The wilderness offered little comfort. Kabelo moved through the dense underbrush as quickly as his battered body allowed, each step a battle against pain and exhaustion. The morning sun climbed higher, burning mist off the foliage and threatening to reveal him. He kept to the shadows of the trees whenever possible, a phantom slipping between shafts of light.
Every so often, Kabelo paused to listen. The forest was alive with normal sounds — buzzing insects, distant bird calls — but beneath that was the echo of pursuit. Faint shouting far behind, the baying of hounds on a scent. They were searching for him. The realization spurred him onward despite the throbbing wound in his thigh and the ache in his electrified nerves.
He clutched a crude walking stick he'd snapped off a dead branch to take weight off his injured leg. Dried blood crusted his pant leg and his shoulder, but the bleeding had mostly stopped. Pausing briefly behind a tree, he hastily wrapped a bandage around the bullet graze in his thigh. The white gauze bloomed red, but it was better than nothing.
A dog's excited bark rang out, closer than before. Kabelo's head snapped up. They were gaining on him.
Dropping the empty kit, he forced himself into motion again. Up ahead, the terrain sloped towards a narrow stream glinting in the sun. Moving as fast as his limp would allow, Kabelo splashed into the cold water and began wading downstream. The current was gentle, but every step on slick stones sent jolts of pain through his leg. He grit his teeth and pressed on.
The stream would mask his scent and throw the dogs off, at least for a while. After putting a few hundred meters between him and where he entered, Kabelo climbed out onto the opposite bank, hauling himself up by clutching exposed roots in the mud. He took a second to catch his breath beneath the canopy of a wild fig tree. His lungs burned and his injured leg quivered under him.
Then — a new noise on the wind. The distant thump-thump-thump of helicopter blades. Kabelo's blood ran cold. They were escalating the search.
He scanned the skies through the gaps in the leaves. Low to the west, a black helicopter skimmed above the treetops, sweeping the forest with what looked like a camera turret slung beneath. From this distance, he couldn't tell if it was a military chopper or one of those civilian models retrofitted for surveillance, but either way it meant trouble.
Kabelo knew he had to find cover — real cover. The helicopter would spot movement easily. He considered trying to open a portal to somewhere out of sight, but where? He had no clear destination in mind except "away," and panic was not conducive to controlling this strange ability. Better to save it for when he had no other choice.
He pushed himself back into motion, doubling over to stay beneath the foliage. If he recalled correctly, there were rocky hills to the north where the forest thickened into old growth. Perhaps caves or at least heavier canopy to hide under. That direction also happened to lead towards the fallback rendezvous point his unit had designated before the mission: a disused ranger station about ten kilometers from the target compound.
The thought of his team gave Kabelo a pang of sorrow and hope. If any of them had survived the ambush, that station is where they'd go. It was a slim chance — he had seen Captain De Beer executed, and others fall. But Sergeant Khumalo and a couple of the guys had made a break for it when things went to hell. Khumalo was tough and smart; if anyone could escape, it would be him.
The possibility of finding a friendly face at the rendezvous ignited a small spark of determination in Kabelo. He checked his pistol — only three rounds left in the magazine. He had lost his sniper rifle during his capture. For now, stealth was his best weapon.
The helicopter's drone grew louder. Kabelo forced himself into a lurching run, biting down against the pain. Branches whipped at his face, and twice he nearly tripped over concealed roots. Still, he pressed on, guided by memory and the angle of the sun. North and east, that's where the station lay.
He slid down a small embankment and pressed himself flat against the earth. Up ahead, beyond a thicket of thorn bushes, he could make out a dirt access road that cut through the forest. A dangerous open stretch.
Kabelo peered cautiously. The road appeared empty for the moment. Just to be safe, he picked up a stone and tossed it toward the opposite side of the path. Nothing stirred. Satisfied, he crawled out and quickly limped across the track into the cover of foliage on the other side.
No sooner had he vanished into the brush than voices sounded along the road. Kabelo froze behind a fallen log. Through the leaves, he saw two figures in black tactical gear moving along the road, rifles at the ready. Mercenaries. They seemed tense, scanning the forest edge.
"...telling you, I heard something," one said in an American accent, stopping near where Kabelo had just been. He wore dark sunglasses and had a trimmed beard. "Maybe an animal. Or our guy."
The second, a stocky man with a shaved head and South African accent, shook his head. "Trail's gone cold. Damn dogs lost the scent by the stream back there. If Shadow had any sense, he's long gone from here."
Kabelo stayed perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe. They were mere meters away, separated by a veil of leaves.
"Orders are to sweep towards the hills," the bearded American grumbled, adjusting his grip on his rifle. "Carter's team is circling around from the south. We'll pin him in a pincer if he's stupid enough to stick around."
The South African soldier spat onto the dirt. "What I don't get is why this one's so special. Command wants him alive, not a scratch. Never seen them that interested in a rogue operative before."
"Pays above our grade," the American replied. He took a step closer to Kabelo's hiding spot, squinting in his direction. "You saw what happened at the lab, right? They say he blew a hole in the air to escape."
Kabelo's pulse quickened. They knew about the portal, or at least had heard rumors. That meant they would be on guard for more than a normal fugitive.
"Ah, that's bullshit," the other man scoffed, though his tone lacked conviction. "There's some tech explanation. Experimental explosives or something."
The American chuckled darkly. "Explosives that teleport a man out of a sealed room? If you say so."
The mercs' radios crackled. "All teams, fall back. Package secure. Exfil in two."
The mercenaries exchanged glances. "Roger that," the American answered into his mic. To his partner, he muttered, "Chopper spotted something by the old ranger station. Let's move."
Ranger station. Kabelo's stomach clenched. That had to be the rendezvous point. If the chopper saw something... maybe one of his team had made it there and was signaling, or maybe they'd set a trap.
The mercenaries jogged down the road, continuing north. Kabelo remained crouched until their footsteps and voices faded. Then he exhaled the breath he'd been holding.
He needed to get to that station before the enemy did, or at least observe what was happening. If it was one of his comrades, he refused to let them be captured or killed without a fight. And if it was something else the helicopter spotted, he needed to know what.
Rising painfully to his feet, Kabelo decided it was time to risk using his newfound ability. Speed was essential now.
He visualized the area near the ranger station. He'd been there once before the mission, when they scouted emergency exfil sites. It was a single-story cabin with a fire lookout tower, set in a clearing. He remembered the rusty satellite dish and a busted old jeep out front.
Concentrating on that image, Kabelo felt for the spark inside him. Almost immediately, a flicker of energy warmed his nerves. He pushed with his mind, like flexing an invisible muscle.
With a muted crackle, a swirling oval aperture materialized in front of him among the trees. Through it, he caught a distorted glimpse of the ranger station clearing — perhaps 500 meters ahead, if he'd aimed right. It was working.
Kabelo hobbled forward and stepped through the portal. In an instant, he emerged behind the station's utility shed, nausea from the spatial dislocation hitting him in a wave. He swallowed it down and pressed himself against the shed's wooden wall, peering around the corner.
The clearing lay before him. The ranger station cabin was about twenty meters away, its door hanging open. Smoke curled lazily from a small fire pit out front, as if someone had been there recently. He saw no sign of the helicopter, though he could hear it circling somewhere not far off.
Cautiously, Kabelo crept closer. The place seemed deserted. Could one of his team have been here and moved on? Or been taken?
A dark shape suddenly appeared in the cabin doorway — Kabelo tensed, raising his pistol, but then he recognized the familiar face and nearly sagged in relief.
Sergeant Lawrence Khumalo stepped out of the cabin, an assault rifle slung over his shoulder. His left arm was bandaged tight against his chest, and he moved with a limp, but he was alive. Kabelo had to fight the urge to call out then and there.
Khumalo scanned the treeline warily, clearly on edge. Kabelo made a soft birdcall sound they had often used for identification in the field.
Instantly, Khumalo swung his rifle toward the sound. "Who's there?" he challenged in a harsh whisper.
Kabelo emerged from behind a tree, hands partially raised to show peace. "Khumalo... it's Shadow," he said quietly, using his call sign.
Khumalo's eyes widened in disbelief. "Kabelo?" He hurried forward a few steps, lowering his rifle. "By God, man, I thought you were dead."
The two men met in the middle of the clearing. For a moment, it looked like Khumalo might embrace his long-time friend, but both hesitated — each seeing the state of the other.
Kabelo took in Khumalo's injuries and gaunt appearance. "Lawrence, you alright?"
"I'll live," Khumalo replied, voice tight with restrained emotion. "We got separated. I tried to go back for you, but... those mercs were swarming. Next I heard that chopper, and I saw them carry you away. I thought they'd..." He trailed off, then shook his head. "What happened? How did you escape?"
"It's... a long story," Kabelo said. His eyes darted overhead at the growing rotor noise. They didn't have time for explanations. "Short version: they took me to some lab. Experimented on me. I got out. Now they're after us, big time."
Khumalo grimaced. "I gathered that much. They've been sweeping the area all morning. I signaled with some smoke just a bit ago hoping any of our boys might see it, but I might have only drawn them here."
"Smoke? So that fire was you." Kabelo realized the helicopter likely caught the smoke. "We need to move, Khumalo. There are at least half a dozen mercs, maybe more, closing in. They want me alive, but they won't hesitate to kill you."
Khumalo nodded, determination in his eyes. "Then let's not be here when they arrive. I stashed an old ranger map inside. I figure we can slip toward the river gorge east of here; too many trees for the chopper, and we can follow the water out."
Kabelo felt a surge of gratitude and affection for his comrade. Even after the nightmare of last night, Khumalo was still thinking like a soldier, planning their escape.
A crack of a stick from the treeline snapped both men to alertness. Khumalo raised his rifle and Kabelo pivoted, pistol aimed at the sound.
Three mercenaries emerged from the brush on the far side of the clearing, moving cautiously in a spread. At the sight of the two fugitives, their leader shouted, "Contact! Targets spotted!"
Muzzle flashes erupted as the mercenaries opened fire. "Down!" Kabelo roared, tackling Khumalo behind a stack of old firewood beside the cabin. Bullets splintered the logs and whizzed overhead.
Kabelo returned fire with two quick shots, forcing the mercs to dive for cover behind a fallen tree at the clearing's edge. Khumalo grunted, fumbling one-armed to bring his rifle to bear. "They must've followed your trail," he hissed.
"Doesn't matter now," Kabelo replied. "We have to punch through them or we'll be pinned."
More gunfire from the mercenaries peppered the firewood pile, sending shards into the air. One round ricocheted and nicked Kabelo's cheek; he ignored it, adrenaline taking over.
He peeked around the pile. The three enemies were spreading out, trying to flank. The helicopter was audible directly overhead now; they had surely radioed their location. Time was nearly up.
"Khumalo, when I move, give me covering fire," Kabelo said quickly.
His friend nodded, jaw clenched. "Moving where?"
"Behind them," Kabelo replied. Before Khumalo could question, Kabelo sucked in a breath and tapped into the well of power inside him.
He focused on a spot of ground behind the mercenaries' position, at the base of a large pine tree. Immediately, a crackling portal swirled open there, a dark oval vertical in the air.
One of the mercenaries shouted in alarm at the sudden phenomenon behind them. Kabelo didn't hesitate — he dove through the shimmering gateway that had formed a meter away.
The world flipped and in an instant Kabelo tumbled out of the portal right behind the mercenaries. Their backs were to him as they gawked at the inexplicable tear in reality. Kabelo raised his pistol and fired twice. The nearest merc went down with a cry, hit in the leg. Another spun to face him, eyes wide. Kabelo's third shot caught the man in the shoulder, causing him to drop his weapon with a shout.
The third mercenary, the leader, recovered from his shock and charged at Kabelo with a combat knife drawn, closing the distance before Kabelo could get another shot. They collided, the merc slashing at Kabelo's midsection. Kabelo twisted away, the blade grazing his side but not deeply. He struck back with his pistol as an improvised club, cracking the man across the temple. The merc grunted, stunned.
Before Kabelo could finish him, a burst of rifle fire from the cabin tore into the man, spraying blood. Khumalo had managed to prop himself and open fire to protect his brother-in-arms. The mercenary leader crumpled to the ground, dead.
The remaining two enemies were wounded and scrambling. One tried to limp toward the treeline, but Kabelo sprinted after him and slammed him to the ground. The merc whimpered, clutching his shot leg. The other was crawling for his dropped rifle with his uninjured arm. Kabelo kicked the weapon away and trained his pistol on the pair.
Without hesitation, Kabelo put a bullet in each of the wounded mercenaries, ensuring they would no longer be a threat.
"Shadow, we have to go!" Khumalo shouted hoarsely. The wind from the chopper's blades was whipping through the clearing now, debris swirling. The helicopter was hovering just above the treetops, and Kabelo could see the dark silhouette of a door gunner setting up a shot.
Kabelo sprinted back toward Khumalo. He grabbed his fellow soldier under the good shoulder, hoisting him up. "Hang on!" he yelled over the roar.
Together, they half-ran, half-staggered toward the treeline on the opposite side of the clearing, away from the helicopter's line of fire. Bullets churned the ground behind them as the door gunner opened up, tracers zinging past.
They made it into the trees just as a voice boomed through a loudspeaker from the hovering chopper: "Shadow! Stop and surrender or we will pursue with lethal force!"
Kabelo exchanged a glance with Khumalo. Even injured and winded, his friend managed a defiant smirk. "Not today," Khumalo rasped.
Kabelo agreed. Not today, not ever, he thought fiercely.
Ignoring the pain wracking his body, Kabelo pushed onward into the forest, supporting Khumalo. The underbrush closed around them, shielding them from the helicopter for the moment. The sound of the chopper was soon joined by distant shouting from more mercenaries drawn by the gunfire.
But Kabelo and Khumalo did not stop. They vanished into the green depths, two phantoms escaping death's grasp once again, with the promises of vengeance burning brightly in their hearts.