It is a massacre.

There are bodies, limp and bloody, strewn about the trees. Some are wearing crudely made tunics, others bear the deep green uniform of soldiers, and I find myself frantically scanning the ground for any familiar face. My thoughts sling back to Miles as he was a week earlier, sporting his border patrol uniform and smiling as he ruffled my hair. Fortunately, none of these fallen soldiers I see have the high-ranking border patrol markings on their sleeve.

At first, I am numb to my surroundings as we venture closer to the ongoing battle, the severity of reality not yet sinking in. Then when the metallic smell of blood and gore hits me, it's like a shock to my brain and I fight the urge to vomit.

I have never seen death. Not like this. In Herald, most causes of death are work accidents, sickness, and old age. Never before have I witnessed any of it first-hand, having no extended family and all my grandparents still living. I swallow the lump in my throat, horror-struck at the thought of one living being taking the life of another.

I don't know these people, but my heart aches thinking of the families these soldiers left behind. The grief that they will endure with the loss of their loved ones at the hands of these monsters. Grief I can relate to. Then as my eyes skit over the bloodied ground, I wonder—did these Outlanders have families that care about them? Will there be some mother grieving the loss of her child, or would she accept their death as support for the savagery in this forest?

Markee grabs my hand and urges me forward faster toward the screams and the fighting and gunshots.

Please don't let him be hurt.

Upon the battlefront, we crouch under a short, squat tree, the low hanging branches camouflaging us so we can search for Miles up close without being seen.

The combat is surprisingly evenly-matched. Our soldiers may have advanced weapons and organization, but they must have underestimated the Outlanders' larger numbers. At least two-hundred of them charge headlong into the fray. They're fearless, and that is what makes the attack most terrifying. No one anticipated this massive Breach with this many Outlanders crossing over into an all-out war.

No one could have predicted all this death.

Tearing my eyes from the gory scene, I take in the image of the redhead beside me. Her trembling fingers cover her mouth in attempt to hold in her horror as I meet her tear-rimmed eyes. I put my arm around her shoulders and we huddle close, taking brief comfort in each other.

"I see him!" she whispers. I follow her line of vision to find Miles wrestling with a bulky, scarred Outlander. His uniform is ripped in the shoulder and there is dark red blood streaming out of his nose. Miles has his knife inches away from the barbarian's throat, his muscles quivering with exertion.

The usual stoic Markee has completely vanished right before my eyes as we watch the scene unfold. Her thin frame trembles and I watch myself from a stranger's point of view. I see the arm I have around her squeeze her shoulders tighter, trying to bind the pieces as they fall apart, because it's all I can do. It's like I'm having an out-of-body experience, looking down on myself moving without intending to. It all feels unreal.

Markee's shriek brings me back to Earth just as she flies out of my arms and toward a now weaponless Miles who is writhing beneath the Outlander pinning him to the ground. The savage has his thick hands around Miles' throat. Markee races for them.

A swift movement out of the corner of my eye causes my gaze to shift and I am the only one who sees the soldier aiming his gun at the Outlander on top of Miles.

A fist grips my stomach as I realize what is about to happen.

I blink, eyes swimming with unshed tears. I just know that if the soldier shoots while Markee is in the line of fire between Miles and the savage, there is a chance that I could lose someone else in my life. They could disappear forever and I would never see them again, never hear their laugh again. The thought leaves cold, liquid fear dripping over me. My legs itch with the desire to flee, but my head is screaming at me to prevent this at all costs, so I do something Markee would do. Something impulsive.

With a numbness in my limbs, I dash into the battle.

Flying into his line of sight, I spread my arms wide to distract the gun-wielding soldier just long enough for Markee to find a rock and strike the Outlander in the head. I taste bile at the sickening crack of rock against bone. His slack, bulky body rolls off of Miles and melts into the leaf-covered forest floor. A breath of relief escapes me as the soldier lowers his gun and nods, then runs off to assist others in combat. Although the fighting is still going on around us, we have a brief respite from any attacker.

Like a bubble bursting, I am thrust back into a reality without the muted sounds and images. The numbness in my limbs and the fog in my head evaporates instantly as I breathe in the stench of blood, sweat, and forest. I turn and see a sobbing Markee kneeling over Miles who is gulping in short, rapid breaths. It takes everything I have not to collapse right then and there, but I drag my feet over to my two best friends who are very much alive.

"What are you doing out here?" Miles coughs out between breaths. His voice is tight and wispy, but still getting his outrage across. "Go home!"

Markee doesn't answer, but instead looks horrified at the sight of a deep gash in Miles' left knee and alarm slices through me. How did I not notice all the blood before?

"What happened?" she asks, her tears rapidly drying as she transforms into the assertive Markee once more.

"What do you think happened?" he retorts. "The brute sliced me with my own blade, that's what."

"Was that before or after he broke your nose?"

Miles accepts her help to sit up. "Don't worry, nothing can ruin a face this handsome." The brief playful gleam in his eye disappears into a cutting glare. "This is war, Markee. Now get out of here before you get yourself killed!" He winces, touching his bloody face tenderly.

Markee stiffens, and I sense that she's about to scold him for yelling at her, but she only huffs, peeling back the fabric from the cut in his thigh to assess the damage. I cringe at the blood oozing from the wound. Miles sucks in a breath through his teeth.

"This doesn't look good, Miles." Markee's voice lacks its usual gusto. "You can't fight like this. Can you stand?"

With a grunt, Miles tries to get his feet beneath him, but fails.

"I can't put much pressure on this leg," he says, his voice shaking with exertion. He slumps back down, defeated. When Markee begins undoing his belt, he yelps, swatting her hands away.

"Relax, perv. I'm just going to make a tourniquet with your belt so you don't bleed out."

I walk a perimeter around my friends as Markee works, and then help them scoot along the dirt toward the bushes to obtain some cover. There's a nervous energy coursing through me, wary of everything in the midst of so many Outlanders. My eyes scan the battlefield, searching for any immediate threat to our party. That's when my gaze snags on a familiar face.

The grimy Outlander I encountered last week in the woods is looking right at me.

My heart jumps to my throat as his gaze locks with mine. He turns, speaking to a tall Outlander with long, dark hair that reaches his collarbone. As he listens, he cocks his head in our direction.

"Geez, you're heavy," Markee's voice breaks through my internal panic as she dips an arm under Miles' shoulder. "You're going to the hospital whether you like it or not." They are unbalanced, but standing when I turn to them.

"What is it, Soph?" Miles asks, seeing the stricken look on my face.

It takes a second for me to find my voice. "We've got to get out of here. Now."

"We're working on it," Markee bites.

"Well work faster!" I plead, panic making my voice pitch into the stratosphere. "The man from the other day. He's here." I turn to point out where he is, and am shocked to find him pointing back at us like a twisted mirror image.

In a blur of motion, the tall, dark-haired Outlander rushes toward us and I barely have time to suck in a breath to shout before he's on us. In just a few steps, he knocks me over into Miles and we go tumbling to the ground. I watch the man scoop up a startled Markee and throw her over his shoulder like a caveman. She flails, wiggling in his grip and kicking out her feet. She pounds her bloodied fists against his broad, muscled back, but he never releases his hold on her. The Outlander secures his arms around her and takes off running into the forest, leaving the violence of the battle behind.

"NO!" I scream. Miles groans as I roll off of him and dig my fingers into the dirt, shock crippling me. My thoughts are in a frenzy as I try to come to terms with what just happened.

Markee has been taken by an Outlander.

The air around me is suddenly too thick to breathe. I'm transported back in time, reliving those last moments with Rhett in this exact same forest. Those closest to my heart always seem to disappear. Rhett and Markee have left me.

And both times, I let them.

Am I destined to always lose the ones I love? Will I always be so weak? So helpless and scared? I live behind this Wall of stone—the illusion of safety—where I'm comfortable. For the past two years I have lived in fear, hiding behind a wall of my own making. After Rhett, I didn't go into the woods for a long time. I always make the safest decisions, even if it means missing out. I'm not a risk-taker. Even though I try my best to not involve myself in any risky business, I've still felt victimized for a long time, even though I wasn't the one taken, but the one left behind.

Shame creeps over me at the thought of how Mom and Dad have suffered. They've had to go on with their life outside of family, working extra to keep food on the table and the roof over our heads. When we lost Rhett, we lost a source of income, too. And sure, we've all grieved, but there's no doubt in my mind that they've had it the worst. Losing their son, their firstborn, and stuck with an anxious, talentless daughter.

I am a coward.

All this time, I've neglected to take responsibility. I've lacked the will to do something about my situation because of the cowardice gripping me.

Markee was right. I can sit here and worry for the rest of my life, wondering what happened to her this day onward, or I could do something to prevent history from repeating itself. I can't make the same mistake twice. I am again reminded of Markee's earlier conviction and I refuse to just sit here when I can stop my nightmares from becoming reality.

Taking in a shaky breath, I gather up the slivers of my tattered courage as a crazy, dangerous idea clicks into place.

"Miles, I'm going after her." I say it quickly, before I can psych myself out of my decision.

"What?" He exclaims. "You can't be serious." He reaches to stop me, but I stand up too quickly for him to grab me, his injured leg holding him down.

"If I don't try and get her back, then who will? You know protocol." His lips press together in a fine line, knowing just as well as I do what little the Council does for those who are taken.

If you're taken over the wall, you're gone for good. The Council doesn't send anyone after you.

My muscles twitch with pent-up energy. My eyes burn with determination. In her absence, I have borrowed some of Markee's fire. Miles must see the resolve in my eyes.

"You better come back," he says, his jaw tense. I nod solemnly. He offers me his hand and I place my trembling fingers in his. He squeezes. Miles is lending me his strength too.

I'm coming for you, Markee. Without a second thought, I take off after the savage who stole my best friend.