Barely a metre above the Styx, Red clings to a cliff face, nose pressed against rock, left hand with a firm grip around a loop of tree root and the fingers of his right hand wedged into a c***k. In the sky behind him, an orange half-moon exaggerates his every move. He should just dive in, get off this f*****g gleaming rock and disappear into the flood. He must have been here for a good sixty seconds now, with no rifle and a gut wound that hurts like hell.
How did he end up here anyway? That f*****g gunship—which he can still hear out there somewhere—that was how, he remembers that much. He knows that much, he can see the glow from the burning quad bike, and next to that, a fire from whatever else it was they hit. Not that it was a big surprise. He knows how it works from the other end. Th
