, let alone two.

  After a hushed exchange, the men lift Jovan to his feet. Turns out my friend is awake, though he’s definitely woozy and the men must prop him between them.

  One of the men turns on a flashlight and shines it across the brush, missing me by only a few feet. When the light clicks off again, they head in my direction. The guy on Jovan’s left passes within a body length of me, but I’m so still he doesn’t know I’m here.

  I let them walk on for almost half a minute before I take up pursuit. They’re easy to follow since they’re forced to walk at a lumbering pace by Jovan’s al
l but dead weight.

  Occasionally they speak in low voices, short phrases and single words. Directions, I assume—left and right and this way and that.

  I lose them behind the crest of a gentle rise, but spot them again as soon as I reach the top. Something else is out there, maybe two hundred yards away on a narrow plateau, a silhouette of lines and curves too precise to be natural. It looks like one of the rotors. And the men are heading toward it.

  Unencumbered by a half-unconscious prisoner, I’m able to cut across the crest to a ravine and use it to reach the plateau well ahead of the others.

  The silhouette is a rotor, all right, a smaller type that looks like it’s built for speed.

  While I can’t see the others, I can hear them moving across the slope, and figure I have about two minutes at most before they arrive. I circle around the craft, looking for a way in.

  The door is so integrated into the rotor’s skin that I almost miss it. A pull on the latch and the door glides opens.

  The cabin is cramped. Four seats in two rows, with a few hatches in the back area that I’m guessing are for storage.

  I climb in, crawl to the front, and glance out the window. I still can’t see the others but I know they must be close, so I turn my attention to the controls in hopes of disabling them. Only there aren’t any controls, just a glass counter running the width of the cabin that’s reminiscent of the touch-controlled table at Dumont’s lab.

  Playing a hunch, I tap my finger against it and the surface lights up.

  Instead of rows of buttons and gauges, I’m presented with the pulsating shape of a splayed hand. It’s waiting for an authorized user to put his or her palm against it to unlock the system.

  I put my hand on it, hoping a non-recognized palm will trigger a lockdown mode that will temporarily disable the controls, but the graphic keeps pulsing. I lift my hand and place it back down two more times, but nothing changes. When I lift it off the third time and don’t return it to the glass, the graphic disappears after several seconds.

  I look under the panel for exposed wires I can yank out. Nothing. My only other option is to smash the control surface.

  I crawl back to the hatches and pull them open in search of something I can use as a hammer. In the long cabinet at the very back, I discover a rifle similar to ones I’ve seen soldiers carrying.

  A quick examination shows me exactly how it works. I smile. Breaking the rotor’s control panel is no longer necessary.

  I move back toward the exit with the intention of hiding in the brush just outside so I can confront the others when they approach, but I hear shuffling steps not far away. Instead of jumping out, I ease the door closed and move to the very front of the cabin, where I nestle under the control panel in front of the pilot seat.

  Something thuds against the side of the craft, and a moment later I hear voices. I detect nothing in their tone that indicates they suspect I’m here.

  I take a couple of deep breaths to calm my racing heart. More steps, on the entrance side of the aircraft now. A laugh, then a metallic click, and the sound of the door swinging open. The vehicle sways as someone enters. A second later, the lights come on.

  I tuck even tighter against the seat, but since no one has shouted in surprise, I know I’m safe—at least for the moment.

  The vehicle rocks again, and from the grunts, I’m guessing they’re maneuvering Jovan on board. Another sway, and the click of the door closing.

  This is my cue.

  I peek around the pilot seat. The men are putting Jovan in one of the second-row seats. The man closest to me is looking the other way, but his companion, the one nearer the door, is facing my direction. I slip out from under the panel, and then, the rifle in my grip, I stand up and say one of the phrases I learned from the prison guards, “Do not move.”

  The closer man stiffens. I nudge his back with the muzzle of my weapon. When he turns to face me, I motion for both men to put their guns on the floor and push them to me. Once they’ve done this, I poke the guy near me again and say, “You. Sit.”

  He takes the chair next to where they were putting Jovan.

  I glance at my friend. His face is bloody from a cut high on his left cheek, there’s a gag over his mouth, and from the way he’s sitting, it looks like his hands are cuffed behind his back. But at least he’s more alert than I expected.

  I point the rifle at the man still standing and nod at Jovan’s gag. “Take off.”

  Jovan coughs the moment the cloth is pulled away.

  “How badly are you hurt?”

  “I’m okay,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Can we get these off, too?” He turns sideways and wiggles his cuffed hands.

  “Tell them,” I say.

  Jovan does so, and the standing man releases the cuffs.

  The sitting guy is glaring at me, so I tell Jovan to put the cuffs on him. “Is there another pair we can use on his friend?”

  It turns out there is.

  Once the second man is sitting on the floor and restrained, I say, “These guys don’t look like soldiers.”

  “They’re not. They’re private hunters.”

  “Hunters? Then why did they grab you?”

  “Because they hunt for us,” he replies, looking confused by my question.

  Not game hunters, I realize. Bounty hunters. “How did they know we were here?”

  Jovan asks them. The one in the back replies, and nods with his chin at his jacket.

  “They didn’t,” Jovan says. “Apparently a lot of hunters have been sent out. This was the area these guys were assigned.” He opens one of the men’s pockets and removes a device. After questioning the man again, Jovan touches several buttons and the screen comes on. He turns it so I can see.

  Displayed is a picture of Jovan. He taps the screen and my image replaces his. Another tap and there’s Clora.

  “We need to get out of here,” I say, moving toward the door. “Clora’s waiting for us. I’ve already been gone too long. I’m sure she’s scared.”

  Jovan pulls up his right pant leg and shows me his ankle. It’s swollen as big as a grapefruit. “I’m not hiking up that mountain anytime soon. We can fly up.”

  My eyes widen. “You know how to use this thing?”

  He shrugs. “It’s mostly automated, like a ground vehicle. I can do it with their help.”

  I’m not sure I want to rely on men who were sent to capture us, but we have little choice. “Which one is the pilot?”

  Jovan asks. The hunter in back starts to respond, but his partner barks something, shutting him up.

  “It seems they’re unwilling to tell us,” Jovan says.

  “Let them know we only need one of them. The other we’ll kill. So they can choose which they want to be.” There was a time not long ago when I would have been unable to even conceive what I’ve just said. But I have learned sometimes you have to play rough, even if you’re only bluffing.

  Not surprisingly, the glaring guy says nothing. The other man, though, glances between me and the back of his partner’s head several times before he covertly points at himself.

  “Fine,” I say, as if I haven’t seen his admission. “Tell them we’ll have to kill both of them.” I look at Glaring Guy. “Starting with him. Up!”

  He doesn’t move until I point the rifle at his forehead.

  “I think I saw some rope in that back cabinet,” I tell Jovan.

  While he retrieves it, I escort Glaring Guy to the door. “Open,” I say in Gaulish.

  “Cannot,” he replies, wiggling cuffed hands.

  “Open.”

  Frowning, he turns his back to the door and feels around for the handle. I have no doubt he’s planning on running, so as soon as the door opens, I smack the rifle against his breastbone and send him sprawling onto the ground outside.

  While Jovan ties him up, I stand in the doorway where I can cover both hunters. When Jovan is done, he leans down and whispers something in Glaring Guy’s ear before climbing back i
nto the aircraft.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That I hope the dogs find him first.”

  I’m guessing Glaring Guy’s the one who gave my friend his injuries.

  Jovan redoes the pilot’s cuffs so the man’s hands are in front of him, and then he and the pilot move to the seats by the control screen.

  I take the seat catty-corner to the pilot, and make sure he can see my weapon pointing at him. He and Jovan talk for several moments before Jovan taps the screen and it lights up again. The pilot places his hand over the glowing one on the glass and a second later the whole board comes to life.

  Jovan asks questions, and the pilot points at things without touching anything.

  “Here we go,” Jovan says seconds later. “You might want to put that belt on.”

  Once my security harness is in place, we lift into the air. The ride up the slope is surprisingly smooth.

  When I spot the area where I left Clora, I say, “See that big rock coming up on the right?”

  “I see it,” Jovan said.

  “She should be near it. There should be plenty of room to land on the other side.”

  We reach the flat area a few seconds later and hover high above it as Jovan and the pilot talk. Jovan then touches several buttons, after which the craft lands itself.

  I give Jovan one of the men’s weapons so he can keep an eye on the pilot, and then I hurry outside.

  “Clora!” I call.

  I hear nothing.

  “Clora, it’s me and Jovan! It’s okay!”

  I head up the ridge to where I left her.

  “Clora!”

  She’s not there, but that isn’t surprising. She must have started running away when she saw the aircraft heading in her direction. I take off toward the cabin, and not long after I enter the trees, I spot her running ahead.

  “Clora, it’s me! It’s all right!”

  She continues running for several steps before she slows and looks back.

  “Everything’s okay.”

  “Denny? But-but…I saw—”

  “We took the rotor. It’s ours.”

  “And Jovan?”

  I smile. “He’s inside.”