Chapter 63

Chapter Sixty-Three

Heat burned away sweat and sapped Connor’s will to live. Every millimeter of his body was sore and tired—impossibly tired. His stomach rumbled in protest, and his breath stank worse than the jungle rot. They were out of water, now nothing more than a white film along the inner rim of their canteens.

And, of course, there was the memory of its wet, sweet coolness.

His boots crunched against the dry, gray-green moss covering the forest floor wherever there weren’t trees. It sounded more crackly and dry in the brutal sunlight.

That was the only sound now—the team’s boots stomping across the moss as they ran. That and their desperate breathing.

No lizard clicks and chittering. No heavy flapping of bug wings.

The team was broken, barely keeping itself together. Even the best had limits, and Selen’s Devils had reached theirs.

When someone spoke over the radio, it was invariably a question.

Did the lizards give up?

Are we out of their territory?