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CHAPTER 25

Amalie Raven made a discovery when she started work for the day that pissed her off pretty thoroughly. Those two fuckwits had caused the Byko to tighten up their system, and the access she had was gone. She didn’t dare ask about it, and hoped they hadn’t identified her leak. She didn’t want to answer questions and sure as fuck wasn’t going to wear a slave collar. Someone would be bleeding out before that happened. That meant she really couldn’t try to access the system again. Some of the troops could play dumb and get away with it. Some of them wouldn’t even need to pretend. However, Cryder knew her background and skill set and would assume intent on her part.

On the plus side, neither of the Russian mountains, as she thought of them, had said anything about it. She also remembered a good portion of what she’d processed and discovered from their net. She ran through, committing it to memory and pondering if she should write any of it down in her own coded shorthand.

On the negative side, her ankles didn’t like the cold, yesterday’s sprint, or the impending weather change. Then, migraine about to start. She actually felt like a shaman, predicting a weather change without any tech needed. It was probably a warm front, by 5°F or so.

Right then, Cryder came over.

“Doctor Raven, I need to talk to you,” he said. Damn, that baritone and accent.

“Yes?” she replied, trying not to panic.

“You’re reasonably well read in tribal matters generally.”

She felt a bit less tense and said, “Yes, paleoanthropology is one of my minors and I’ve worked in multiple cultures.”

“Come along while we recover the abandoned gear? It’s in a cave they believe is sacred. I’ve no background for it.”

That let her relax the rest of the way.

“I can offer what I know on-site or by drone. Right now, my ankles are killing me and my head is about to explode as the weather front moves in.”

“Will Arnet’s treatment enable you?”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“Good. Please see him. I welcome your input. Thank you.”

He left, just as Sheridan came from the food truck with a rolled-up waffle. The woman had no impulse control and starch was going to kill her. They were apparently really good waffles. Amalie hadn’t tried one. She didn’t need to trigger crack-like cravings for stuff she couldn’t have.

She said, “I’m going on their recovery operation today. Can you manage without help?”

Sheridan said, “On my stuff, yes. I can probably get someone to help pass samples back and forth. On your specialty processes, they’ll have to wait. I’ll be busy.”

That was actually perfect. She didn’t want her putative boss screwing around with the real data.

“That’s fine. If I’m a bit behind, I’ll just work into the night. We’ll be back from this thing when we’re done.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

She walked stiffly and gingerly up to the CQ. Arnet was lounging under the awning, stood up as she approached, and asked, “Sick call?”

She replied, “Ankles troubling from yesterday’s thing. Headache from weather. General offput from not being comfortable. Whatsisname said to see you.”

Arnet replied, “You appear to have mild aphasia.”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Storm hurt brain.” It was hitting her badly.

The man turned to his concoctions and long seconds later handed her a tube.

She drank it down, and felt ice-cold clarity seep back into her neurons. Then her fatigue retreated in a warm mist that felt like waking from a refreshing nap. Her calves stopped aching, and her ankles at least felt half as swollen, if not actually healthy.

“Thank you,” she said in relief. “That was a pretty bad hit. I’m estimating pressure drop at about a thousand pascals.”

The man glanced at his screen, raised his eyebrows, and said, “Close estimate. It’s dropped one zero five three in the last hour.”

“Yeah. When does the storm hit?”

“It looks like we’ll avoid it, just overcast and dark.”

“Good. Do you think I’m fit to function? And thank you very much.” She was always embarrassed at how stupid she sounded when her brain fogged up. She also rarely realized it until it was on her.

He said, “You should be fine. The medication isn’t just palliative. It does some reconstruction. Though obviously there are limits in the field. If our medics can do more before you return, it will help longer term.”

“Why didn’t they before we transitioned here?”

“Did you ask?”

Oof. “No. It didn’t occur to me.”

“Apologies,” he offered with a slight nod, not quite a bow. “Our cultural privacy is not to ask or offer unless the subject is raised first.”

“I can see that,” she agreed. “Please consider the subject raised, and I welcome any help possible.”

“Roj. I’ll make a note for our debrief.”

“I greatly appreciate it. Thanks again.”

With that, and feeling mostly fit as a fat thirty-five-year-old with bad ankles could, she walked down to her tent to grab gear.

Cryder was leading the recovery, along with Captain Elliott and Sergeant Spencer. Having the two seniors along and the senior NCO seemed unusual. She was along for “science stuff,” as they put it, which was quaint, but she appreciated that they realized the relevance. Oglesby was along as support and to cross-check translations. Hamilton apparently knew where everything was and rounded out the group. He wasn’t armed, and he still had his collar.

The two officers ran down a checklist of weapons, food, water. The clothing everyone wore should be proof against natural damage and anything made of stone or bone. The Byko tech and process greatly abbreviated premovement prep. In minutes, they were aboard the vehicle and rolling straight through the wards.

They drove west and slightly north, roughly paralleling the river, largely back the way they’d come a few days before. She kept an eye out, but nothing looked familiar. If they were only a few hundred meters off, she wouldn’t recognize anything. This was all fresh territory.

Cryder drove hard and fast, too. The seats were well cushioned against bounce, and the undercarriage, whatever it was, had some flex. It took only a couple of hours to reach a section upstream where rolling terrain turned to bluffs.

Spencer exclaimed, “Holy crap, this area looks familiar.”

Cryder replied, “If you’re thinking of the bluffs from the last displacement, it’s similar, but nearly one hundred kilometers distant.”

“Erosion only takes so many forms, I guess.”

“I think so. Specialist Hamilton, is this correct?”

The man nodded. “I think so, sir. It looks like where we stopped to camp and do some sort of stoner prayer.”

“‘Stoner prayer’?”

“We called them Stoners until we joined up, and there was some sort of fasting and praying before we went in the cave.”

“I see. We should proceed, then.”

They popped the doors and debarked, Amalie feeling reasonably fit, but she’d reserve judgment until they finished hiking up to a cave. In the vehicle the temperature had been perfect. Outside it was cold but clear, and the sun felt good. Cryder locked it by remote, like any twenty-first-century car, and it shimmered and faded into the growth, still visible as an outline, but disrupted.

With everyone carrying backpacks, mostly armed, and ready to move, Cryder said, “Lead the way.”

Hamilton hesitated.

“I only really saw it from a distance, four years ago. It’s up that way for certain.”

Cryder nodded. “That’s fine, take lead.”

Hamilton shrugged and started walking.

Spencer said, “Sir, I recommend a bit of spacing. Not combat distance but, say, three meters or so in case the terrain has issues.”

Elliott chuckled. “I was just about to give that order. But I appreciate the support.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“That’s the spacing, everyone got it?”

“Hooah.” She joined in because it was convenient, and to avoid standing out. It was ingrained habit from that recovery in Afghanistan, where she’d been one of a half dozen civilians stuffed into uniforms and trying hard to avoid looking important enough for enemy sharpshooters. At least here she didn’t need body armor and a helmet.

They slogged uphill fast, and she was quickly winded trying to keep up, as the terrain progressed from scrub slope to rocky crags with grass and brush protruding. It was too narrow for the vehicle, though it would certainly handle the climb on a broader track. As they got farther upslope and upriver, there was more green and brush, and she had to be careful of her ankles at every step. The cool air became pleasant as she sweated.

Sergeant Spencer dropped back and paced her.

“You doing okay, ma’am?” he asked.

“I have shorter legs than you giraffes,” she half joked.

He replied at once, “True. Want me to slow the pace?”

She thought and said, “I do, but I don’t want to hinder anything we’re doing.”

“We can slack it off a little,” he said. Raising his voice, “Hey, short legs in back. Ease the pace, Hamilton.”

“Hooah, Sergeant!” the man called back, and did slow somewhat.

“Thanks, that helps,” she said in relief. It was still a brisk pace and an ankle-breaker of a hike, but she could breathe and wasn’t experiencing stabbing pains yet.

He told her, “We’ve traveled about three kilometers while climbing about two hundred meters, on very rough terrain. That’s a stiff hike for anyone not in regular mountain training.”

It wasn’t long before they bunched up. Hamilton was at least breathing a bit hard. The rest were panting a bit, except Cryder, who didn’t seem at all stressed.

“I think that’s it,” Hamilton pointed. “Right direction at least.”

There was definitely a cave up there, in a long, descending crack that widened.

The bushes moved, and suddenly there were people out front who looked concerned about them approaching.


“Well, shit,” Sean Elliott muttered. “I guess we need to try some diplomacy.”

Cryder said, “I prefer diplomacy, but I’m not willing to wait long.”

“Yeah, so what do we tell them? Hamilton?”

The man stepped over.

“I’m not really sure, sir,” he admitted. “It’s a sacred cave and they do other things here. I’m not sure how our tribe got access. We didn’t speak the language much at the time, and I didn’t ask since.”

Sean asked, “If we radio Lieutenant Cole, will he know?”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so.”

“Well, let’s do it. Spencer, keep an eye on that pair up there.”

“Four of them now, sir.”

“Noted.”

Cryder spoke into his tablet, for want of a better word. It controlled everything, and Sean wondered what would happen if he lost it, though it was attached to the man’s uniform with a lanyard that was probably stronger than an anchor chain, despite being the thickness of a USB cable.

“Call Arnet. Cryder request Lieutenant Cole.”

Arnet responded immediately with, “Stand by, Shuff.”

Moments later, Sean heard, “This is Lieutenant Cole.”

He said, “We’re at the cave. There’s a native contingent here. What information do you have on access and permissions?”

“Uh…ask, I guess. It was empty when we got there but we had to do some praying and stuff. That’s probably the way in. It’s like a church for them. Voices quiet, listen to the usher, very holy.”

“We’ll attempt that, thank you.”

Cryder looked at Sean, who looked back with a shrug. He turned and ordered, “Hamilton, please call up to them and tell them we need to enter. What is the best way for us to do so?”

“Yes, sir. I guess I just ask.”

The man turned to talk, and Sean muttered softly, “Oglesby, check him.”

“I always do, sir,” the man replied.

Hamilton waved, called, and asked. It was pretty obvious the response was a negative, complete with curt voices, knife hands, and headshakes.

He turned back.

“Sir, they say they don’t know who we are and the spirits won’t allow us in. We must leave at once. There’s some sort of ritual in a few days and they’re keeping the cave holy from animals and they definitely won’t allow people in.”

Cryder asked, “Think there’s any way to negotiate?”

“No, sir. They’re pretty serious.”

“Okay.”

Cryder unslung his weapon, raised it as it morphed, and swept it across the cave mouth. There was a faint buzzing with a high-pitched wail. All four sentries fell over, and something dropped out of an overhanging tree branch.

Dr. Raven spoke quietly and urgently.

“I understand you have to juggle speed with diplomacy, but I don’t think this is going to help any of the latter.”

Cryder apparently heard her and replied, “My scientists would say same, but no time to socialize. Follow me quickly. Stun anyone you see.”

“How long are they out?” she asked.

Cryder spoke over his shoulder as he ascended the bluff.

“Twelve hours, max safe load for healthy males.”

Good enough. Sean followed along, pointing at Hamilton to stay with him, Oglesby to accompany Dr. Raven, and Spencer to cover the rear. There were strewn rocks, random weeds, protruding tree roots. They did make great handholds for climbing, when they were solidly mounted. They also were a trip hazard and some dislodged. He found that out when he grabbed a protrusion and the rock ripped loose and rolled behind him.

“Rock!” he announced as it bounced downhill.

He waited for his climbing buddy. “What’s your take, Hamilton?” he asked as he trod over downed greens.

“Uh, honestly, sir?”

“Always, please.”

“Yeah, it’s gonna piss them off. The tribes do talk, and we’re already a thing they talk about. They’re going to hear about this and zapping Argarak. We won’t be welcome here again.”

“Hopefully in a few days that will never be a problem again.”

“If it all works, yes, sir. I’m eager to get home, but I don’t want to screw things up here if we don’t have to.”

Ahead, Cryder bounced lightly up the incline like a two-legged mountain goat, and reached the shallow scree slope in front of the cave. There were marks hammered on the inward curves of the rocks that seemed to be some sort of notice or tribal designation.

The man scanned the sentries with a wave of a wand, seemed satisfied they were out cold, and started dragging them where their heads were slightly elevated. Sean moved to help, then followed as Cryder led the way in. A strip on the front of the man’s shirt lit the way ahead of him. He also had those NVG that looked like shades. His gear had everything.

Sean lit his own chest light and followed, directing Hamilton ahead of him, ensured Raven and Oglesby were close behind, and trusted Spencer to bring up the rear.

His shirt didn’t light up, but he had a perfectly good headlight on a band that he slipped around his forehead. Behind him were other lights.

It was evenly cool in here, though actually warmer than outside, fifties rather than forties. It was definitely damper and with a smell of moss and mold. Water dripped and he could see a few trickles.

Cryder asked, “Which way?”

Hamilton replied, “Um, sorry, sir, but I didn’t get to come in. I know it wasn’t far in.”

Spencer said, “I knew we should have brought Cole.”

Cryder was blunt. “Cole is incompetent and I don’t trust him. I’ve the rough map he drew for me. We’ll work with that.”

The cave led quickly down over worn sedimentary rock, and tumbled rubble. Behind, Oglesby assisted Dr. Raven literally step by step, walking ahead and letting her lean on his shoulders for support. For the rest it was just rough terrain with reasonable step distances for the most part. Some rocks were jagged, others tumbled to coarse roundness, and a few near the watercourses smoothed by limestone deposition.

At the bottom of the crusted slope, with shadows reflecting and dodging everywhere, each of them looking like the shadow of a rising hostile, was a shallow trickle of stream. Then they were climbing back up.

This deeper section of the cave was smoother, and seemed to be from a different geological form. He turned and saw the small bright slash of the entrance, and Dr. Raven getting her feet under her at last. He asked her.

Through panted breath, she said, “It’s not my field, but I’d speculate this is old erosion from glacial runoff, and it was exposed by that stream, which seems to be seasonal from uphill. We crossed a small brook outside, which is probably this. The scree outside and inside suggests some sort of tremor made the opening. If they were around to witness it, or just found it one day where it hadn’t been, that would definitely make it a special site, along with how we know primitive peoples liked caves for many reasons.”

“That makes a lot of sense, thanks,” he replied.

Ahead and slightly up the V-shaped incline, Cryder said, “I have it.”


Martin Spencer loved caves. Kentucky had a lot of them. He hated being alone, or last in line. His back itched constantly, psychosomatic. He was angry about it, but knew it was a thing for him.

Cole could have picked an easier place to abandon gear, Martin thought. He wasn’t sure why it had to be this secret cave. For that matter, the man could have buried or burned stuff or just tossed it into deep water.

The cave was dark, echoey, the shadows nightmarishly creepy. He didn’t like any of this, but it was the assigned task. He clenched up and trod along, reaching to caress the rifle over his shoulder and check the safety by touch.

Worst of all, Cryder was the real backup, and he was all the way up front. Raven could shoot, but he had no idea how she reacted under stress. Oglesby and the captain were okay. Hamilton wasn’t armed.

But there was nothing here, it was just a cave.

That the locals had guards to keep animals out of.

Ahead, the ceiling lowered, the floor leveled out, and Cryder held up a hand.

“Here.”

Martin hurried to catch up with the rest.

Cryder held up…a butterfly? Martin guessed it was a drone, though whether mechanical or biological or both he couldn’t guess.

It flew too directly to be natural, so one way or another it was engineered. He assumed, though, that it had a random setting for concealment. There literally was no way to ever be private in their world. He shuddered. The servant programs furnished the only privacy possible, but even they had data, which meant someone could hack it. Either they had absolutely bulletproof ID and coding, or just didn’t care about embarrassing things people might have done.

“I see rifles, racks, and other gear,” Cryder said.

“Racks?”

“That you carry gear in.”

“Ah. Backpacks. Or rucksacks. Rucks.”

“Thank you. Those. We’ll switch tools,” he said, as the butterfly landed on his hand to be inserted back into a pocket.

He started making gestures in the air, which was still disconcerting, and shortly there came a low noise of rotors. Martin turned and looked at the device silhouetted in the flashlight.

It looked like a typical quadcopter, and why shouldn’t it?

When he turned back, Cryder had donned a lens over his glasses, and obviously had an image from the drone. He steered it with a finger point, over, sideways, down out of sight. Shortly it came back up, rotors buzzing hard for lift, with a rifle, and Martin reached out to snag it. He checked it was clear, placed it down with the bolt locked open, and turned to get the next.

After the third rifle, a ruck came up. Then another. Then another rifle.

In a few minutes there were ten rucks, eight M4s, one with an M320, an M249, nine NVGs, ten helmets, ten sets of IOTV plates—pretty much the entire gear the element had—and eight cell phones.

Cryder said, “We’ll destroy the phones. The other gear will be cleansed, or technically duplicated to avoid contamination or debris.”

Martin said, “Got it. Captain, need help?”

Elliott was checking all the ruck compartments for anything.

“Please. What’s your plan, Cryder?”

“We’ll extract what data there is. How long would these be active before failing?”

Dr. Raven said, “Uh, no more than a week. Less if they panicked and were trying to call.”

Hamilton said, “Yeah, mine was dead in two days.”

Cryder nodded. “We’ll get the data, then destroy them. They already effectively did so.”

Elliott replied, “True. Rucks are expendable and easily accounted for. What other gear? NVG and rifles are Army property. If we are able to return them, we should. If not, they can be destroyed or go to your time for a museum or such.”

Cryder said, “We’ll take them and see what capacity we have for the jump.”

That seemed to make Elliott feel better. He said, “Okay, I’ll secure them—bolts out and locked.”

Martin understood it. Handing the gear over ended the matter for the Army. Accounting for them missing would take paperwork.

They stuffed and wrapped the gear into rucks. It was going to be heavy and would have to be staged outside. Bringing it in must have taken a party. They consolidated to six bundles that a fit man could carry, as long as someone helped him balance up the slope and back down.

Cryder watched, seemed satisfied, and said, “Let’s see what else they left. He said they marked the cave.”

Martin didn’t want any more cave time, but they did have to follow up. He took a breath, shook off the nerves, and followed. The floor was more even here, terraced with layers of limestone. The ceiling came down lower, though, and there were lots of stalactites.

Dr. Raven said, “We really shouldn’t touch them because skin oils actually hinder growth and affect cave development. On the other hand, are these even going to be here in ten thousand years? And damn, it’s so weird to say that.”

“I know what you mean,” he agreed, glad to have someone to talk to.

Ahead, Elliott said, “Yeah, there’s the gouging. Name, rank, date of disappearance. Off it goes.”

Cryder ran some sort of scan and imaging, possibly for record, possibly to ensure he didn’t find other markings. He raised the power tool, placed it against the rock face and started it up.

It was surprisingly quiet, more like a hand vacuum than a drill or grinder. It threw dust and chips out the side, and in a couple of minutes, the wall was recontoured and didn’t show any signs of chiseling. Impressive.

He inspected his work and said, “We should check farther back to be sure.”

Elliott said, “He said only one mark, but good idea.”

Cryder pointed. “Yes, there is another. It’s the same content.”

Hamilton offered, “He may honestly have forgotten that.”

“Possibly, since it’s the same info.” His tool buzzed, and the markings came off to bare rock. Even if that lasted another 10,000 years, it would look as if it were done now, which it was.

Modern lighting made it much easier to walk the cave than it would have been for locals. At the same time, the sharp spotlights threw garish, macabre shadows off the features. Martin had never liked that. Woods shadows were okay. Cave shadows disturbed him. But he liked caves. Well, those with guided tours.

Raven said, “There are obvious signs of movement back here. Scuffs on the walls, some on the rocks and protrusions.”

“I see,” he agreed. Though they were visible, they hadn’t been obvious to him. They were now. Step by careful step they moved over and around the lumpy floor. Water had flowed through here at some point, eroding and washing the surface. The ceiling dropped until it was barely five feet high and everyone had to scrunch, even the short woman scientist.

Farther back they found other markings, certainly not done by a modern person. It was cave art.

Martin was surprised. “That’s surprisingly colorful.”

Elliott asked, “Are cave paintings this early? I thought they were later.”

Raven said, “Yes, well established in this time frame, not this location. We know about the ones in France and such, much older than this. So it’s reasonable there’s some here.”

Martin said, “But what is that?” He looked at the painting and his blood froze. He didn’t like caves anyway. When he saw a painting that showed stick figures abandoning weapons as they ran from…

Elliott said, “It almost looks like a giant, winged squid.”

Her face screwed up, Raven said, “I…don’t like that.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Martin agreed. He was going to have nightmares, even if he didn’t sleep.

Hamilton reached out as if to touch it, stopped, and asked, “How would they know about squid this far inland? Crayfish, maybe?”

Elliott said, “Crayfish don’t have tentacles. Actually, I don’t think they’re animals. I think they’re tornadoes. That’s a weather god.”

Martin thought, Yes, let’s call it that. If they didn’t know what a giant, winged squid might be…and he hoped to God they were right, because the alternative…

“I want to get out of this cave, right the fuck now.”

Hamilton turned and asked, “Yeah? Scared?” He seemed pleased to finally have something over on the recovery team.

Raven said, “We really should. There’s a risk of contaminating the inks. Note the location so the Byko experts can find it. And I still hate those fuckers for shutting us out of most of this. Sorry, Cryder.”

“I understand your frustration,” he replied.

Elliott said, “Okay, but let me get some photos.”

Raven sounded stern. “Captain, believe me when I say if we don’t get out right the fuck now, you are going to have a problem with me. This is not something we should be messing with.”

Elliott shrugged and turned. “Okay. I want you to explain this later, though. I may choose to come back.”

The expression on his face said he really had no idea what Martin and Raven were talking about.

I hope I’m crazy, and it’s just silly coincidence, Martin thought.

But Raven had seen it, too.

At the gear pile, Cryder unslung his backpack, and pulled out a frame that unfolded like one of the mesh grocery carts. It had no wheels yet. It looked far too spidery thin to support the gear, but he was able to lash three rucks of gear to it with futuristic bungees. Two held helmets, phones, and other small gear, as well as a set of armor plates each. The third, the rest of the armor.

That left two rifles each to go over shoulders, with the M249 strapped atop the dolly, and some random NVGs and pouches. That dolly was a nice piece of equipment.

Two rifles plus his own was a tangled bitch, though, that kept jabbing him in the ribs. He tried different positions, but either they stuck out the sides and caught on rock, or stuck in him.

When Cryder pulled, the cart suddenly stepped forward, the legs articulated and moving.

That could have been neat, but it was disturbing as fuck with the nightmarish cave art. It stepped along, the legs forming geometric shapes as they followed the terrain. One briefly was a rolling swastika, and didn’t that just make this a horror movie? He was going to ask Arnet about some tranquilizers.

They scrambled carefully back down the widening passage, Martin moving in front of Oglesby and damn the marching order. He felt better when he could see the slash of daylight above. It was overcast now.

They heaved and pulled and clambered up the loose slope, dislodging rocks and catching on the sides. Oglesby was stronger than he looked, helping heave the cart up the slope until it was too steep to continue. They lugged the gear, and had to dismount it for the final climb. Martin felt tickles and prickles and jolted at every faint sound.

The walking dolly was impressive, but even it struggled over terrain. Outside in bright, welcome daylight, even with rolling gray clouds, Martin felt much relieved, and helped strap gear back to the cart.

Outside it was misty and chill, droplets barely visible under a steel-gray sky that had scudded toward them.

The guards from earlier were still out cold as the unit started back down toward the vehicle. That was reassuring, but what was their shift cycle and when would they be checked?

Cryder led the way as they slipped and kicked down the slope. Some of the growth was slippery as it crushed and oozed. Dirt shifted. It was harder than climbing since grabbing for support was more difficult. Raven was favoring her ankle a bit more.

Cryder twitched and looked around urgently.

Elliott asked, “What is it?”

“A large party approaching. Twenty or more.”

“From where?”

“Upriver, along the bank.”

Hamilton noted, “That’s a big hunting party. We usually only had six.”

Cryder tilted his head. “If so. Drone out.”

He tossed the small device to launch it, and it buzzed away.

Hindered by extra gear and steep terrain, complicated by cold, misty drizzle, they carefully kept going down the slope. Around a huge boulder, slipping in the mud draining past it. All their boots and pants were a frigid, filthy mess. Over the distorted root mass of a tree that leaned at a crazy angle. Carefully over a huge, half-rotted, moss-covered downed trunk. Then through weeds they had to clutch in fistfuls for stability.

Cryder muttered something that was obviously a curse, turned and showed a screen.

Elliott glanced at it, and said, “Those look hostile.”

He shifted to let Martin see it.

The element was mostly larger men, wearing hide as outerwear, carrying thrusting spears and the blocking sticks they used as shields. Most also had clubs.

“They do.”

Elliott firmly ordered, “Keep moving. We’ll shoot if we need to. I have an idea.”

He moved in front and led the way upslope diagonally to make distance toward the bend. It was unfamiliar and rougher terrain, with a couple of significant drops. It was shorter, but involved more climbing interspersed with the dips.

Martin heard noise, and reported from the rear, “They’re gaining. Not as quickly as they were, but still closing. Five hundred meters.”


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