Chapter 10: I thought you had left me…
The world through the sniper scope was a bubble of hyper-reality, separated from the dawn's chill by a layer of polished glass and cold, calculated distance. Nate watched as Skylar emerged from the tree line, her movements hesitant, her head on a swivel. The compound bow was slung over one shoulder, a large backpack weighing down the other. She looked exactly as promised.
But Nate's finger didn't leave the guard. His eye didn't leave the scope. He panned slowly, methodically, scanning the shadows behind her, the tree line she'd exited, the opposite riverbank. He searched for the glint of a rifle barrel, the unnatural stillness of a man trying to blend in, the disturbed flight pattern of birds. He saw nothing. Just the gentle flow of the river and the morning sun painting the woods in gold and green.
She reached the cave entrance, a dark maw in the rock. "Hello?" Her voice, small and hopeful, carried across the water to his perch. She disappeared inside.
Nate's focus intensified. This was the moment. If it was a trap, they would move now, converging on the cave while their bait held the target in place. He scanned, and scanned again. The woods remained still. No sudden movements, no coordinated advance. Only the indifferent chatter of a waking forest.
A few moments later, she re-emerged, her posture deflated. "Did he not find the cave?" she muttered to herself, the words just audible. Her face, etched with a growing despair, was heartbreakingly clear in the high-powered lens. "Please don't tell me he changed his mind and tricked me."
She picked up a stone and hurled it into the river with a guttural cry of frustration. Then another. The curses that followed were raw and venomous, a torrent of pent-up fear and rage directed at the empty air. Then, the anger broke. Her shoulders slumped, and the sobs began. They wracked her body, turning into full, helpless wailing as she dropped to her knees on the gravel bank.
Nate watched, unmoved. It was a masterful performance if it was one, but his survival wasn't a prize given for a convincing act. He remained a part of the rock and the pines, his crosshairs never straying far from her. He watched her for an hour as the sun rose, solidifying the new day. The sobbing subsided into exhausted, silent tears.
"What do I do now?" she whispered to the river, the question carrying the weight of utter hopelessness.
He saw her shoulders set with a grim resolve. She stood, brushing the gravel from her knees, and turned to the west. It was the movement of someone with no other path, walking toward a desolate future.
It was time.
He stood, the muscles in his legs protesting after hours of stillness. "Stop," he called out, his voice cutting across the water.
She froze, whipping around. He descended the rocky outcrop with a controlled speed, his new arsenal clinking softly, then forded the shallow river, the cold water soaking his boots.
As he reached the other side, she ran to him, her tear-filled eyes wide with a mixture of fury and overwhelming relief. "Where have you been?" she demanded, before surprising them both by throwing her arms around him in a desperate hug.
Nate stiffened, his hands hovering awkwardly at his sides, the stock of the sniper rifle pressed between them. He was caught completely off guard by the physical contact. It had been so long.
"I thought you had left me…" she sobbed into his jacket, her body trembling. "Thank you for coming… thank you…"
"That's enough crying," Nate said, his voice gruff as he gently but firmly peeled her off him. "We don't have time for this."
She sniffled, wiping her face with a dirty sleeve. "Couldn't you have come out sooner? You have no idea the kinds of thoughts I was having." Her voice cracked. "I even thought of going back to those barbarians."
"It was necessary," he stated flatly, his gaze already turning to the western tree line. He started walking, not checking to see if she followed. "Now that that's clear, we can go."
***
Back in the compound, the air in the armory was thick with a silent, murderous rage. Kaelan stood over the dark, sticky stain on the floorboards, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. Pierce's body was still there, his death lingered.
"When did this happen?" Kaelan's voice was dangerously quiet.
"Judging by the blood," one of his men, a grizzled scavenger named Rourke, replied, "about five or six hours ago. Sometime deep in the night."
"What exactly are we missing?" Kaelan's wintery eyes swept the room.
"It's not just the armory," another man reported, consulting a scrap of paper. "The kitchen, too. Some food was stolen, but not enough to affect us in any significant way. Suggests it was a lone person, or two at most."
Rourke took over, his voice grim. "From the armory: one M110 sniper rifle, one M4 assault rifle. Two dozen M67 fragmentation grenades. A combat knife, a cutting knife. Multiple boxes of 7.62 and 5.56 ammo." He looked up, meeting Kaelan's gaze. "Whoever did this was efficient. They only took what they needed, nothing more. No greed. I'm assuming Pierce caught them in the act and met his end."
Kaelan absorbed the inventory, the theft a personal insult. They had been picked clean by a ghost.
Just then, another man appeared at the door, his face pale. "Sir. Skylar is gone."
Kaelan turned slowly, the pieces clicking into place with a final, terrible clarity. "What?"
"Her bunk is cleared out. Her compound bow and arrows are missing, along with her personal things."
The silence in the armory became absolute. The lone thief now had a face, and a companion. The insult was now a challenge. Kaelan's jaw tightened, the charismatic leader replaced by the ruthless predator beneath.