I grip the branch and listen. The wind shifts.
Nothing.
I press my forehead to the rough bark, willing for Kiro to be okay. The idea of a world without Kiro seems…unbearable.
The shooting starts up again. I clap my hands around my ears again. I tell myself it’s good they’re still shooting—it means Kiro’s alive. A threat to them. But then, one bullet could end him, so how is that good?
Footsteps underneath me. I stiffen as I see guys in camo with South African street sweepers pass below. You get to know the makes of assault weapons out in the hot zones. You need those details for your pieces. The men down there are being stealthy, which I suppose is a good sign. It means they’re scared. Another group goes past.
One man follows them from a distance; he turns now and then to walk backwards. There’s a slight movement to his side—I see a flash. Hear a softoof.
Rustling.Snap. That’s a bone breaking.
I stretch to the side and catch sight of Kiro, face bloody, rising from the broken heap that was the man. Kiro wipes his eyes again and again. A cut on his brow is bleeding into his eyes.
Head wounds bleed like a motherfucker, even when they’re not serious. A head wound. Does he have a concussion? At the very least, it’s fucking up his vision.
He can’t fight if he can’t see!
He’s gone in a flash. I hear more commotion. Somebody goes down. There’s a shot. Yelling. The guttural cry of a man dying. Frightened voices.
Kiro’s out there, hunting and killing them one by one. One unarmed guy against dozens of armed men.
Awe shudders through me. Kiro.
I want to help him, but I need to trust what he told me—that I’m more of a help if he doesn’t have to worry about me. I rub my thumb over a little rough patch of bark.
More of the men pass under me. They’re talking about his bloody face. They sound confused, like there’s something they don’t understand.
I hear the words “Savage hearing…how he’s doing it?…fucker doesn’t need to see…”
Of course. Kiro’s tracking them through sound and probably scent.
His words trail off. Suddenly a shrieking alarm pierces the air. A key fob alarm.
No! He won’t hear them coming now.
I panic, clinging to my branch. There are more shots. Yelling. I’m really torn about going down there, now. Suddenly it all stops.
Utter silence.
Movement below. “Ann.”
“Kiro?”
“It’s okay.”
I scramble down into his arms. His shirt is off, tied around his head to stanch the flow of blood.
“Are you okay?”
He touches his forehead. “A scratch.”
“You’re bleeding. You might need stitches.”
“I’m fine. Unlike your friends.”
“I didn’t signal them. I figured it out, Kiro—I got played.”