We found such cover under some large boulders near the summit of a treeless peak, just east of Elk Ranch Road. With this perch and our binoculars, it would be impossible for anyone to get within two miles without us seeing them coming. We’d move again as soon as darkness came, but this could be the only rest day we’d get. We drew pieces of straw for who would take which three-hour watch shift, and I drew the shortest—first slot. That was fine with me. I was wired.
The idea that Hayley could already be there, at Knights Peak—no more than six or seven miles from us now—was pumping the adrenaline through my veins. That and the thought of what I was going to do to Lazzo when I found him. If he thought I was just going to hand this book over, he had another think coming.
THIRTY-TWO – Sacrifice (Hayley)
We were getting closer to Knights Peak, but the sun was up now. There were so many open spaces we had to cross, and I was getting more nervous with each step. The paratroopers still hadn’t caught up to us, but that didn’t mean we weren’t walking right into more of them. I tried to convince Lazzo that we needed to find shelter and rest for a while, but he wouldn’t hear of it. I was concerned his rush to rejoin his family was making him less cautious—and prudent, for that matter. I wanted to see Danny, too—of course—but I knew that was out the window if we were caught.
We crossed a dirt road and approached a huge clearing, about a half-mile wide. As we stood on the edge of the trees and gazed across it, I glanced up into the adjacent hills, and for the first time I saw signs of the enemy. Figures that looked like gorillas were moving among the rocks. Snipers. I pointed them out to Lazzo. “They’re watching these clearings now. We have to stop.”
This time he didn’t argue. Best as we could tell, we were about six miles from Knights Peak. It was a crystal-clear blue-sky day, and I hated that. Our dark clothes were too dark, the sun too bright, and the gaps between the trees were far too wide. We wouldn’t blend in with these surroundings, and the troops coming behind us would be closing in fast. We considered moving further south to try to sneak east, but seeing the snipers had spooked us. We at least knew they were there. We weren’t sure what else could be south of us. We were going to throw the entire day away and stay here. Talk about frustrating.
We covered our clothes and visible skin with mud from a spring-fed creek bed and climbed the densest trees we could find. The comfort of sitting in the crook of a high, densely shrouded tree branch lasted all of about ten minutes. An hour later, my legs and butt were asleep. Awesome. Twelve more hours felt like sixty, but finally sunset brought a little darkness. Just when I thought we would be able to move again, I heard dogs barking and voices.
A line of troops as far as I could see in each direction crept through the evening shadows toward the clearing beyond us. The quantity of enemy soldiers was surprising—there had to be hundreds of them—but I was more concerned with the dogs. We were well hidden in these trees but, even if the troops couldn’t see us, dogs could still sniff us out. That could be a problem.
I couldn’t see anyone holding a THIRST system—Qi Jia’s thermal imagery trackers—so the soldiers seemed to be relying on the dogs—during the day at least. Maybe that was good news. Having covered ourselves in mud—which really stunk now—only flies seemed to be paying any attention to us. The dogs might not even pick up our scent if we stayed still. But we needed to move. We needed to get across that clearing. Bet those snipers on the ridge have infrared scopes though. It was going to be a risky move in any light.
Glancing over at Flynn I could see traces of fear in her eyes. It occurred to me then that I didn’t feel afraid at all. Odd. That in and of itself was rather freaky. This was not something a person should get used to. I motioned at her to stay calm. I couldn’t see Lazzo from my perch—as he was in a tree about ten yards directly behind me—but I was certain he knew the troops were approaching too. He was a little bigger than Flynn and me, a little more restless, and a little harder to conceal. Lazzo, you better not give us away. These guys had been walking all day. They were clearly tired and could barely see in this light. If we didn’t move, they would pass us by and we’d be okay. Or so I thought.
Instead, when they reached the edge of the clearing, they stopped and clustered. I saw them taking off their packs and looking around. Shit. They were setting up camp. Right beneath us. I watched as six men gathered under Flynn’s tree—twenty feet to my right—and another half dozen settled in about thirty yards to my left.
I had seen Red Dawn and the Hunger Games movies a dozen times each on Redemption—themes and settings we could certainly relate to in our “post America” existence. A decade ago those plots were entertainment—a distant fictional “surreality.” This—our plot today—was anything but. These men below us reminded me of the scene in the original Games where some of the participants camp under Katniss—waiting to kill her. But—unless I’d missed them—I didn’t have the luxury of genetically engineered wasps to fight back. And Ms. Everdeen’s one-on-three was nothing like our three-on however many hundred.
I could hear the soldiers speaking but had no idea what they were saying. Maybe Lazzo would know. I wished I could move enough to see him, but I couldn’t yet risk shifting that much. In another hour it would be pitch-black. One more hour of being a statue.
Each group of soldiers was collecting wood, and soon there were a dozen small fires crackling around us. I couldn’t see Flynn’s eyes anymore, but I was sure she was either watching me or the men directly below her. I knew I was going to have to make the first move.
By 10:00 p.m. all but two of the men around each of the fires were asleep. But even those men were struggling to stay awake. Occasionally they would stand and stretch, walk around a little, and then settle back down. Finally, around eleven, I saw the last two under Flynn’s tree nod off. It was time.
I slowly stood on my branch. I needed to let the blood flow through my lower extremities, needed to stretch, needed to flex. I couldn’t afford a slip or misstep, and after about fifteen minutes of loosening up, I slowly slipped down to the ground. I set my bow and quiver against the base of my tree and tiptoed away from Flynn’s tree and the men by that fire. Five minutes felt like an hour to inch to Lazzo’s tree. I took the penlight out of my pocket and flashed it quickly twice up at him. I could hear him shifting around. He wasn’t the most agile—and made considerably more noise than I had—but ten minutes later he stood beside me, shaking off his own stiffness. He apologized for taking so long to climb down but I dismissed it. He didn’t need to explain himself—not when a single cracked branch could kill us all. He whispered that there were over three hundred soldiers just this side of the clearing and about a dozen dogs. Far as he could tell they were all Libyan, or at least North African. Most of them had been communicating in Arabic. No one had seen any sign of us, but they were only looking for two people. They don’t know anything about Flynn.