“Not now, Booker.” The harsh snap of the voice nearly makes me stumble.
My mind’s so muddled, it takes a second to realize that voice speaks English. I twist around and slow my pace, but the closest man to me shouts.
“Don’t stop. Keep running.” He waves for me to keep going.
Gunfire fills the night. From this distance, each shot is the flickering of a firefly. There must be dozens of men involved in the firefight, and some of them are closing in.
Head down, my arms pump as adrenaline floods my body. This time, instead of finding no escape, that adrenaline feeds my muscles, fueling them with energy. I run faster than I ever have before.
But the man behind me is faster still.
Before I realize it, he paces me. Taller than tall, he towers over my diminutive height, and unlike me, he hobbles his steps to keep pace with me.
“They’re gaining ground.” The first voice calls out again. “Speed it up.”
“No time for introductions, luv, but Carmen sent us.” The man running beside me closes the distance. He slings his weapon over his shoulder, mid-stride, then twists toward me. “We’re the good guys.”
Before I realize what’s happening, I sail through the air, twist in his arms, and wind up draped over his shoulder. Tossed like a sack of potatoes, he wraps an arm over the back of my knees, holding me in place. The unforgiving metal of his weapon slams into me with each of his steps. Or rather, I slam against the weapon as I bounce along.
I press my hands on his lower back, propping myself up enough to look behind us. Two men are but a few yards behind us. Beyond them, those firefly flashes are too numerous to count.
A low groan tries to work its way free of my throat, but I gulp down my fear and pray. Something buzzes near my ear. I swat at an annoying insect, but it flits away, drifting back to the pair jogging behind us.
Jogging?
No. They’re in a full-on sprint and the one carrying me doesn’t appear hindered by my weight one bit.
When Carmen mentioned Guardians, I envisioned men much like the armed men who provide security for the estate, but those men are puny compared to the three Guardians.
Screams suddenly erupt from the men in pursuit. Terrified shrieks as if chased by a monster.
“Looks like the Rufi are on task.” There’s something about the voice of the man carrying me that makes my heart falter for a second. There’s a resonance and cadence that soothes my fear.
With no idea what a Rufi is, I press against his lower back, desperate to look behind us. Other than the two Guardians running behind us, the night’s blacker than black except for the ruddy glow from the fire in the kitchen.
The gait of the man carrying me slows and shifts as he enters the dense vegetation of the jungle. Leaves and branches slap against my legs as he barrels onward and I fall back, lying against his back. There’s no use looking behind. The Guardians are three men against dozens hot on our heels.
My Guardian leaps over exposed roots and climbs over fallen trees. The entire time, he doesn’t once release his grip on me. The Guardians behind us, stay right on our heels, closing the gap. The only sound in the darkness is the slow, methodical chugging of their breaths and the sound of leaves slapping in their faces.
FIVE
Rosalie
After some time, the man carrying me slows, then stops. He gently lifts me off his shoulder and sets me on my feet.
In the darkness, I make out very little of his face, except to say it’s rugged and strong. When he stands, I bite back my alarm. The top of my head is below his shoulders and he’s easily twice, maybe three times, as wide as me. I feel incredibly small.
Now that we’re stopped, the jungle comes alive with the sounds of birds, monkeys, insects, and other creatures. It’s deafening and wonderful. When I breathe, all the aromas of the jungle create an amazing palate of smells: fragrant flowers, loamy soil, woodsy scents, pine and fir. It’s both sickeningly sweet and robustly warm. It’s a natural harmony creating a sense of immense age and the weight of life itself.
“Show me your feet.” Without a by-your-leave, the man barks an order at me as if I’ll jump and respond.
“Who are you?” I lean forward, curious as a cat, to peek into the shadows of his face.
“Hayes.” I pull back at the irritation in his voice. “Show me your feet.” He repeats his command, sharper this time.
“Considering the circumstances, introductions are definitely in order.” Not afraid to stand my ground, it’s not an unreasonable request. “Don’t bark at me. It’s rude and…”
Gunfire cracks behind us. Muffled by the dense vegetation, it’s impossible to tell the direction from which it comes, but it shuts me up.
“Move!” One of the other men, the one who spoke before makes me jump with his command.
Before I know what’s happening, I’m lifted up and into the air again. Like the first time, I drape unceremoniously over the shoulder of a man I don’t know.
We take off again, moving deeper into the jungle. I’ve lived more than a decade at Maximus Angelo’s villa, but never once, in all that time, did I dare enter the jungle.
Not because the jungle scares me. Far from it. When I was a little girl, the jungle was my friend. I grew up among its vastness, learning its secrets and lessons. I foraged for our meals and learned how to hunt from my father and little brothers with a sling made from the bounty of the forest. I learned how to find water, set up camp, and how the canopy is a far richer place than anyone knows.
I’m not skittish of the jungle, unlike many girls my age, but it has been a very long time since I’ve visited its depths.
I find myself unusually afraid of the noises around us. Those noises go quiet, however, as the men continue on. To the denizens of the forest, men are noisy and smelly. They’re to be feared, which brings silence to the teaming life of the forest.
We move on for another few minutes, heading deeper into the jungle. At a clearing near a stream, the man carrying me, sets me down on a rock. My attention shifts to the canopy overhead, remembering lessons from my youth when I was but a girl.
“What’s the count?” Haye’s gruff tone brings my shoulders to my ears.
“Too many.” That first man speaks again.
The three of them huddle around me, including me in their little circle, if not in their conversation.
“Options?” I need names for these men. The only one who hasn’t said a word is Booker. I got that when the first one chastised him for turning around. Then there’s Hayes, who carries me.
“I lost my comm.” The comment from Hayes makes no sense.
“I’m still in communication.” The unnamed man responds.
“Same.” Booker answers with a sharp shake of his head. “We’ve got a drone with us.” He looks up and the other two do the same.
I look up as well and gasp when I see the largest dragonfly I’ve ever seen. My shock isn’t from the size, but from the metallic body. Squinting, I peer at the thing, trying to make sense of what my eyes are trying to tell me.
“We keep on, try to lose them, or we split up.”
“We’re stronger together.” By his tone, Hayes isn’t a fan of that plan.