She took a breath, looked into the trees—no warths nearby, which was a comfort—then back to Keelin.
“We walk.” But she needed to say more, and she thought how Cathal would organise things. “I’m on point. Keelin next. Tris, you’ve got the rear.” That was an important position, and the extra responsibility might keep him focused. “Brice?”
He turned, and she saw him glance at Cathal. “You want me to carry him?” There was a hint of resentment in his voice.
“Can you manage that?”
“Sure.” He shrugged his pack off. “Might work if he’s strapped to my back, though. He already has a harness on. Keelin, give me a hand?”
Ryann wanted to smile at that, at the way he was stepping up. But another part of her knew she should have been the one to give the instructions. Cathal would have done that. Even if the idea had come from Brice, Cathal would have been in control.
“Get on it. We move off as soon as we can.” And, again, that sounded weak.
<Tris,> she sussed privately, <When we move, I want you to watch our backs. You detect anything, tell me. Keep communications tight.>
He stood straighter now. <I can do that. Sure you don’t want me to keep the others informed?>
<No. You tell me everything, I’ll decide if it’s a risk.> She chose her words with care, knowing Tris needed every boost to his confidence she could give him. She needed to appeal to his ego. <I don’t want to make them nervous. We need to keep things calm.>
He nodded, a hint of a smile on his lips.
Yes, that was how Cathal did it. He pulled at strengths to cover weaknesses. He used whatever he could, and he got the crew working together.
She turned to look at Brice. He wore Cathal like a back-pack, tight against his body. Keelin had used webbing to strap the man in place, and even his head was bound to Brice’s shoulder.
“You okay with my pack?” he asked Keelin. Ryann noticed how she wore it across her chest, her own pack on her back.
“It’s fine. Not as much weight as you’re carrying.”
Brice flexed his shoulders. “Feels good. No slippage.” He smiled.
“Okay,” Ryann said, suppressing her own smile. “Let’s do this.”
She led the crew into the trees, and she almost felt confident.
Movement felt good to Brice, even with the extra weight he carried. Maybe because of it. He felt his legs pushing harder, and the warmth was a comfort. Even his breathing, deeper with each step, felt good.
Almost good enough to ignore the fact that, once again, he was doing the donkey work.
But he could understand why things needed to be this way. Keelin could never have managed to carry Cathal like this, and Ryann needed to be free to lead. And Tris? Data-boy might have been building his body up, but it was all for show. He wouldn’t have lasted more than a few hundred metres.
But it was annoying that he was bringing up the rear. Brice trusted Keelin to watch his back, but not Tris.
Ryann stopped every so often, holding up a hand in silence as she scanned the trees. Then she’d carry on, leading them through the undergrowth. They followed no path Brice could make out. But Ryann knew what she was doing. She was their tracker.
She stopped again, but this time she spoke.
<Wait.>
Then she darted forward, disappearing into the foliage. Brice looked around. Trees, undergrowth, and mud at his feet. Rain drummed down, and it seemed to free a heady, moist scent from the forest. But when Brice turned his head, he caught a meaty undertow. It seemed to be coming from Cathal. Brice wondered when he’d last brushed his teeth.
The leaves rustled, and a shape moved. Before Brice had time to react, he heard Ryann’s voice, and knew she was back.
<Possible trouble. Three warths, same ones as before.>
<Where?> Keelin’s voice was quiet, a whisper through the lattice.
<A little way off. But our path brings us close.>
<We retreating?> Tris sounded almost hopeful.
<Too much doubling back. We need to move fast.>
<Surely it’s better to be safe…>
<We don’t have time.> There was an urgency in her tone, harsher than normal, but it was gone when she sussed again. <Okay. We do it like this. Move forward slowly. Keep low, don’t make eye contact. No signs of aggression. If they appear and start moving towards us, we go the opposite way.>
<And…>
Ryann cut Tris off. <And we won’t have a problem. Come on.>
Brice walked in a crouch, and he felt the strain in his back. His lattice should be compensating, but maybe he was more exhausted than he felt.
It was dark under the trees, and Brice knew night had fallen. He tried to remember if warths could see in the dark.
<One fairly close to our right. Not looking this way. Keep low.>
Maybe it was looking for a place to bed down. But that was ridiculous—they had cubs, so they’d return to their nest.
Ryann sussed again. <Another one, also to the right. Further back.>
<What about the third?> Tris asked.
<Not sure. Possibly behind.>
That didn’t sound good.
<They moving or staying still?>
<Not sure. Confusing signals. Let me concentrate.>
Brice followed Ryann as she turned to the left, thankfully further from the warths. At least the two she was certain of.
Then she stopped.
<They’re moving. This way.>
<Retreat?> asked Tris, like he was ready to run.
<Not yet. Wait.> There was a pause, and then Ryann repeated herself. <Wait.>
Brice’s mouth was dry. He wanted to tip his head back and take in some of the falling moisture. But not with Cathal’s head so close. As it was, the man’s short hair kept rubbing against his cheek. The stink was stronger, too, and Brice’s stomach churned when he breathed it in. Maybe Cathal’s wound was festering or something. Or maybe Tris had
