He moved across to Elliott, coiling the rope that connected them as he went.
"What is it?" he whispered, close to her ear.
"I think… I think it's Drake," she answered.
"So he's alive?" he gasped.
She didn't answer.
"They've got him prisoner?" he asked.
"Worse," she said, a tautness to her voice. "Tom Cox… he's there. He's gone over to the other side… he's working with the Styx…" She lapsed into a croak that was swallowed by the howls of the wind.
"What are they doing to Drake?"
As she continued to look through her rifle scope, Elliott could hardly talk. "If it's really him, they're… a Limiter is…" She lifted her head from the rifle and shook it violently. "They're torturing him on a stake. Tom Cox is… is laughing… that evil smear of a—"
Another wail of agony, even more dreadful than the last, cut her off.
"I can't watch any longer… I can't let this go on," she said, gritting her teeth determinedly and staring straight into Will's eyes, her pupils turned to the deepest, darkest amber through his night-vision device.
"I have to… he'd do the same for me…" she said as she adjusted the magnification on her scope. Digging her elbows into the dirt and bracing her arms to steady the rifle, she inhaled and exhaled several times in quick succession, then held in the final breath.
Will watched her dumbly. "Elliott?" he asked, his voice quavering. "You're not—"
"Can't get a shot… the clouds… can't see…" she said, letting out a breath.
The seconds passed, as long as years.
"Oh, Drake," she said, her words lost to the wind.
Then she inhaled again and took aim.
She fired.
The crack of the rifle made Will jump out of his skin. The report echoed around, rolling across the plain and back to him, time and time again, until there was just the whine of the Levant again in his ears.
Will peered into the inky distance, then at her.
She was shivering badly.
"I don't know if I did it… the bloody, bloody clouds… I…"
She worked the bolt of the rifle to chamber a new round, then suddenly pushed the weapon at Will.
"You look."
He drew back.
"Take it," she ordered him.
He reluctantly held the rifle just as he'd seen Elliott do and, flipping the lens up over his eye, peered through the scope. It felt cold — and wet — but he couldn't think about that now. He was getting his bearings on the group down in the base of the crater. The scope was set on a high magnification, and in his inexperienced hands he panned it erratically as he tried to locate them.
There! He caught a glimpse of a Limiter!
He panned back. Another Limiter! No, it was the same one, standing by himself. Will held the rifle steady on him, they Styx's terrifying face in pin-sharp focus. Will's stomach fell through the floor: The Limiter was looking up, looking up at the ridge where he and Elliott were lying. The Will saw other figures, other Styx, running behind him. He moved the scope.
Where's Drake?
The wizened form of Tom Cox came into focus. He was holding a blade — it shone in the light. Then Will saw the stake. On it was a body. He thought he recognized the jacket. Drake!
Will couldn't bear to look too closely, and he was assisted in this by the distance and the remaining clouds from the Black Wind. Just as he was getting a grip, he noticed that there was a darkness sprayed around Drake, all over the ground. Through the scope it was not red, but darker, and it reflected the light, like molten bronze. Will broke out in a cold sweat.
This is not real. I am not here.
"Did I get him?" Elliott pressed Will.
Will angled the rifle up so he could see only Drake's head.
"I can't tell…"
Will couldn't see Drake's face; his head was bent forward.
Distant reports of shots echoed toward Will and Elliott. The Limiters were returning fire.
"Will, concentrate — they're homing in on us," Elliott hissed at him. "I need to know if I did it."
Will tried to hold the scope steady on Drake's head. Clouds swirled in his field of view.
"Can't see…"
"You must!" Elliott snapped, her voice distorted with desperation.
Then Drake's head moved.
"Oh God!" Will exhaled with horror. "Looks like he's still alive." Try not to think.
"Put another round in him… quickly," Elliott begged.
"No way!" Will spat.
"Do it! Put him out of his misery."
Will shook his head. I am not here. This is not me. This is not happening.
"No way," he gasped again, feeling as though he was going to cry. "I can't do that!"
"Just do it. We don't have time. They'll be coming."
Will raised the rifle and took in a shuddering breath.
"Don't jerk the trigger… squeeze it off… smoothly…" Elliott said.
He shifted the crosshairs from Drake's head, resting them squarely on the man's chest. Will told himself he would be less likely to miss him there. But this was all crazy, haywire. Will didn't have it in him to actually kill anyone.
"I can't do this."
"You must," Elliott pleaded. "He'd do it for us. You have to…"
Will tried to silence his mind. This is not real. I am watching a movie. These are not my actions.
"Help him," she said. "Now!"
Will's whole body tensed, rebelling at what it knew he must do. The intersection of the crosshairs moved unsteadily, but it was roughly on the right place, aiming at the heart of the man he admired so much, now horribly mutilated. Do it, do it, do it! Increasing the pressure on the trigger, he shut his eyes. The rifle went off. He cried out as it bucked in his hands, the telescopic sight ramming his brow as it recoiled. He'd never shot a rifle before. Breathing rapidly, he lowered the weapon.
The sharp tang of cordite from the shot filled Will's nostrils. The smell, so reminiscent of fireworks, would mean something completely different to him from that moment on. More than that, it was as if Will was now marked, as if things would never again be the same. I will carry this with me until the day I die. I might have killed a man!
Elliott leaned against Will, passing her arms through his, their faces touching as she worked the bolt of the rifle. The intimacy meant nothing in that instant. The spent cartridge spun into the darkness as she rammed a new round into the chamber. Will tried to pass the weapon to her, but she pushed back, wrenching up the muzzle of the rifle. "No! Make sure!" she ordered in a hissed shout.
Will reluctantly put his eye to the scope again, trying to locate the stake and Drake's body. He couldn't. The view zoomed this way and that, a blur. Then he found it, but his supporting arm slipped. He tried again. And saw…
Rebecca.
She was standing between two tall Limiters, somewhere to the left of Drake.
She was looking in his direction. Straight at him.
He felt like he was falling.
"Did you get him?" Elliott asked, her voice a croak.
But Will was locked on Rebecca. Her hair was drawn back tightly, and she was dressed in one of the Limiters' long coats with the blocklike patches of camouflage.
It was her.
He saw her face.
She was smiling.
She waved.
More gunshots rang out, spits of lead reaming through what was left of the misty clouds. As the Limiters zeroed in, shots landed nearer to him and Elliott, one so close that shards of rock pelted them.