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A bullet zings past my ear, informing me I’m quickly running out of options. Ah, hell! If she can make it across… I’ll just have to be faster in my crossing. I stop fighting with the rifle and sling it back over my shoulder, tightening the strap. With a few quick strides, I’m at the bridgehead, already pulling on a vine to test it. Another strong tug, and I declare it safe. I backtrack a few steps to create a runway of sorts before I make the leap. But just as I take the first step, the vine goes limp in my hands.
I drop the useless piece of vegetation and glance backward over my shoulder. A groan escapes my lips as I spot a silver blade not thirty feet away. They’re almost here. This is it, then. I can only choose if I want to die splattered on the riverbank, or with a bullet in my back. I’ll take my chances with the river.
I grab another vine and give it an even stronger tug. This one has to hold, and if it doesn’t, I’m a dead man anyway.
There’s only space for three running steps before I fling myself over the void. As my feet leave the ground, I keep a firm grip on the vine and try to close myself up in a ball to maximize my momentum. The move works; I’m flying over the precipice in a swift swing. Only, as the other side draws near, I realize I’m not headed for a soft landing. The vine I’ve picked is barely long enough. I have a split second to make the decision to let go and fling myself the rest of the way. I hover into the air for an instant, limbs flaying, and barely have time to brace myself for the impact. The top half of my body makes it to the soft ferns, while my knees smack against the vertical edge of the cliff.
Ignoring the pain, I scramble for secure hand and toe holds in the vegetation covering the stone. But the root I’ve placed my weight on snaps and I slide down over the edge before I can find another anchor. Once I’m stable, I crane my neck up at the cliff’s edge, fifteen mockingly short inches away. Then, heaven knows why, I stare down. Now I see why they say never to look down. A fresh rush of terror makes my head spin, and I hold on to the roots for dear life.
When I’ve stopped shivering, I struggle to pull myself up, but can’t find a grip strong enough. The rifle slips lower on my back, but I don’t try to fasten the strap. I throw my head backward and in a hoarse voice call for help. “Winter!”
“I’m coming,” she screams from somewhere above.
Just then the rifle buckle snaps and the weapon falls into the river. I watch its descent in horror. The lost firearm crashes to the bottom and splinters into a million pieces. In an instant, the swarming river has washed away all traces of it.
A speck of rock explodes two inches above my head, sending shards raining over me. I don’t have to look back to know that Smith and his men have caught up and are playing target practice with my ass. Another piece of rock shatters below my left foot, and I can only send a small thank-you prayer to my guardian angel they’re not equipped with sniper rifles.
“Would you mind hurrying up?” I scream.
“I’m trying,” Winter yells. “Grab this.” A thick vine falls over the edge.
Spurred on by another bullet just barely missing me, I grab the makeshift rope without testing its resistance and let go of the wall. As I haul myself up, another small explosion splinters the rock where my calf had been a moment ago. With a few forceful pulls, I clear the edge of the cliff and, once on flat ground, I dive under cover.
Winter and I crawl away from the rim into the safety of the jungle just beyond.
“Where’s the rifle?” she asks.
“I dropped it.”
She curses under her breath. “I could’ve taken those sorry shots out in a second from here.”
“All right, Lara Croft, let’s just get our asses out of range; what do you say?”
16
WINTER
Incredibly, this stretch of jungle is even more dense and forlorn than the area we left behind on the other bank of the river. Since the storm clouds rolled away as suddenly as they came, they’ve been replaced by a thick curtain of steam, rising from the sunbaked rocks and treetops. The humidity in the air must’ve spiked to 100 per cent. And without the downpour, all kinds of insects have come swarming out of their hives to have a snack—mostly on me. It seems this side of paradise, bugs don’t mind being about during the day.
A million bloodsuckers must be infesting this jungle, I swear, and no matter how many I swat away, the flies keep on coming. We didn’t grab any chemical repellent spray, and my natural one has no real effect. Mosquitoes, moths, and gnats fly in my face, crawl on my bare skin, and sink their stingers in my exposed flesh. More flesh exposed than normal, thanks to the downhill slide and subsequent struggle through the jungle that have left my clothes in tatters.
Even now, the vegetation tears at them, pointy limbs reach out and grab at my ruined shirt, which offers little protection against the onslaught. No time to change, though. We need to put as much distance as we can between us and Smith before we can rest.
Ahead of me, Logan isn’t fairing any better. His new shirt is hanging off his body in shreds worse than when we came out of the cave, and even if his pants are still in one piece, there are bloodstains on his kneecaps where he hit the cliff. I don’t know where he finds the energy to keep hacking at the vines, but he does. We’re both pushing beyond our limits.
When by late afternoon the terrain becomes less dense, we call on our last physical reserves. Logan, to swing his machete, and me, simply by putting one foot in front of the other without falling to my knees.
Two hours before dusk, we reach the lower riverbank. Breathless and exhausted, I sink to the ground, not able to move another inch. Logan collapses next to me, sweat pouring down his forehead and soaking his shirt. Hopefully, Smith and his men weren’t brave enough to swing across the cliffs like Logan and me. And if they did get across… well, then, we’re dead. I physically can’t walk another step.
“You think the water is drinkable?” I ask, eyeing the stream.
“Have any purification tablets on you?”
“No.”
“Then I wouldn’t drink it, not unless you want to spend the next few days squatting down every ten minutes.”
“A simple ‘no’ would’ve sufficed.”
