Frankie tried to find more air, to move faster, but the damp track was slippery. She fell onto her knees. “Merda.” What she’d give for a city sidewalk…

Bull yanked her up onto her feet. “Okay?”

“I’m good. Go.” She shoved her staff into the dirt and waved him on. This was like following an unstoppable tank. Panting, she lurched into a run again. They sped around a corner.

At a hoot from behind, Gabe stopped, as did Bull.

Catching Frankie, Bull tucked her against his side. “Cover your ears; close your eyes.”

In the dim light, she saw him put his thumbs in his ears, fingers over his eyes. She tucked her staff under her arm and imitated him.

Bang! Even with her eyes covered, her ears plugged, the world went white. And the sound was like being in a room with a giant firecracker.

Trying to blink away the glowing after-images, she felt Bull take her hand. Gripping her staff, she jogged forward. Behind them were shouts and curses, a couple of screams of pain.

Caz and JJ caught up quickly.

Ahead on the trail, there was movement, and Frankie gasped. No, not the PZs. Worse. They’d caught up to the slow-moving line of women with the guide crew.

The sounds of the PZs grew closer.

Gabe held up his hand, and the assault team stopped.

“Persistent bastards.” He ran an assessing gaze over them. “You up to an ambush?”

Oh, Madonna, no. Frankie nodded with the rest.

Gabe pointed toward the rear. “Bull, take the rearmost enemy from the left. Frankie—stand there”—he pointed to a dark patch of brush on the left—“and attack when the middle reaches you.”

“Got it,” came Bull’s rumbled acknowledgment.

She added her whispered, “Yes, sir.”

“Caz, rear on the right. JJ, middle right. Take them down hard. I’ll play bait and deal with the front.”

As Frankie edged into the shadows, Bull moved farther down and disappeared into the brush.

Flickering lights showed through the trees, approaching fast. The PZs were using flashlights—no wonder they’d caught up.

Rounding the bend, the beams flashed across Gabe.

So many PZs. A dozen, at least. A whimper edged into Frankie’s throat. Too many.

But on the trail ahead was Kit, unconscious in Chevy’s arms, little Aric with Hawk, and all the Rescue people who’d risked their lives.

Mouth flattening as determination filled her, she gripped her staff harder.

Lit up by the flashlights, Gabe glanced over his shoulder at the PZ horde and broke into a limping flight.

Like a pack of wolves, the bastardi howled and chased, blind to everything else.

To her left, Frankie saw a glint of steel in the air. Another. Two men in the rear fell. Caz stepped out of the undergrowth, holding another throwing knife.

Fight, Frankie. Her heart had crammed into her throat so tightly she could barely breathe. She crouched. Now.