watching her, did not set her heart at ease. She placed a hand over her Gladius and walked on, with no idea how she was supposed to find the rebels. Chances were good that she would die of exposure—if one of the Wilderness predators didn’t find her first.
Liz followed Interstate 40 for hours, her mind on the brink of panic at every noise that echoed to her from the dark forest on either side. The shadows of demons lurked over every rise, and the fact that she knew they would coalesce into harmless stones did not stop her fear. For a time she wondered if the sun had simply forgotten to rise—that she would be left here in this hell of darkness forever.
Her movements became slower over time. The coat kept the icy night off her skin, but it didn’t stop the cold air from entering her lungs and spreading through her veins, freezing her from the inside out. Little by little it sapped away her already depleted strength, until finally she knew that she could not go on.
But what could she do? Build a fire? Then anyone around for miles would know where to find her. Then again, maybe that was exactly what she wanted, so long as Gavin’s intelligence about the rebellion proved true. In the end she had no choice, for without warmth she would certainly die.
She made her way cautiously to the treeline to gather brush from the side of the road, forcing away images of what horrors must lay within. To her relief, she didn’t have to leave the concrete, as plenty of wood lay strewn haphazardly in places where the forest had begun to reclaim its territory over the area once conquered by man. Still, she was glad to put distance between herself and the woods again as she made her way back to the center of the interstate.
Liz dropped the sticks and brush in front of the cracked concrete divider and unclipped her Gladius. A match would have been easier and more energy-efficient, but as Gavin had not left her any she had to make do.
The white blade came to life in her hand, its presence comforting her with the reminder of its power. So long as she held this weapon there was little anyone could do to stop her—perhaps not even Mother Nature herself.
She touched the side of the blade lightly against the brush, and waited. After a few moments the heat from the diamond armor grew strong enough to overcome the cold, and the brush ignited.
Liz nurtured the fire as though it were life itself, doing her best to ignore the increased awareness of cold that the fire created. Apparently her exposure to the cold had gone further than she originally thought.
With nothing to do but sit and try to stay warm, Liz took some time to think deeper on her location. It was the dead of winter, and she had managed to walk for hours with only minimal protection before having to build a fire. That suggested she was not very far north—probably at least a hundred miles south of the Great Army outpost in what had once been the heart of Kentucky—a waypoint between Carolina and The Corridor. She was in the deepest part of the Wilderness, where civilization had long fled and nature once again reigned supreme. There might not be a living soul within a fifty mile radius.
Once she was confident that the fire would survive, she deactivated her weapon and returned it to her side. Its absence stole away some of her courage, bringing the reality of her situation back into sharp focus. She was alone, in the deepest part of the Wilderness, hunting for a woman who was not likely to be found. It was far more likely that the rebellion would avoid her and that Derek Blaine’s Spectorium would be the ones to investigate. His was not a face she was eager to see again.
She passed half an hour by the meager flames, hugging her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth to stay warm, only feeding the fire when it absolutely needed it. Her thoughts strayed to wondering which would be worse: dying of hypothermia and exposure, or being captured by Derek Blaine. She had heard
Liz followed Interstate 40 for hours, her mind on the brink of panic at every noise that echoed to her from the dark forest on either side. The shadows of demons lurked over every rise, and the fact that she knew they would coalesce into harmless stones did not stop her fear. For a time she wondered if the sun had simply forgotten to rise—that she would be left here in this hell of darkness forever.
Her movements became slower over time. The coat kept the icy night off her skin, but it didn’t stop the cold air from entering her lungs and spreading through her veins, freezing her from the inside out. Little by little it sapped away her already depleted strength, until finally she knew that she could not go on.
But what could she do? Build a fire? Then anyone around for miles would know where to find her. Then again, maybe that was exactly what she wanted, so long as Gavin’s intelligence about the rebellion proved true. In the end she had no choice, for without warmth she would certainly die.
She made her way cautiously to the treeline to gather brush from the side of the road, forcing away images of what horrors must lay within. To her relief, she didn’t have to leave the concrete, as plenty of wood lay strewn haphazardly in places where the forest had begun to reclaim its territory over the area once conquered by man. Still, she was glad to put distance between herself and the woods again as she made her way back to the center of the interstate.
Liz dropped the sticks and brush in front of the cracked concrete divider and unclipped her Gladius. A match would have been easier and more energy-efficient, but as Gavin had not left her any she had to make do.
The white blade came to life in her hand, its presence comforting her with the reminder of its power. So long as she held this weapon there was little anyone could do to stop her—perhaps not even Mother Nature herself.
She touched the side of the blade lightly against the brush, and waited. After a few moments the heat from the diamond armor grew strong enough to overcome the cold, and the brush ignited.
Liz nurtured the fire as though it were life itself, doing her best to ignore the increased awareness of cold that the fire created. Apparently her exposure to the cold had gone further than she originally thought.
With nothing to do but sit and try to stay warm, Liz took some time to think deeper on her location. It was the dead of winter, and she had managed to walk for hours with only minimal protection before having to build a fire. That suggested she was not very far north—probably at least a hundred miles south of the Great Army outpost in what had once been the heart of Kentucky—a waypoint between Carolina and The Corridor. She was in the deepest part of the Wilderness, where civilization had long fled and nature once again reigned supreme. There might not be a living soul within a fifty mile radius.
Once she was confident that the fire would survive, she deactivated her weapon and returned it to her side. Its absence stole away some of her courage, bringing the reality of her situation back into sharp focus. She was alone, in the deepest part of the Wilderness, hunting for a woman who was not likely to be found. It was far more likely that the rebellion would avoid her and that Derek Blaine’s Spectorium would be the ones to investigate. His was not a face she was eager to see again.
She passed half an hour by the meager flames, hugging her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth to stay warm, only feeding the fire when it absolutely needed it. Her thoughts strayed to wondering which would be worse: dying of hypothermia and exposure, or being captured by Derek Blaine. She had heard
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