The scream goes on for a beat too long, then cuts short. It’s Cobra. Solma feels it as surely as she felt that vine around her throat. She draws her pistol, thrusts her torch at Mamba.
“Get them to safety,” she growls. “We got this.”
Taipan’s orange eyes shine in the moonlight. “But—”
“Just do it!” Solma barks. She meets Olive gaze, and they bolt towards the camp. Solma’s pulse drums in her ears. Her oxygen-deprived body still won’t do as it’s told but adrenalin drives it onward. She leaps over protruding roots, dodges trees. Even without her torch, fear and anger sharpen her senses.
She and Olive skid into the Whisperer camp, weapons raised. They fall into a defensive stance, back-to-back, teeth bared, as if their wild appearance might be enough to frighten off attackers.
But the ca
