Defiance c j redwine

M oving with care, I open my pack. I’m running low on food since I haven’t been able to go to ground and hunt, but I still have a few jars of preserved fruit and some sheep jerky I took from the safe-house pantry. Choosing a small ration of each, I eat quickly and then grudgingly use a small bit of pain medicine.

I’m going to have to move fast. I can’t afford to feel the full effects of my journey until later.

After packing my bag and assessing the noises around me to gauge the relative safety of moving forward, I aim southeast and start tree-leaping. Within twenty minutes, all sounds of the battalion are gone, and I’m deep in the Spanish moss–draped forest of the southern Wasteland, surrounded only by birds, bugs, and the occasional rabbit or squirrel.

When I judge I’ve traveled far enough south to risk cutting back toward the west without running into the battalion, I take another short rest, refuel on water and some jerky, and start leaping again.

The sun is sinking toward the west, about three hours from sunset, when I glance down at the tracker cuff I wear and freeze.

The wires glow at one hundred percent. M y heart pounds, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

I’ve found her.

Somewhere in a thirty-yard radius around me, Rachel is traveling the Wasteland. I’m not too late. I’m busy scoping out my surroundings, trying to determine the best direction to take, when I hear her approach.