The cold and the rain didn’t register now. The burning of his muscles was a dull throb, constant and insistent. Sharp heat rose when branches scratched his arms and face, but the pain cooled as quickly as it rose.
The mud river was no more. Whether it sunk into the ground or turned off somewhere, Brice didn’t know. He hadn’t been watching. All he knew was that he was moving downhill, and that he was following some kind of path, little more than a trail of downtrodden ferns. He refused to think about what he was following.
His boot slipped on a root, and he gave a sharp cry as his ankle twisted. But that was more in surprise than anything else, and although it felt tender, it still held his weight. And he walked on.
He hadn’t seen the root because he refused to use the torch. He told himself he’d save it for emergencies, conserving its power. Yet he knew he was fooling himself. The moment he heard or saw one of those things, it would be on him. He’d never have a hope of thumbing the control before those claws sliced through him.
If he had to die, he’d prefer it to be quick.
In the darkness, patterns shifted, and he chose to ignore them. A gap opened in the branches overhead, revealing bulbous, heavy clouds, and the forest around him became a shade lighter. Everything was black and grey. He walked through a forest of shadows, alive with whispers and roars from the storm.
But that hiss, close to his ear, was not the wind or the rain. Brice was certain of that.
He stopped, his feet suddenly heavy. Hairs on his neck pushed against the congealed mud as they fought to stand erect. His skin tingled.
The hiss was close enough that he felt sickly warm air brush his face.
Brice turned, peering into the void.
Two orbs hovered at head height, dark shapes swirling within. Something glistened underneath them as lips parted to reveal dull fangs, grey against the black, and a blast of foetid breath washed over Brice.
The torch slipped from his hand, pulling at his wrist.
The creature hissed again, its head moving from side to side. Dark holes above its mouth twitched, like it was sniffing him out. It moved, unfolding from the branches. It stretched out with an arm, and claws dragged against the trunk of a tree. Brice saw water run along the scars they left. The creature’s stink rolled over him.
He closed his eyes. The hiss swung left then right, and leaves moved. There was a snap from the ground as the creature stepped closer.
Brice swallowed, waiting for the end.
But the pain never came.
He opened his eyes, and already the shadow was moving away, along the track. It walked slowly, parting ferns with its hands, like it had all the time it cared to take. But it moved away from Brice. He watched its broad shoulders, and saw the ridge at the top of its spine, just at the base of its neck.
His own hand came up to his neck, fingers rubbing the grit against his skin. He missed the warmth of his lattice. He missed knowing what was going on with his body.
The creature was searching—that must be why it constantly moved its head from side to side—but it had missed Brice. He didn’t understand how it could be so blind, but it gave him hope. Or maybe he was becoming delusional.
The creature was searching for food, maybe. The monsters had followed the crew from the cliff to the hold-out. They had followed Brice and Tris.
This beast was making for the hold-out.
Brice followed, on the verge of laughter. It was like a sheep following a wolf. Terrifying, but beyond ridiculous.
The creature increased its pace, forcing Brice to break into a run. He wondered if it knew Brice was following, and if it was trying to shake him off. But the monster never once looked back. It showed no signs of knowing Brice was there.
Soon, he could no longer see the beast, nor hear its movements. But he could still follow the path it took. And as he did so, he let his mind run free, because it was beginning to understand.
The creature had been close enough to kill Brice with one swipe of its claws, but it had ignored him. And back in the tunnels, the creature that attacked Cathal had then run straight into Brice. Almost like it didn’t see him.
They existed in the dark, so they couldn’t rely on sight. Hadn’t Ryann suggested this? They’d use smell or—maybe because their own stench was too strong—sound. Or electrical impulses. He didn’t understand science, but he knew these things would use something other than their eyes to ‘see’.
And they didn’t ‘see’ Brice.
As unlikely as that sounded, it explained so much. When the creatures had been swarming round Tris, they hadn’t turned on Brice. And they infected the forest, yet Brice was able to walk with no protection.
He pushed against a branch, and it snapped, the crack echoing through the trees. He stopped, but nothing came for him. Maybe they couldn’t hear, either.
The creature’s path had disappeared, or maybe Brice had taken a wrong turn, because he was surrounded by trees and ferns and all the other plants he knew nothing about. But he could still feel the angle of the ground. He needed to keep moving downhill.
The undergrowth was thick, so Brice unsheathed one of his knives. He swung with an easy motion, left and down then right and up, using momentum and the turns of his body to do much of the work. It helped that he kept the blade sharp. The severed plants sprayed him with water, but they no longer barred his path, and he walked on, stronger than before. The movement in his arm sent warmth through his body, and he started to smile.
This was what he did. He moved. He used his body.
Light filtered through the trees, and that must have
