At the bottom of the stairs, Sherman buried his nose into the snow, his interest leading them along the tracks sneaking in between the trailers. Jenny studied the footprints, only three sets counted in this line—all the same tread design, just different sizes. Matt and Grant aren’t here. Have to be in that other group. If not… then I don’t know what the hell is going on. She knelt, glancing underneath the trailer. Sherman whined, and Jenny whipped the pistol toward the semi’s cab, but nothing there. The sudden shift caused her heart to beat even faster. “Damn it, Sherman. What do you know?” He sat near the wall of the trailer and looked back toward her, his eyes knew something. “Seek!”
The canine scrambled underneath the trailer, the lead flapping in the snow behind him, let loose from Jenny’s grip. She dropped the pistol into its holster and took to the rifle. Backtracking toward the stairs and round the semi’s back end, she posted at the corner of the trailer. One peek, then a second. She broke out into the open, rifle fixed toward the top of the ramp. Sherman found something—small and black in the snow. “Matt’s glove. Good, boy!” She tousled his fur and scooped the glove into her cargo pocket. “So, this is definitely the way they went.”
“Jenny!”
Jolted from the outburst, she spun the rifle, searching for where the voice had come from. The rooftop—Derrick, one of their own.
“Where’d all those shots come from?” he asked.
She put a finger over her lips—“Keep it down”—and hurried over to where he stood above her. “Just…” What the hell do I say? “It’s—it’s a long story. Don’t have time to explain. I need to—”
“Are you okay?” From his tone, she knew he had seen the blood.
She stared blankly, saying nothing, still unsure on what to share, if anything.
“Seriously, what the hell’s goin’ on?” Derrick’s voice more urgent now. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. Did you see who made these tracks back here?”
He shook his head. “No, they weren’t there before. Only two of us up here right now. Let me ask the other—”
“No, it’s fine.” She glanced back toward the ramp. “You see anyone in the woods? Can you see that far?”
“No one’s there. Just those prints leadin’ up through that way.” He flipped his binoculars to double-check. “Yeah, nothing.”
“Thanks!” She jogged back to Sherman and took hold of his lead.
“Jenny,” he called to her again, “really, what’s going on?”
“Stay up there, you see any one of those guys dressed in black come through here, don’t ask any questions, just shoot them dead.”
“I can’t do that without orders from Griffin.”
“Griffin’s…” Jenny started. “The order’s coming.” She tugged at Sherman’s lead, and they rushed for the woods.
“Jenny!” he shouted. “What’s that mean? What happened?”
The Second Alliance’s tracks led back through the training grounds—the same direction they’d come through earlier with Griffin. No effort was taken on their part to hide it. Every bootprint accounted for. No trickery. A straight-forward march to wherever it was they were going. “Aren’t being very careful are they, boy?” She patted Sherman’s side. “They were probably long gone by the time shit went bad and have no idea their plan’s essentially dead.”
Jenny took her binoculars from inside the pouch and glassed across the ridge looming before them—nothing in the distance except the gray sky bleeding through bare branches. “We’ll pick their track up in a bit.” She leaned the rifle against a downed tree protruding from the snow and slipped the rucksack from her shoulders. With her boot, she cleared some snow from the ground to sit next to her long gun, remembering to always have it ready at hand.
“What do you think, boy?” She scratched along his back, up to his head, which now lay in her lap. He looked up at her, eyes heavy. “I know…” Her voice wavered. “You’d think it’d get easier.” The tears swelled inside, wanting nothing more than to break loose, to glide down the features of her face to show the world her loss. That she was hurting again. Another friend gone. Another death that didn’t have to be. She choked it back down and forced a smile. “Here,”—she leaned over and unclipped the flap to the ruck—“let’s take your mind off this. You hungry?” Sherman perked up at the can of dog food dangling in front of him. “At least you still have your appetite.”
He nudged against the can, his tongue hanging with anticipation. Jenny opened the can and flipped it, letting the meat slurry plop into the snow. She wretched at its smell. “Not the greatest is it?” She couldn’t bear to watch him tear into it. Instead, she raised the binoculars toward the ridge once more. “They can’t be too far yet, right?” Her eyes pursued the trail of footprints running up the face of the ridge until they disappeared. “This is going to be a piece of cake for you.” He looked to her, satisfied—the food gone from the snow. “What do you think?”
He cocked his head sideways.
“I know you know more than just German,” she forced a chuckle that went nowhere with her canine companion. “You’re gonna need to start talking back at some point.”
Sherman brought his head back into her lap, and Jenny traced her fingers through his fur. Calming. She took the moment to decompress, leaning her head back against the tree behind them. Through the branches, she lost herself in the sky. A good long gaze.
The S.A. owes me for everything. For Danny. For Xavier. Sam. Anyone else they’ve taken from the world that didn’t deserve it. I know finding them isn’t going to be the problem. Sherman’s too good. But it’s what to do once we get there. I have to be smarter than them, patient. Wait for a mistake. It isn’t impossible. Only four of them. One’s a Soldier, though. Shit… Maybe I should’ve gotten some others to help. But who the hell knows who was in on it? Maybe all the higher ups knew about the plan for Matt and Grant. Better to work alone. At least I know where my loyalties lie.
Jenny tousled Sherman’s head. “It’s me and you, boy. That’s it.”
Chapter Nine
Smoke billowed from a chimney—the fireplace providing warmth and refuge from the cold outside. Jealous, but not stupid enough to follow suit, Jenny shivered in a vacant house across the street, surveilling the porch where two Second Alliance Guards stood watch. How the hell’s the S.A. made it this far? That’s basic stuff right there. Don’t give your position away. “Right, boy?” she whispered, turning her attention from the window. She heard the bed’s comforter rustle but couldn’t make out much more than that in the shadowy upstairs bedroom. All she knew was he’d claimed the bed already and lay somewhere sprawled out across it. “Rest up. You’ve earned it.”
At the window, she sat wrapped in a blanket she’d found in one of the back room closets and considered grabbing another one. The single blanket proved insufficient with every gust of wind sneaking through the slightly opened window. Unfortunately, closing it wasn’t an option. During the Guards’ first shift change, she took her first and only attempt. It squeaked something fierce, then refused to budge any further. Luckily, anyone who could’ve heard her mistake was inside at the time and unable to. Now, the only sound coming from her position was the gentle clacking of the blinds against the wooden frame.
Diligently, she studied their movements, their habits, trying to establish a pattern, but more importantly, a true count of Second Alliance personnel standing in her way. But even with the burning fireplace helping to illuminate the muted figures passing by the front window, Jenny’s confidence in her mental tally was weak—each of them in uniform—all fairly the same build.