Depraved by Trent Evans

Chapter 13

“Wait for it… wait,” Anson whispered it, not even sure if Tom, hidden behind one of the trees on the other side of the trail could hear him.

“Roger that,” came Tom’s murmur.

He’d picked up the movement a few minutes ago—no more than a single figure, and almost certainly a man, judging by the pace and deliberate direction—west.

They’d entered the Fen from the east—which was the side they’d least likely be intercepted by foot patrol as it was easily the most patrolled by TSS air units.

They had personal spoofers, which made the aerials essentially harmless.

Foot patrols though could still make them very, very dead.

Or worse.

When they’d picked up the movement on the scanner, it was actually behind them… and they were at risk of outpacing whomever it was. It didn’t appear they were being actively shadowed, if they were allowing themselves to fall behind.

Which implied they had no idea Anson’s team was even there.

So, Anson decided a little welcome party might be in order.

Lyssa would be about a hundred meters behind them, well out of sight, but covering both of their positions, her sniper rifle both a long-range strike capability, and a powerful observation tool as well.

Having a squad frequency, even shielded as it was, presented a risk; just about anyone could pick up at least the carrier signal, if they’d been scanning frequencies that high.

But it was a risk they had to take. Getting separated meant almost certain death for all of them, so they had to stay in contact.

“Anything, Lyss?”

“I think so. Looks… like… one of ours. Not armed. Check that—got an AM-88 pistol.” The sound of her voice crackled for a moment, then cleared. “Definitely one of ours. Friendly?”

“Unknown. This far out from Gamma? Can’t assume it.” Anson checked the motion scan again. Still, just the one. “Position, Lyss?”

“Two hundred meters.”

“Come on, you asshole,” Tom murmured.

His squad mate wasn’t known for his patience, but there was nobody Anson would rather have covering his six if he got himself caught in a jam.

They waited, seconds turning into a minute, Anson’s heart beginning to gallop.

Then he could see the figure, less than fifty meters away as he stumbled through a stand of ferns and underbrush.

“You’re… not gonna believe this,” Lyssa said.

Anson cursed under his breath, but he wasn’t sure if it was luck, or if this was some sort of sick joke.

For he’d already seen what Lyssa just had.

It was fucking Harling.