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The Boone

Jonathan's naturally sculpted brows disappear under his mussed bangs. "As in a weapon? I'm a pacifist." He laughs humorlessly.

"This is no place for a conscience." I hand him the butt of my Glock 19 after I untangle it from a silver blouse.

"You're kidding right?" He shoves my hand and the gun away.

"Don't be stubborn. I can't watch my neck and yours. Take it or stay here."

Jonathan's eyes narrow.

"Look, if I have to, I'll duct tape the blasted thing to your hand. We don't have time to stand here arguing about this."

"But I don't need it. Mayet will be there."

"Too bad. I need a partner if I'm going in there and you're it." I push the gun at him again.

"I told you, you don't have to fear the Khayal." He shakes his head.

"I don't fear them! I'm supposed to be on assignment—or dead. What the hell do you think will happen when my colleagues see me running through the Boone with a member of the Brotherhood?" I shove the black butt into his hand, scowling at him.

"I don't know how to use a gun," he mutters into his chest.

"How are you still alive?" I roll my eyes and stuff a switchblade into my boot. "It's right or left-handed, holds eight rounds, and it requires only one hand for any action. Just point-and-shoot like a camera. This is the safety. A half cock points the laser." I wedge myself in behind him—ignoring the dizzying closeness of our bodies—grasp his hand around the stock and wrap my hand over his. I zero in on a clump of dirt and squeeze the trigger. I'm braced for the blast as it kicks his back into my chest. The dirt clod explodes in a cloud of orange.

"Whoa!" Jonathan jerks back.

"A full cock sends the bullet where the red dot was." I switch the safety back to on and stagger away from him.

Jonathan stands there, gun dangling from his fingertips. "It only leaves a tiny hole, right?" he squeaks.

"It's them or us. Who do you want to get shot today?" I shrug, reaching behind me and wrenching on the sleeve of his unbuttoned shirt.

"Us, I choose us."

"No you don't, or you wouldn't be here. You want to live as much as I do. Maybe you even need to live. Maybe you have someone counting on you, too."

He shoots me a sideways look.

"That's right, I can read you too," I say softly. And for the first time, I flash him a genuine smile.

The entrance into the forest winds along a popular hiking trail through Sandcastle Mountain. I stay far enough north of the main path that we won't be spotted. Plus no one takes this trail, it's all straight up. We pass Jump Rock on Red River about a mile from where I fell. I remember waking up downriver by Shetowee Trace and not knowing where I was. I must've hit my head. I'm not sure how I survived the fall, but I do know it was days before I figured out where I was.

"Strange," I mutter, reaching for Jonathan's hand.

We have ten more feet of vertical rock to scale before we reach the summit of Cloud Splitter.

"I'm sorry?" he asks, throwing a leg up over the ledge.

"I was just thinking how weird it is that after I fell off the cliff I didn't know where I was."

"You fell off a cliff?" he asks, eyes wide as he staggers away from the edge.

"Yeah, that's why I was alone. Cord must've thought I was dead. It doesn't make sense though. I don't think I was hurt at all, but I can't remember the actual fall. I remember going over Frog's Knob, and then nothing after that until I woke up on the shore of Red River, right over there."