Page 32 of Zeke
“Stay close,” he said, heading for the door. “And stay quiet.”
Outside, the storm-ravaged forest bore scars from recent violence. Broken branches littered the ground, and patches of melting snow turned the earth to treacherous mud. The air smelled of wet earth and decay.
He moved like a predator, each step calculated and silent. She tried to match his quiet grace, but she couldn’t manage it and winced every time twigs snapped under her boots. Her breathing seemed to echo in the stillness.
They followed a game trail deeper into the woods, his hand signals guiding her path. The first trap was empty… a simple snare designed to catch small game. The second had been triggered but held nothing, just disturbed earth and broken branches.
Before they reached the third trap, he stopped dead.
Blood. Dark stains splattered across fallen leaves, painting the forest floor in rust-colored patterns. Too much blood for a small animal. The metallic scent hung thick in the air, mixing with the earthy smell of decomposition.
“Stay back,” he ordered, his voice deadly quiet.
But she had already seen it. The shape half-hidden behind a fallen log, torn apart with savage efficiency. Scraps of cloth clung to bone and there was dark hair matted with dried blood.
Her stomach lurched, bile rising in her throat. She pressed a hand to her mouth, fighting the urge to vomit.
“Don’t look,” he said sharply, moving to block her view.
Too late. The image was burned into her retinas… the casual violence, the way the body had been left to rot like garbage. Her mind flashed to the ferals who’d taken her, their promises of what they’d do. This could have been her, torn apart and forgotten in the wilderness.
“We have to bury them,” she whispered.
His eyebrows shot up. “Michelle?—”
“We can’t leave them like this.” Her voice cracked, but she forced steel into her spine. “They deserve better than being carrion.”
He studied her face for a long moment, then nodded, pulling a small cloth from his pack.
“I need to take samples first,” he said quietly. “For analysis back at the garrison.”
She watched him work. His movements were efficient and professional as he collected evidence: blood-stained fabric, soil samples. This wasn’t his first crime scene.
“Could this be the person who owned the clothes?” she asked. “The woman?”
His hands stilled. He looked at the remains, then back at her. “I told you. There are no Izaean women. The mutation only affects males. All the Latharian women died during the plague, years ago.”
“Then who?—?”
“There were human women on this planet until a couple of months ago, when a ship crashed not far from here.” His tone became clipped. “The pilot was rescued, she’s mated to one of our leaders now. But not all the passengers were recovered.”
Ice formed in her veins. “How many?”
“Five still missing from what I heard before I left the garrison. Banic was leading search parties to track them down.” He shrugged. “But last I heard, the trail led south. Not up here.”
She stared at the remains. “Was this one of those women?”
Someone like her, trapped and terrified, who hadn’t been lucky enough to have someone like him find her first?
He shook his head as he sealed the samples in a waterproof pouch. “I don’t think so. The crashed women haven’t been on the planet long enough to trap animals and cure hides. These clothes took time to make.”
They worked in silence, gathering stones for a cairn. The task was harder than she expected because the ground was soft from recent rain, and heavy rocks were scarce. But gradually, they built a small monument. Something, no matter how small, to mark that someone was buried here.
“Should we say something?” she asked when they finished.
He stood quietly for a moment, his gaze fixed on the grave. “Rest in peace,” he said. “You fought hard.”
Walking back to the cabin, her mind raced. The forest looked different now, like it was full of shadows that could hide watching eyes. Every rustle of leaves made her spine tense.
