Blood blossomed upward like a Roman candle.
“Oh, God, no …”
The woman stared at Josh with dead eyes, her head squished in the center like Mr. Peanut, the bear trap dripping crimson.
Woof limped over and Josh backed away, scared he might hurt the dog, too. Jesus Christ, what did he just do? Why did he hit her when she was obviously just looking for help? He killed her. He freaking killed her.
Josh looked at his hands. Murderer’s hands. They were shaking. How was he supposed to live with himself? He felt his stomach do flip-flops, like he’d swallowed a live carp.
What now? Run away? Hide the body? Turn himself in?
He wanted to save lives. That’s all he wanted to do. That was the promise he made to himself. To help others. To make the world a better place.
And now …
Over. His life was over. He couldn’t live with this.
Could he?
Maybe the Charge contributed, made him paranoid. Maybe it even made him temporarily insane. He didn’t mean to kill her. Just stop her. He didn’t know she’d fall on a bear trap.
No. He
Could he have stopped himself?
His eyes became glassy. He shook his head again, a litany of “should haves” and “whys” flying at him from all angles.
Josh set his jaw, embraced the responsibility.
It was ultimately his decision to hit her. He made the choice. Now he had to deal with the consequences of his actions. That’s how a civilized society worked. All criminals could justify their crimes. They all had reasons, excuses. But human beings weren’t programmable robots. Following instincts, or orders, or drug-induced impulses, were not excuses.
Everyone had free will. And no one ever had the right to murder another human being.
He dropped to his knees, unsure if he should cry for the poor soul he just slaughtered, or for himself.
He peeked through his tears. He’d seen that anklet and necklace before. And the ring—that was the ring he helped Erwin pick out when he proposed to Jessie Lee.
Josh begged the universe that he was right, that this woman was indeed a soldier and had played a part in butchering his friends. He crawled over to her, not looking at her face, and patted down her skirt. No pockets. The sweater didn’t have any, either. Josh almost began to cry. He checked to see if she had some sort of purse or backpack, but she didn’t. Then he held her dead hand, looked at the ring and anklet again, and doubted himself.
Maybe those weren’t Jessie Lee’s. Maybe he just desperately wanted them to be.
“What did I do? What did I—”
There. In her other hand. A knife.
Josh pried it from her fist. A combat blade. Then he heard a soft buzz. He followed it to her hiking books and dug a black communicator out of an ankle holster.
The relief enveloped him. He wasn’t a murderer. It was self-defense. The Charge made him aggressive, but it also made him sense something his conscious mind was unaware of. Josh was so happy he almost kissed the communicator. He restrained himself, sliding the cover open instead, reading the last message.
He reasoned it out. The Red-ops had Fran and Duncan. The Red-ops found Warren. So either the Red-ops had brought Fran and Duncan to Warren’s place, or—
Or they didn’t need Fran and Duncan alive anymore.
Dread slapped euphoria right out of Josh. He whistled for Woof, patting the beagle’s head and giving him a scratch under the muzzle and winding his hand around the end of the clothesline.
“Find Duncan, Woof. Find Duncan, boy.”
The dog licked Josh’s face, then took off running. He sprinted after Woof, but the dog’s direction was erratic, zigzagging, and Josh couldn’t run full-tilt, periodically shining the Maglite at the ground to make sure he didn’t wind up in a bear trap.
Woof got farther and farther away, and Josh let out yard after yard of line until he was holding the very end, the dog disappearing into the undergrowth.
Then, abruptly, Woof stopped. The leash went slack.
Josh halted next to a tree, panting, the whole forest lopsided.
“Woof! Come, boy! Woof!
Josh whistled. He whistled again.
“Woof!
No answer.
Josh gathered in the rope, pulled it about a few feet, and then it went taut. He didn’t feel the dog on the end. There was no movement at all. The line must have been caught on something.
He paused, wondering what to do next. His feeling of invincibility had faded, passed. Josh thought about taking another Charge capsule and quickly decided he’d rather die of cyanide poisoning that have
Instinct told him something had happened to Woof. Something bad. Maybe a trap. Or maybe something even worse.
He thought, fleetingly, of leaving the dog there, going on without him. But Woof saved his life, and if Josh could return the favor he would. No matter how much it scared him.
Josh began to walk, winding the clothesline around his arm as he did. He took five steps. Listened. Heard nothing. Took five more steps. Listened. Called quietly, “Woof.” Heard nothing. Took five more steps. Listened.
A whine. Faint. Coming from the bushes ahead. The rope trailed beneath them.
Josh pulled lightly on the rope.
The rope tugged lightly back.
Another whine. Louder. Woof was hurt.
Josh gripped the Maglite tight, trying to control the shaking as he pointed it at the bushes, trying to penetrate inside them.
The bushes shook, then stilled.
If it were any other dog on the planet, Josh would have dropped the rope and run in the opposite direction. But he forced himself forward, one foot in front of the other, crouching down where the rope disappeared in the foliage.
The rope began to pull. Gently. Josh tightened his hand around it and tugged, feeling some resistance. He tugged harder, pulling the rope back.
“Woof,” he called, louder.
Woof whined in response.
Relieved, Josh tucked the Maglite under his armpit and began to reel in the clothesline, hand over hand. He wound a yard around his arm. Two yards. Five yards. Knowing he was getting close to the end.
Then, blessedly, Woof bounded out of the trees, running up to Josh, putting his paws on his shoulder.
But Woof wasn’t attached to the rope. His collar was off, and he had some clothesline tied around his
