The Hunter's Moon (The Secret Warrior Series) (2 page)

Red leaves mingled with the evergreens flanking them on either side. The foliage allowed only a misty glimpse of the ravine awaiting them below if she steered too near the gravelly drop off or skidded around the next turn. She almost expected the rocks to be littered with fallen vehicles.

“Finally.” She exhaled in relief when they reached the top and were descending into the valley. Smoother going now. Maybe everything would be OK and—

“Morgan. They’re back.” Jimmy’s voice was tight.

Her chest pounded. “Are you sure? It’s foggy.”

She checked her rearview mirror. Headlights shown in the whiteness and—her heart nearly stopped—the nose of the ominous black sedan.

“Why do gangsters always drive black?” she asked, masking hysteria with irony. “Stereotypical, don’t you think? Definitely unimaginative.”

She was blathering. The color of the vehicle didn’t make any difference. It was who drove it. Relentless Panteras.

Faster
. She must go faster and wished she weren’t driving a red car that stood out like a beacon. Camouflage would be better.

Jimmy made no reply. Most kids would be too panicked to think. He was probably concocting some scheme or other.

The image flashed though her mind of the tattooed gang leader, Mateo, shooting a fledgling member—he couldn’t have been more than sixteen—outside the recreation center where Jimmy played basketball. A drug deal gone wrong. And Mateo shot the rec worker rushing to the scene before he sped away. So much blood. The screams still resounded in Morgan’s head.

Two murders, as she and Jimmy could testify. If they survived to tell the tale. She’d be unspeakably grateful simply to survive. The pursuing car was nearly on their bumper. No side streets to lose them on here, and she wasn’t familiar with the terrain.

So breathless she could hardly speak, she fought for calm amid the cold terror seizing her. “Is Mateo in the car?”

“Can’t tell. Does it really matter?”

“He’s the worst, but no.” Whether or not Mateo was with the others, she and Jimmy were in mortal danger. “They’re gonna try and force us over the side. Make it look like an accident.”

“Fight to stay on the road a little longer.” Jimmy stared out the window as if searching for something.

“Then what?” Even if the kid was brilliant, she shouldn’t expect him to save them. She’d turn seventeen on her birthday next week, assuming she lived that long.

“I’m looking for a way off.”

“The mountain?” Did he mean a trail?

A thump on their rear confirmed Morgan’s fears. The Chevy was solid enough to resist the first attack. Another thud jolted them from behind. The sedan slammed them like a tank.

The fourth hit sent them veering sideways. She shrieked, dragging the wheel to stay on the sinuous road.

“Find the best way down the side!” Jimmy yelled.

“Seriously! You want me to drive us over a cliff?”

“It’s not all cliff. Some places slope with trees.” The monster behind rammed them harder.

Jimmy swiveled his head toward the back window. “They’ve got reinforced bars in front.”

“Crap! We won’t win at bumper cars.” And she was no racecar driver.

“Morgan! Get us out of here or we’re dead.”

“How? Where?” She peered frantically through the whiteness at the mountainside.

The kid was right. Not all that lay below them was a sheer drop. Some places leveled out before descending again in a gentler arch. If the car lodged against trunks to stop its fall, they might escape on foot. Might even find a path.

“There!” he shouted.

It was as good a spot as any. Better than most. An inner voice told her to go.
Now
!

“Hold on!” Palms clammy, heart racing, she gulped and drove the car over the verge.

Chapter Two

Call of the Wild

Nothing could have prepared Morgan for the careening lurch down the mountain, the jolting tumble over brush and stones. Her bones rattled. If she hadn’t gritted her teeth she’d have bitten her tongue.

Bushes rushed by. Branches scraped the sides of the car. Rocks knocked underneath and punctured tires in their jarring descent. They were riding on the rims, propelled forward by gravity. A clump of trees rose ahead, then the sickening crunch of metal.

The seatbelt dug in but didn’t prevent her from banging her forehead on the oversized steering wheel. Dizzy from the blow, she pushed back lengths of blonde hair and looked around. Smoke rose from the crumpled hood, which no longer stuck way out. The decades old car lacked an airbag, but the extended front had probably saved them.

Gasoline fumes were strong. They must’ve sprung a leak. Even with the knock on her head, she knew that wasn’t good.

Jimmy gripped her shoulder. “Morgan! You all right?”

“Yeah,” she lied.

“We gotta go before the car catches fire.”

Gunshots burst above them in rapid succession.
Holy crap. Assault rifles.

“Grab your pack. Might need it later. Get out on the left-hand side.” His instruction penetrated her stunned senses.

Shouts carried as bullets struck metal. She bit back a scream. The next round could hit one or both of them.

“Stay low.” He rolled out of the car like a combat-ready recruit.

What the heck had Uncle Don taught the kid?

She grabbed her navy bag and opened the door. A bullet zinged off the chrome. She dove into the undergrowth. The gray hoodie protected her arms from scratches. Not her hands. She and Jimmy needed bulletproof vests and headgear.

More shots ricocheted off the car. Bark spewed from nearby trunks. She swiped grit from her eyes and tried to stand. If she stayed low, they could bolt into the trees. But the forest revolved overhead in a whirl of hazy branches. She sank back down.

How could they possibly make it out alive when she could barely stand? She waved him ahead. “Go on. Run.”

“No. Lean on me.” He grabbed her hand and pulled hard.

The determination in his face told her he’d never leave her. They’d sink or swim together. With his help, she struggled to her feet and circled an arm around his skinny shoulders. She towed the pack with her other hand. He wore his backpack and wrapped an arm around her waist.

Squinting from the ache in her head, she staggered at his side beyond the saplings into denser trees. The woodsy smell of crumbing earth and leaves made a sweet contrast with gasoline fumes. A man-versus-nature kind of scenario, and an odd thing to think about with their lives at stake.

No more shots. Maybe they hadn’t been spotted.

Jimmy panted, urging her on. “Get behind these stones.”

An outcropping of moss-covered boulders came into her muzzy sight. She ducked behind them and crouched on the damp ground in her jeans and sneakers. Fern yellowed by autumn spread around them in drifts. Beyond that, the shadows of what might be a path led downhill through the trees. Perhaps to a sheltering hollow below.

He tucked beside her. “I counted three Panteras.”

“Wouldn’t matter if there was one. They’ve got guns.”

Boom!
She jerked against him as a huge fireball billowed into the sky. Flames were consuming what was left of the car. If recent rains hadn’t wet the underbrush, the threat from a forest fire would add to their danger. As it was, the heat and smoke would force the men back. At least, temporarily.

“Keep still. Cover your face.” He pulled his jacket up over his nose and mouth.

Morgan did the same with her sweatshirt. The acrid scent was strong even down here. Following Jimmy’s instruction was automatic in her dazed state, but she ought to have a plan.

She didn’t.

“Should we stay, or go while the smoke lasts?” The cloth muffled her voice.

“You can hardly walk.”

She couldn’t argue that point. Neither could they wait to be found. “The Panteras won’t give up until we’re dead.”

“Maybe they think we are,” he argued under his breath.

“Maybe.”

She suspected Mateo would demand a body, even a charred one. Make that two. She and Jimmy didn’t have much choice, though, other than to crouch in dread while the fire crackled.

“Next birthday, I want an AK-47.” He nudged her. “Look.”

She fixed her blurry gaze on what appeared to be a black wolf emerging from the trees. The creature was larger than she’d thought wolves were, and she’d understood none remained in these mountains. They were all farther north or west. Somewhere else.

Apparently, she was misinformed.

Judging by its size, she guessed this was a male. He stopped before their hideout. Eyes the color of red coals surveyed them before he turned and darted down the trail she’d spotted.

“Holy cow, Batboy. Did you see that?” she whispered.

Jimmy didn’t reply. He prodded her again.

She stared at the big brown and gray wolf that took the black one’s place. Where on earth had he come from?

The beast turned its furry head at her and Jimmy. His eyes shone with a luminous light, like fireflies in those golden depths. Unusual to say the least, as was the other wolf’s reddish glow. She’d never seen anything like it, but then, she’d never seen a wolf. Maybe they all had luminous eyes. But she doubted it.

Instead of disappearing into the trees as the first one had, he glided through the underbrush toward the men up ahead. Part of Morgan hoped he wouldn’t be shot. Another part of her suspected he had near human cunning, and he’d not fall easily.

“Uncanny is the word for him,” she whispered to Jimmy, the term Uncle Don used for something out of the ordinary that defied explanation. “This definitely ranges into the weird.”

“Shhh,” he hissed back. “They’re fighting.”

Braced against Jimmy, she listened as growls tore alongside the shouts coming from the trio on the ridge. Shots fired in angry bursts. Too many.

Oh, no
. Was the wolf hit?

Morgan prayed not. She sensed him trying to protect them, and couldn’t imagine why, or why he seemed like ‘
her
wolf’.

Cries, like the shrieks of a panther, carried through the trees. A chill crawled down her spine. Were the woods filled with creatures she thought long gone from these mountains?

More wolfish snarls erupted and snapping, tearing.
Good
.
He lived.

She nudged Jimmy. “Can you see anything?”

He craned his head around the rocks. “Not through the smoke and fog.”

Eerie howls rose from the surrounding woodland on every side. A whole pack must be gathering. Morgan wasn’t certain whether to be frightened, fascinated, or hopeful of rescue.

Still light-headed, not sure she even saw clearly, she watched the black wolf reappear; with him, a great white wolf whose green eyes shone like starlight. The most extraordinary yet. Together, the two loped after the brown and gray one. Judging by the high-pitched calls, there were more wolves out there. And panthers, or were they mountain lions?

Snarls, growls, and the shrieks of enraged felines ripped through the smoky shroud. The pack wasn’t after her and Jimmy. Not now, anyway. Who were the wildcats tearing into, the wolves or the gang?

She gripped Jimmy’s hand. They were both unarmed, the same as they’d been at the recreation center during that first horrific attack. She despised feeling helpless, as did he.

Car doors slammed. Tires squealing meant at least two of the men were getting away. Did one lie torn in pieces?

She and Jimmy exchanged glances. Were they saved, or next in line for attack?

He held a finger to his mouth. She nodded, straining to hear.

Nothing
. No howls. No shrieks.

Apart from occasional birdsong and the crackling fire, there were no sounds at all. Had the wolves vanished as swiftly as they’d come? What of the cougars, or whatever they were?

The softest rustling caught her ear, and the branches parted. A male figure appeared through the meld of orange and yellow leaves. He was young, about Morgan’s age, maybe a little older. And tall. He wore his long, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. A brown plaid shirt stretched across broad shoulders, paired with a leather vest. Faded jeans covered his long legs. He could be any hot outdoorsy guy with a bow over one shoulder and quiver of arrows over the other, only he looked Native American.

He drew closer, and she saw his eyes were as dark as his hair, his skin dusky.
Wow
. Even in her shaken state, she was awed. Her heart skipped a beat, and not from fear.

A smile curved his lips. “You two aren’t from around here, are you?” His low voice had a pleasing country drawl.

Morgan could scarcely believe he was real. “Sure aren’t.”

“Need some help?”

“Sure do. That flaming car was our ride.”

Jimmy sprang to his feet. “You live nearby?”

“Not too far.” Angling his head toward the trail, he thumbed in that direction. “Got a place back that way. I’ll take you.”
Tonto
, as Morgan thought of him, was tons better looking than the Indian dude in
The Lone Ranger
. She had to remember to close her mouth and not gape at him
.