On the screen, Owen shot another drone out of the sky with a single arrow. Nick's face was like thunder. Owen had become the biggest variable, and things were slipping further out of control.
On the ground, Owen picked up the brute's pad and immediately noticed a difference. This one had markers labeled M and W. He guessed M meant male and W meant female. Seeing the only three Ws clustered together, Owen's eyes lit up—hopefully one of them was Monica.
At that moment, the live feed of the killing game switched to the bearded man's perspective: John Rambo was sprinting through the forest, with the bearded man twenty-plus meters behind.
Rambo moved with agile precision. The treacherous jungle terrain looked like home to him—his steps were short, quick, and steady, but his speed never lagged. If he hadn't been deliberately keeping the bearded man's attention, he would have shaken him long ago.
The bearded man had no idea he was being lured, and kept up the mindless chase.
Damn it—the guy ahead seemed to speed up again. The bearded man pushed harder, but stumbled when a root caught his foot. Cursing, he stepped over a bush—right onto something hidden beneath.
A springy branch snapped up, driving a sharpened stake into his leg with a whoosh. He howled as the long, pointed stake punched clean through his thigh.
Shivering, he reached to yank it out, but the agony made him give up instantly.
A face streaked with camouflage paint appeared beside him—the very bastard he'd been chasing.
"Fa… f\*\*k…"
Grinding the words through his teeth, the bearded man knew perfectly well who had set the trap. If he didn't at this point, he might as well be dead already.
John Rambo's face didn't change. The curses washed over him. He didn't even care that the bearded man still held a weapon.
"Have you seen this little girl?"
Rambo held a photo in front of the bearded man. The man glanced at it—and a cruel smile spread across his face.
"What is she to you? Her father? Save your breath. I killed her. She begged me not to—right before she died. Beautiful sound. You'd have loved to hear it. I tortured her for a whole hour—she kept pleading…"
He laughed, wild and unhinged. He knew what was coming, but he wasn't afraid. Some people don't think like normal humans. What he wanted most now was to see John Rambo break.
He was destined to be disappointed. Rambo's expression stayed the same: a poker face. Not a flicker of anger.
Thud.
Rambo slid the knife into the bearded man's eye socket. The man convulsed; when the blade came out, his body sagged, left hanging by the stake still pinned to the sprung branch.
Sheathing the knife, Rambo checked the ears the bearded man had collected. None belonged to a child—so he'd been lying. Rambo found the man's pad. The same three W markers caught his eye. Grabbing the compound bow, he slipped back into the jungle and vanished like a ghost.
…
In the control room, Nick watched yet another hunter profile turn gray and finally decided to deploy his own team.
"Edward, take your men and clean the field."
"Yes, boss."
Edward, a mercenary leader, gestured to his team. Two helicopters lifted off from the hillside and headed toward the hunting zone.
They arrived quickly. Rotor wash whipped the treetops. Spotting a clearing, Edward and his squad fast-roped into the rainforest.
Once the last man hit the ground, the helicopters pulled away. Edward checked the pad for target locations, oriented himself, and waved his hand. The team moved toward the nearest prey.
On the hillside, Owen was racing toward the cluster that might include Monica. Her location had been exposed. Danger could strike any second. He had to hurry.
He ran in tight, quick steps across the slope—when that familiar jolt of dread hit him. Without thinking, he hit the brakes and rolled sideways. A gunshot cracked. Bark exploded from the tree where he'd just been.
It all happened so fast that no one could tell whether Owen had been knocked down or had dropped on purpose. After the shot, Edward's men scanned for him—but he'd vanished.
On his belly, Owen low-crawled through two thickets. Only after he'd put some distance between himself and the ambush did he rise into a crouch and sprint.
Whoever they were, they had firearms. He had only a bow. A frontal fight would be suicide.
After he'd run a while, shots rang out again. From higher ground, they'd spotted him. Owen didn't look back. He plunged into dense understory and kept running. Bullets stitched the foliage around him, but the trees were his shield. Hitting him wouldn't be easy.
As he sprinted through the forest, a woman suddenly appeared head-on. Both froze for a split second—an accidental encounter. Before he could judge whether she was hunter or prey, her hand flashed—a throwing knife. In the same instant, Owen drew and loosed.
In bullet-time clarity, he tilted his head. The blade grazed his cheek. His arrow drove deep into the woman's chest.
It all took an eye-blink. Owen never broke stride. As he passed her falling body, he snatched his arrow back out.
Gunfire still hammered behind him. He poured on speed, zigzagging through the trees. By the time Edward's men pushed through, they'd lost his trail.
Edward was furious. He and his soldiers were the best—his squad was drawn entirely from Ukraine's Golden Eagle unit—yet in the jungle they couldn't catch a cop.
"Skirmish line. Sweep search…"
He spread his men out. They'd been close—Owen couldn't have gone far. He had to be hiding nearby.
Behind a patch of brush, Owen watched the approaching skirmish line with a cold eye. These men weren't going to stop. He had to remove them before he could look for Monica—otherwise, he'd be dragging danger right to her.
Decision made, he slipped away from the shrub.
At one spot, he tested the flex of a sapling and began sharpening stakes. When they were ready, he lashed them to the bent branch and rigged a tripwire.
Elsewhere, he arranged a few branches like a cradle, carefully propped a heavy boulder on top, then linked a trigger line to the supporting stick.
On the search line, soldiers advanced in six- or seven-meter intervals. Owen suddenly rose from a bush, put an arrow into one man, and bolted.
Automatic fire erupted behind him, shredding plants by the dozen. Owen ran in curves, keeping trunks between himself and the muzzles as much as possible.
The skirmish line fell apart the moment he appeared. Soldiers charged after him. Owen streaked through the jungle like a hare; they followed the spoor he left behind.
"Ahhh—!"
One of the lead men triggered the trap. The bent branch snapped forward, driving the sharpened stake into his abdomen. He didn't die immediately. A teammate rushed to help—but another wet, heavy thud sounded.
The propped boulder crashed down from above, smashing a soldier's skull to pulp.
"Nobody move! Spread out—keep clear of the brush!"
Edward had lost three men in a blink. He was about to lose his mind.
______
(≧◡≦) ♡ Support me and read 20 chapters ahead – patreon.com/Mutter
Every 100 Power Stones = 1 extra chapter on Saturday.
Every 5 reviews = 1 extra chapter on Saturday.