Predator Code (Tales from Wildhearth #1)

Chapter 22 - It'll Take More Than Another Bad Day

Jett watched the first shafts of dawn spearing over the horizon and sighed, sitting down on the hard-packed mud of the trackside. Her body was stiff, the gash in her leg aching from the armbow bolt, and her shoulder badly cramped after landing on the tram carrier.

She rubbed her eyes. A night trudging along the tracks and scratching out a small hovel to sleep in the mud left her longing for the simple bed in Hiyfa's warrenary, but she couldn't go back there—not ever. Slinging the pack between her legs, she eased it open, inspecting the contents warily.

One of the ramfold boards had been smashed to pieces in the chase, but the block drive from her computer was still intact, protected by the thick wad of clothing she'd wrapped it in. Karno's snooper module had survived, but the anti-hack mod was a ruin. She tossed it aside and delved into the pack for some food.

Nibbling at strips of dried rat meat, she sat there, thinking. On some level, she ought to have been more shaken by the events of the previous night, but for some reason, a sense of resignation reigned supreme over her now. It had been naive to think the wolfkin would never find her, and now that it had happened, it was simply another obstacle to overcome.

For a few minutes, she rested there, running through her options, taking stock of what she had left. Bronco and Rapid would be waiting for her call, and she would be alive to make it—she would make sure of that. But she also needed to hold up her end of things. Everything that happened tracked back to the enforcers. She just needed to expose them.

It was time to pick up where Zanzihar had left off.

Jett needed a computer—or at least access to one. She scratched behind her ear and grimaced, knowing realistically she only had one option. Taking a deep breath, she climbed gingerly upright, rolling her injured shoulder with a wince. Nothing felt out of place; probably just a sprain, she decided.

First things first, she needed to get off the tracks before some rail worker stumbled across her. The last thing she needed now was that kind of attention. A few hundred meters down the track, she found a service ladder and clambered up into the rising dawn, emerging onto the quiet morning streets.

She spotted a few scattered citizens on their way to work, but no one paid much attention to the lone bedraggled foxkin. Looking around, she tried to get her bearings again. Although she wasn't sure exactly how far the tram carrier had gotten before her improvised exit, she knew she'd made it back into the same district where she'd made her escape. That meant there would probably still be wolfkin on the prowl for her here. Hitching the scuffed and battered pack higher onto her shoulders, she started walking, head lowered but eyes constantly flickering for any sign of her pursuers.

The only thing that might work in her favour was the blind stupidity of returning to the scene of the crime so soon. Time to play a dangerous game of bluff with the wolfkin enforcers, banking on the fact they would assume she was smart enough not to do exactly what she was about to.

The section of the track she'd clambered out of looped around the north edge of the district, meaning she would be coming at the basin far from the tram carrier station itself. Hopefully, that would limit the wolfkin patrols. With a wary eye, she stuck to the tight alleys and narrow spaces between the buildings, clad in a fresh set of clothes that she'd had the presence of mind to pack.

Instead of hanging in loose, flowing locks, her white headfur was now swept back beneath a silken headscarf, from which her ears protruded like spear points. A long-sleeved grey bodywrap covered her torso above a short black kilt—if a description of her had been circulated, she wouldn't match it directly. Even if it only turned away a few curious eyes, it would be worth it.