Asher slid five feet down the muddy bank before his boots caught on a buried pine root. Below him, the brown river churned like boiling soup. It slammed spray against the rock face and soaked his dark trousers through to the skin. “You are going to break your neck!” the woman yelled from the crest above. Her heavy boots crunched on the gravel edge. “That trunk is covered in slick green moss!” “Stay off the middle!” Asher called back without looking up. “Focus on your footing!” He reached the base of the steep slope where the fallen pine bridged the narrow gorge. The trunk was three feet thick and wedged tight between two granite pillars. The high water washed right over the belly of the log, dragging foam and broken branches along with it. “I cannot do this!” she shouted. She scrambled down the slick clay behind him and nearly lost her balance. “I cannot look down at that water!” “Then look at my coat,” Asher said flatly. “My hands are freezing!” she whimpered. She wiped we

Asher walked alone through the upper timber line. His heavy boots sank into the wet carpet of pine needles that muffled every step. The mountain rain had finally stopped. It was replaced by a biting frost that turned his breath into white plumes against the dark spruce trees. “Do not move another inch!” a thin, sharp voice shouted from the brush. Asher stopped instantly on the narrow mud path. He did not reach for his coat pocket. His hands remained loose at his sides. His weight shifted slightly back on his heels. “You have your thumb on the safety,” Asher said. His voice was low and flat. “It made a loud metallic noise.” A young woman in a faded green hunting jacket stepped out into the open. A double barreled shotgun was leveled directly at Asher’s belt buckle. Her face was smudged with black soot. Her eyes were bloodshot and wide with sheer exhaustion. “Where are you coming from?” she demanded. Her rough hands shook slightly against the cold wooden stock. “Is the pass

Captain Vance stood on the corrugated steel hood of his heavy armored truck. His thick leather coat was freezing stiff in the biting wind that blew off the river. Five years ago, Vance was the chief interrogation officer for the Syndicate inner circle. He was a brutal commander who had broken entire mountain towns during the winter purges of twenty-four. After the northern blockade collapsed, he stole three heavy armored transport trucks, took control of the main river pass, and declared himself warlord over every square mile of the valley. He was obsessed with absolute control. His face was twisted into a dark mask of pure fury as he stared down at the muddy boot prints near the water. “The single set of heavy boot tracks goes straight toward the ruined rail depot, Captain,” his lead sergeant said. He stepped out of the cold mud and wiped rain from his face. “He killed Garrett at the iron yard. Clean shot right through the heart.” “Garrett was a fool who lived in rusted garbage

Asher crouched behind the rusted frame of an overturned coal car. His breath was shallow as the icy wind whistled through the hollow steel. Ahead, two men in patchwork armor made of car fenders and wire moved through the gray dusk. Their long iron spears scraped against the frozen ground. If I fire now, the noise will bring Vance straight to this ridge, Asher thought. His thumb rested lightly on the cold hammer of his revolver. I need to let them pass. “Did you hear the heavy engines down by the river bend?” the taller scavenger asked. He paused to look back into the foggy valley. “I heard them,” the shorter man muttered. He pulled a filthy wool scarf tighter around his face. “That is Vance’s convoy. He is burning good diesel just to hunt one man.” “A man with a high price on his head,” the tall one said. He turned his head toward the dark ridge. “The Iron Union posted three hundred unfired rifle shells for his coat.” “Three hundred shells can buy a whole crate of medical

Asher walked twenty paces ahead of Kaelen and the boy. His long dark coat brushed against the rough granite walls as the heavy iron portcullis slammed shut behind them. The air inside the tunnel was still and freezing. It was untouched by the biting wind of the western flats. But the distant, rhythmic vibration of Captain Vance’s truck engines still thudded faintly through the rock beneath their boots. “He cannot reach us through three miles of solid granite,” Kaelen muttered. His voice echoed hollowly against the curved ceiling as he pulled the shivering boy closer to his side. “The Iron Union holds this tunnel. Vance would need dynamite to blow these doors.” “Vance has more than dynamite,” Camila said. Her boots clicked sharply against the stone floor as she swept her rifle barrel back and forth through the shadows. “He has an entire platoon of infantrymen who do not care about collateral damage. If they find the air vent outside, they will pump poison gas down into this shaft