The retreat through the forest was worse this time.
Much worse.
The brigands were no longer running as a fighting force.
Now they were survivors.
Broken survivors.
Men crashed through the undergrowth while throwing away shields, bows, and even weapons just to move faster. Some stumbled blindly through the darkness with blood pouring from wounds while others screamed for people who were already dead.
Daren could barely feel his left arm anymore.
Blood soaked the sleeve where splinters from shattered wood and grazing rounds tore into the flesh earlier near the wagon wreck. Every step hurt now, but adrenaline kept him moving through the forest.
Behind him, distant thunder-like cracks still echoed faintly from the direction of Falmouth.
Not thunder.
Rifles.
Machine guns.
Death.
Marrick nearly tripped beside him while breathing hard.
"We lost everyone…"
"Keep moving," Daren snapped.
"Garron's gone!"
That made Daren finally look back.
The forest behind them looked empty.
