Washed Ashore

"He's coming," Chloe repeated, her voice trembling with a mixture of cold and fear. "The Broker. He has a salvage team three minutes out."

I looked at the horizon. A line of lights bobbed in the distance, getting larger. Fast boats.

"We can't stay on the beach," I said, grabbing Elena’s arm. She felt pliable, like a doll made of wet clay. "Into the trees. Now."

We scrambled up the rocky incline, the sand sucking at our boots. Dante leaned heavily on me, his breathing ragged. Every step was a battle against gravity and exhaustion. Chloe took point, her sniper rifle lost to the ocean, armed only with a knife she’d pulled from her boot.

We reached the tree line just as the first searchlight swept across the beach where we had been standing seconds before. The beam cut through the darkness, illuminating our footprints in the wet sand.

"They'll track us," Dante whispered, bracing himself against a pine tree. "They have our trail."

"The tide is coming in," I said, hoping it was true. "It'll wash the beach clean. We just need to disappear into the woods."

We pushed deeper into the Blackwood forest. The undergrowth was dense, a tangle of thorns and ferns that tore at our soaked clothes. It was darker here, the canopy blotting out the starlight.

After twenty minutes of brutal hiking, we collapsed in a small hollow beneath the roots of a massive oak. It offered cover from the air and the ground.

I dropped to my knees beside Elena. She had been silent the entire time, moving only when I pulled her.

"Elena?" I brushed wet hair from her face. "Are you okay? Does it hurt?"

She sat with her back against the tree, staring at nothing. Her eyes were open, reflecting the faint moonlight, but there was no spark behind them. The blackness of the serum had faded, leaving behind a terrifying vacancy.

"Elena, look at me."

I took her hands. They were ice cold.

She blinked. Slowly, she turned her head. Her gaze landed on my face. She studied me with the detached curiosity of a stranger.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

The question hit me harder than any bullet.

"It's me," I said, my voice cracking. "It's Aria. Your sister."

She frowned, pulling her hands away. She huddled into herself, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I don't have a sister."

"You do. We grew up here. On this island." I pointed to the lighthouse visible through the gaps in the trees. "We used to play in the lighthouse. Don't you remember?"

She looked at the lighthouse. Then back at me.

"I don't know you," she said, her voice rising in panic. "I don't know where I am."

"It's the serum," Dante said softly from the shadows. "It rewrites neural pathways. The antidote stopped the physical mutation, but the memories... they might be fragmented. Or gone."

I stared at her. I had saved her life. I had pulled her from the fire and the water. But I had lost her.

"We can fix it," I said, a desperate fierceness taking hold. "Once we get to the Vault. The research data is there. We can reverse it."

"We have to survive the night first," Chloe muttered. She was peering through the brush, watching the beach.

The sound of engines grew louder. Not just boats now. Vehicles. ATVs tearing up the sand.

"They're landing," Chloe said. "Broker's personal guard. The Liquidators."

"How many?" Felix asked—no, Felix wasn't here. It was just Dante. My mind was slipping.

"Too many," Chloe said.

"We need a weapon," I said. "Anything."

"We have rocks and bad attitudes," Dante said, checking the magazine of his gun. "And I have two bullets."

"I have a knife," Chloe added.

I looked at my belt. Empty. The railgun was at the bottom of the harbor.

"We need to get to the lighthouse," I said. "My father kept supplies there. Emergency caches. If the island hasn't been looted, there might be weapons."

"It's a mile uphill," Dante said. "Through rough terrain."

"Can you make it?"

He looked at his side, where blood was seeping through his shirt. Then he looked at Elena, shivering and terrified in the dirt.

"I'll make it," he said.

We stood up. I reached for Elena. She flinched, shrinking away from me.

"Don't touch me!" she cried out.

The sound echoed through the silent forest.

A bird took flight nearby, wings flapping loudly.

Then, silence.

And then, a voice from the darkness, not fifty yards away. Amplified. Mechanical.

"We heard that."

A red laser dot appeared on the trunk of the oak tree, inches from Elena's head.

"Spread out," Dante hissed.

We dove.

The tree exploded into splinters as a high-caliber round tore through it.

"Run!" I screamed.

I grabbed Elena, ignoring her protests, dragging her by the wrist. We scrambled up the slope, slipping on pine needles and mud.

Behind us, the woods came alive with the white beams of tactical flashlights. The hunt had begun.

"Head for the ridge!" Chloe shouted, diverting to the left to draw their fire.

We pushed hard, lungs burning. We crested a small rise and stumbled into a clearing.

In the center of the clearing stood an old stone well. Covered in moss. Forgotten.

But sitting on the edge of the well, swinging his legs like a child, was a figure.

He was wearing a suit that seemed to shimmer, blending into the shadows. He wore a mask—a smooth, white porcelain face with no features.

He wasn't a Liquidator. He wasn't one of the Broker's men.

He held up a hand, palm open.

In it sat a grenade.

"Catch," he said.

He tossed it.

It landed at my feet.