Page 12 of The Last True Hero
Now the warg within was making it clear that it had never gone away. Just hidden within him, waiting for its chance to dig its claws deep and remind him of what he was.
It didn't take Sinclair long to find him. The other man tipped his head in greeting, staring out into the darkness. "Do you think we've gained any time? The reivers would have had to stop for the night too, no?"
There were tiny, twinkling lights out there on the horizon. Adam pointed them out. "They're there. I can see their campfires. They might have pushed on past evening, but it's too dangerous to drive around out here in the dark. Not as many wargs hunt the nights here as they do in the north, but there will be enough. And if they blow a tire out in the dark, then they're screwed and they know it. Best to set up camp and have a guard on the perimeter. I'd say we're only four hours behind at this stage, so we've gained a little during the day, but lost too much earlier, when we were setting out."
Sinclair grunted. "Can't see a bloody thing. Just stars."
Adam stilled, aware of how close he'd come to slipping up. Of everyone here, Sinclair was the most dangerous, for he alone knew what to look for in a warg. "I've been out here longer. Maybe your eyes are still adjusting from the firelight."
"Probably."
Adam stared at the twinkling lights in the distance, a faint frown wrinkling his brow. They were further to the south now, almost back on the original road.
"What's wrong?" Sinclair asked.
"Nothing." But that irritating itch tickled at the back of his senses. No point in keeping it to himself. "I feel like I'm missing something. The reivers swung south-east earlier in the day, and I couldn't work out why. There's nothing out here and the slave towns are directly south. They should have taken the Southern Road toward Eagle Canyon, but they cut out across the desert here, like they were going to go straight over the Serendipity Mountains, toward the Rim."
"And?" Sinclair watched him carefully, his eyes intent. "I've had hunches like this before, out on the trail. It's saved my life several times over. I'm not doubting you, McClain."
"Now they're almost back on the road." Adam couldn't explain it. He met the other man's eyes. "Why? Why did they swing out of their way? What brought them here? There's nothing here, and they obviously intended to go south all along. All it's done is cost them time."
"Maybe they wanted to throw us off the scent?" Sinclair rested his hands on his hips, staring out into the velvety night. "That was hard tracking today. Maybe they were hoping we'd miss their trail, and head...." He paused.
"Head straight south along the road? If we had, then they'd be sitting right on top of us right now, which is not where they want to be. They wanted us to follow them. There were just enough traces left to track, even through that rocky gulch that threw us off a few times."
"Threw me off," Sinclair admitted dryly. "I couldn't see shit. You were the one tracking wind over rocks."
"Yeah, well—" He caught the scent of something faint on the breeze, but it was enough to turn his stomach.
Sinclair noticed his distraction, his body tensing and his hand falling to the gun at his belt. "What is it?"
Adam pushed past Sinclair, his hand held in the air to shut him up, as he tried to get a better fix on what exactly he was smelling. It was sickly sweet, just a gust of it on the air.
Rot. His mind finally put a name to the scent. He could smell rot.
Adam's blood froze. Everything coagulated in his mind.This.This was why the reivers brought them here.
"We've got incoming," he yelled, grabbing Sinclair by the arm as he wrenched them back toward camp. "Deadheads! Wake up! We've got deadheads incoming!"
"Fuck," Sinclair cursed, scrambling along at his heels. "Revenants? Outhere? There's nothing out here."
The plains surrounding them were as barren as some parts of the wastelands up north. The only sign of life in the area was this tor, jutting out of the plains like some fucking mecca.
"It was a trap," Adam shouted over his shoulder, leaping over boulders, and slipping and sliding down the shale. It rained beneath his boots, like a miniature stone avalanche that he surfed. "I bet the whole tor's riddled with caves for them to hide out in during the day." That's why the reivers swung this way. It might be an hour or two out of their way, but if they'd timed it well—and they had—their pursuers would see the tor as the perfect place to make camp. "The reivers wanted us to stop here."
Adrenaline pumped hot blood through his veins, the darker side of him surging forth in glee. It could scent death on the wind, and knew it would be called to deal it in return. The sudden fierce urge to kill almost overrode him.
Not now.Sweat gleamed at his temples as he held himself tightly reined. The medallion burned cold against his chest. Its magic held the warg within him and helped keep it chained up tight, but even the medallion fought to contain the fierce hunger that roared through him. If the warg broke free, tearing its way out of his skin until he was nothing but rage, need and desire, then he wouldn't differentiate between friend and foe.
"Wake up!" Sinclair bellowed. "Wake up, and hands to rifles!"
"Incoming! Revenants!" Adam screamed. Christ, would they be in time? All those people rolled up in blankets, with only two guards posted... they'd be like fucking human tacos.
The camp came alive, fire flickering to life. People called out, shadows shifting in the night as Adam thundered toward camp. He saw the odd shambling gait of a revenant appear out of nowhere behind Jenny, and didn't think, simply threw himself toward her. Jenny screamed, then they were rolling straight over the fire. Sparks flew up around him, and he felt his shirt catch alight. It died a short death in the dirt, but there was no time to worry about being burnt.
"Fire," he yelled, snatching at one of the burning brands he'd just rolled over. "Use fire!"
The revenant lumbered toward them, its hair hanging in matted hanks that had slowly bleached of color until it was a sandy, dirty nothing. Its white eyes were filmed over with death, but its nose was twitching, trying to track him by scent. Adam hurled the branch at it, and the faded rags it wore went up like dry tinder. The flames spread, engulfing its hair, and burning a sickly green. The whole fucking thing stunk like an open grave.
