Prologue
As soon as Abigail stepped outside the house, she knew something was wrong. She no longer stood alone, although she couldn’t see anyone else around her in the immediate proximity. How could she know? Nevertheless, she felt certain.
Alert and alarmed, she slipped her gun loose and crept toward her car, scanning the area around the house. Dark and cloudy, she couldn’t see anything.
When she drew closer, Abigail noticed that the vehicle rested lower than it should have. Someone had slashed the tires.
Not waiting for the trap to spring on her, she sprinted to the right, running toward a fence leading into an old horse paddock. A shout came from behind, followed by a gunshot. Abigail ducked and dashed to the fence, climbed over it, and dove into the tall grass below.
Years of horses walking over the muddy terrain had made the ground uneven. Luckily, the grass stood several feet tall and disguised her entire body, especially with such little light.
Abigail landed hard and rolled, ducking into the grass as more shots fired behind her. She kept moving, crawling low through the grass and, occasionally, glancing back the way she had come.
Near her car, three people ran toward her. Although Abigail couldn’t recognize their faces, she knew them from the way they moved: Colton Depardieu, Jack Wright, and Anong Sao.
It looked like they had come to finish what they had started back in Lausanne. Colton raised his pistol and fired into the grass. The shot fell behind her, but not as far away as she would like.
Abigail flinched, ducked again, and continued crawling. On this breezy night, the grass wafted in the wind and masked her progress. She moved fast, staying low, and went another fifteen or so meters. When she checked again, her pursuers had made it through the gate and into the field. They combed the area slowly, spread out to fan the entire field, and worked their way toward her.
Abigail held onto her revolver. At the least, she could drop one of them from her hiding spot. Anong stood closest, oblivious to her. They hadn’t prepared for her to retaliate, and she could put a bullet in Anong and still (probably) crawl away without the other two being able to find her immediately.
However, she didn’t. These were Hunters, her brothers and sisters, and killing them felt … wrong.
Though she might well regret it, Abigail slipped her revolver away instead and belly-crawled through the weeds and toward the fence. There, she found an opening that she could crawl under and slid outside the field. Abigail couldn’t see any other houses or vehicles in the area, but an old barn sat only fifty meters from her.
It looked like it had burnt up in a fire years ago, probably due to lightning or hooligans, and only half of it remained standing. Still, it gave better cover than nothing.
Abigail moved cautiously, crouching low, and made her way to the barn. Once there, she ducked inside, out of sight of the fields, and let out a quiet sigh.
Lincoln Cole
