Page 35 of Run of Ruin

I writhed and twisted for a moment, tangled in the web of chute strings that clung to my limbs like spider silk. Branches that had snapped in my fall jabbed at me from all angles, some dug into my side with sharp, splintered insistence. Pain radiated along my ribs. They were definitely bruised, maybe worse. My cheek throbbed with a fresh sting, and when I pressed trembling fingers to the skin and pulled them back, they came away smeared with blood.

“Great,” I muttered under my breath. As if dangling twenty feet in the air wasn’t enough.

I took a moment to scan my surroundings, well, as much as one could while hanging from a half-shredded parachute. The tree I was tangled in wasn’t giving me many options. But the tree next to it? That one had a thick branch jutting out not far from where I hung, complete with plenty of rugged bark and smaller limbs I could maybe use for the climb down.

If I could push off hard enough, I might be able to grab hold of that branch, swing over before the chute snappedcompletely. The cords might give me just enough time to make the leap, but there was no guarantee I could free myself fast enough.

My pack weighed heavy against my spine, but there was no way I was ditching it. Not unless I absolutely had to. Whatever they gave us, food, supplies, maybe tools, if there’s anything in there at all, I’d need it all. And if I could salvage the parachute too? It could serve as a makeshift blanket, shelter, or even rope. Out here, everything had a use. And something I learned in Canyon was you didn’t dare waste a single resource.

“One step at a time,” I breathed. My voice was small, steady, and broadcast to every watching eye on the live feed.

I braced my feet against the tree trunk, heart hammering in my chest, and launched myself toward the other branch. Pain tore through my side as I twisted midair, arms outstretched?—

I missed.

My fingers scraped bark and air as I swung back, slamming into the original tree with a thud that rattled my bones. The chute groaned overhead, then tore a little more, and suddenly I dropped another few feet, jerking to a stop like a marionette yanked by a spiteful puppeteer.

No more chances. If I didn’t get out of this now, I’d be ripped down with it.

“Come on, Bex,” I hissed through gritted teeth.

Again, I pushed off, gritting past the pain, flinging my body toward the branch like my life depended on it, because it did. My fingers connected this time. Clenched. Held.

Just as my grip locked tight, the chute gave out behind me with a vicious rip and fell, now dangling from my body like dead weight. It pulled at me, but I hugged the branch with everything I had, muscles trembling.

Carefully I tested each branch before shifting my weight. Downward, one move at a time. The wind stirred the leavesaround me, and every crack of wood or rustle made my heart leap into my throat. But I didn’t let go. Didn’t falter.

Eventually, my feet met solid ground. I dropped the last foot or two with a grunt and let myself collapse onto the wreckage of my parachute, splaying out on the fabric. For one breath, I just lay there, staring up through the canopy at the sliver of sky above me. Clouds drifted lazily past like they had no idea the world was watching. I exhaled.

“Let the first trial begin,” I whispered.

I allowed myself only a few more precious minutes to catch my breath, lying flat on the shredded parachute and feeling the ache in every inch of my body. Then, I sat up and forced my hands to get moving, digging through the pack they’d strapped to me before the drop.

The contents were underwhelming at best, infuriating at worst. A metal canteen, empty, of course, a single stick of dried jerky, and a small, battered book of matches. Seven, I counted. Seven matches. Seven chances at warmth, light, or survival before I had to rely on sticks and desperation.

No knife. No compass. No medkit. Not even a thread of kindness.

I muttered a curse under my breath, then turned my attention to my injuries. My side throbbed, but after a careful inspection and some tentative prodding, I was relieved to find nothing seemed broken. Just bruised. Badly. It would slow me down, but it wouldn’t stop me. The cut on my cheek still burned, the blood having dried into a sticky smear. I’d need to clean that soon in order to avoid infection. Water first. That had to be the priority.

Once I cataloged everything in the pack, mentally noting weight, usefulness, and what I might need to ration, I stood and closed my eyes, forcing myself to visualize the map I’d built in my mind while falling. The winding river, the ridgeline,the jagged cliffside to the east. I’d gotten a little turned around crashing through the canopy, but if I was right, and Ihadto be right, then a river should lie about a mile to the northeast. Toward Praxis.

A mile. Battered, bruised, blind without a true landmark. But it was the only option.

I packed up the torn chute, folding it down tight and securing it under the pack’s flap. It made the bag bulkier, but I wasn’t leaving it behind. Not yet. Slipping the straps over my shoulders, I adjusted the weight and took one last look up at the treetops I’d tumbled through.

Then I picked a direction, set my jaw, and started walking.

One step at a time.

CHAPTER

TEN

Bex

I had been rightabout the direction, a small, victorious thrill sparked in my chest as I dropped to my knees at the edge of the riverbank. Relief came fast and strong, nearly knocking the breath from me. Cool, clean water rushed past, and I wasted no time splashing it onto my face, rinsing the dried blood from my cheek and gently cleaning the cut. I worked carefully, mindful not to soak my clothes and risk a chill later. The breeze already had a bite to it.

The sun hung midway through the sky, a little westward now. Mid-afternoon, maybe. That gave me a few more hours of light, and I needed to make every minute count.

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