Chapter 13

Caleb Vance adjusted the straps of the black backpack, the weight of the water bottle and the small batch of medical supplies shifting against his spine. He moved with a deliberate, slow grace that would have been impossible forty-eight hours ago. The camouflaged shirt he'd pulled from Marcus Thorne's bag felt slightly tight across his chest, a testament to the sudden, violent expansion of his musculature, but the pattern did its job, breaking up his silhouette against the dense foliage. He...