Page 122 of Split You Open

“Fuck!”

I shove the phone back into my pocket and resituate myself to point the rifle in that direction. They’re easier to spot than the other two.

And that’s because they’re much closer. Rather than combing the woods, these two are headed straight for the cabin.

I get the first one in my line of sight and lock onto the drone. Rather than fire right away, I wait—making sure I’m ready. My hands don’t shake, my breathing is slow and steady, and my heartbeat remains calm.

My finger kisses the trigger.

The rifle goes off.

The first drone is hit and immediately goes down, smoke plumes from the machine before it disappears into the trees. Adjusting my gaze, I lock onto the second drone and fire—not hesitating this time. I clip it but not enough to knock it from the sky. I pull the trigger on my rifle again. This time I do hit it. This one bursts into flames as it falls.

Shit.

With it being fall, the trees and landscape are dry and crispy. I fucking hope that doesn’t catch and spread or we’re well and truly fucked.

Turning my attention back to the others, I find them close enough to attempt to take them out. Locking onto one, I watch it closely. When I’m sure I’ll hit it, my rifle goes off again. This third drone goes down without a fuss. As I turn to the fourth however, it switches up its pattern. It turns and shoots away from the cabin as quickly as possible.

My rifle goes off once, twice, a third time but the drone dips and dives, skirting death over and over until it’s out of my reach.

“Goddamn!” I snap.

Yanking my phone back out, I tap out a message to let the others know the fourth drone has gotten away.

When I’m done, I shove it back into my pocket and wait for the drone to reappear. Surely whoever sent this isn’t going to give up this easily, right?

But time ticks by with no sign of its return.

I scan the sky both with and without the scope, determined not to miss the drone when it returns.

It never shows up.

After twenty minutes, I climb down off the roof. I knock once on the back door and as I open it, I call out, “Cinnamon roll!”

Blair slips out of the dark hallway, her pistol going back to its holster.

“Well?” Blair asks, as she prowls toward me. Her dark eyes flash with suspicion as I approach. “What happened?”

“I took out three drones but one got away. The—Blair! What the fuck?!”

She shoves her hand into my pocket without warning, startling me. With a hard yank, she pulls out Santi’s phone.

“I need to make a call,” she says simply, her eyes locking with mine for a brief moment.

They’re hard and cold. Hurt flickers in them for just a second before she manages to snuff it out.

The absence of her humanity is Anchor’s doing but the hurt is my fault.

Guilt wells up and for a second I can’t breathe.

It takes all the strength in me to choke it down.

I’ve been hiding from danger all my life… Her words circle around in my head, and I feel them more powerfully this time. Probably because danger that she’s had to hide from this time is my doing—not her father’s.

Quickly, Blair wakes up the screen on the phone. Stepping away, she brings the device to ear.

“Hey, got anything?” she asks.