Chapter 422

The icy river roared, its spray dampening her lashes. Each step felt like dancing on knife blades, the slick rocks threatening to betray her footing. Her grip on Lily Collins' hand was so tight her nails nearly drew blood.

"Watch out!" Lily yanked her back. She looked down to see a moss-covered boulder where her foot had almost landed.

This couldn't be called a riverbank. Jagged stones jutted like fangs—some razor-sharp, others oil-smooth. The most treacherous were the loose ones that could send you tumbling into the rapids with one wrong step.

The fog rolled in without warning. One moment she could see her companions ten meters ahead; the next, everything vanished in white. She felt Lily's fingers tighten around hers.

"Raincoats on." Andrew Smith's voice cut through the mist, leaving no room for argument.

No sooner had they pulled on their coats than the downpour began. Rainwater funneled through rock crevices, turning their grueling trek into a nightmare. The wounded man on her back groaned, his pain swallowed by the storm's fury.

"We can't go on," Hank Miller wiped his face. "Need shelter."

Andrew snapped off a branch, probing the undergrowth. Every fissure got flashlight scrutiny for venomous snakes before he'd approach. Rain streamed down his collar, yet his expression never flickered.

"Here!"

A cave lay hidden behind vines. The entrance barely accommodated a sideways shuffle, but inside was unexpectedly dry. Hank went first, sweeping his flashlight beam across the space.

"Clear," he reported.

Sixteen bodies packed into the cramped hollow like sardines. A stifled sneeze earned its owner sharp glances. The drumming rain outside masked their presence, but everyone knew danger might be lurking just beyond the veil.

Andrew leaned against the outermost wall, ear cocked toward the entrance. His hand never left the pistol at his hip, knuckles whitening from the strain.

Water dripped from the ceiling onto his shoulder—each drop a bullseye marking its target.