Twenty
Luke’s mouth and throat felt like he’d swallowed fire. Or sandpaper. The heat of exertion burned in every muscle, the grip of the pistol was rubbing a spot raw near the point of his pelvis despite the protection of his t-shirt, and the constant buzz of mosquitoes was maddening. Inexplicably, his mind was sharply clear with all the bitterness, grief, and fear hovering around the edges like the eye-wall of a hurricane, waiting patiently to sweep down and drown him. He couldn’t let that happen any more than he could afford to let the weariness get the best of him. He and June had never ascended this trail so quickly, and they both stumbled occasionally in their weariness, but they were both faring better than their captor, who panted and wheezed. The man was in shape—Luke would not un
