The three of them: so arrogant. So superior.

He reached with his whip and snagged Diana’s ankle, tripping her and causing her to land hard on her belly.

It scared him. He could have hurt the baby. The consequences of that he could not bear to think about.

Justin turned and clenched his fists and yelled, “Leave her alone!”

Drake smirked. Brave little kid. When Brianna came he’d find some way to use him as a shield. See how tough Brianna was when it meant cutting her way past a little kid.

Where was she?

Where was the so-called Breeze?

Diana stopped moving. She turned to face him, defiant. “Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with, Drake? It’s the closest you’ll ever come to pleasure, you sick piece of—”

“Move!” he roared.

Diana flinched but did not run. “Scared, Drake?” She narrowed her eyes. “Scared of Sam?” She tilted her head to one side, judging him. “Oh, no, of course not. It’s Brianna, isn’t it? Of course, a woman-hater like you? What was it with you and females, by the way? Find out your mom was a whore or something?”

The explosion shocked even him. He shrieked in sudden rage, red-hot, bloodlust rage. He flew at her, smashed her with his fist, knocked her to the ground, and stood over her with his whip raised.

“Justin! Run!” Diana screamed as the whip came down.

The little boy yelled, “No!” But then he broke and ran as hard as his short legs could go.

Drake snapped his tentacle at the boy but missed by inches.

His roar of fury was a pure animal sound. A veil of red came down over his vision.

“Hey!” a voice cried.

Drake had to hear it again before he could even focus his eyes on the source.

Computer Jack bent his knees and leaped what had to be fifty feet. Drake had not witnessed this before. The red mist was receding. He was vaguely aware that Diana was crawling away.

“Hey!” Computer Jack yelled. He landed just a hundred yards away. Justin was running toward him.

The jumping thing: that was a problem. He could move faster than Drake, especially a Drake driving Diana like a reluctant cow through a darkening desert.

Drake walked straight toward Jack. “Hey, Jack, long time, dude. What are you doing out here?”

“Nothing,” Jack answered defensively.

“Nothing? Just going for a walk, huh?” Drake kept shortening the gap between them.

“Let Diana and Justin go,” Jack said. His voice was shaky. Just then Justin reached him and threw himself at Jack’s legs, holding on in terror.

Drake broke into a run. Straight at Jack.

Jack pushed Justin away. The whip tore the air and slashed at Jack’s neck. It missed and hit his shoulder instead.

Jack cried out in pain.

Drake never hesitated but swiftly wrapped his tentacle around Jack’s neck and squeezed tight. To his amazement Jack just tensed his muscles and resisted all of Drake’s strength. It was like trying to choke a tree trunk.

Then Jack snatched at the whip, trying to get hold of it. Drake was too quick, but just barely. He danced back but tripped, took two clumsy backward steps, and barely kept his feet.

Had Jack attacked right then, right at that moment, he would have had a chance. But Jack was no fighter. He’d grown stronger, not meaner. Drake saw his hesitation and grinned.

He moved instantly back on the attack, whirling his whip arm over his head, slashing and slashing as Jack backed up, backed up, and then again, Drake ran straight at him.

He whipped Jack across the chest. The arm. And then, a sudden vicious cut to Jack’s neck.

Blood sprayed from Jack’s throat.

He put his hand to his neck, pulled it away, and stared in utter disbelief at a hand not just touched with but drenched in blood.

That throat. It couldn’t be choked, but it could be cut.

Justin lay whimpering beside him as Jack sank to his knees in the dirt.

Drake wrapped his whip around the little boy and simply flung him in the direction of Diana.

Then, leaving Jack on his side bleeding into the dirt, Drake said to Diana, “All right, that was fun for all of us. Now get moving before I lose my happy mood.”

Orc and Dekka were similar in that neither of them was very fast. Jack had been able to bound ahead. It had been, to Dekka’s eyes, a surprisingly brave thing to do. Maybe even reckless. Maybe even a little stupid.

But brave.

She didn’t want to like Jack. But Dekka valued one virtue above all others, and Jack had shown it.

Now they found him lying on his side in mud made from his own blood.

“He has a pulse,” Dekka said. She didn’t need to feel for it. She could see it.

“Huh,” Orc said. “Drake.”

“Yeah.” She had her palm pressed against the pumping wound in Jack’s neck. “Tear his shirt off for me.”

Orc easily ripped the T-shirt, like he was tearing tissue paper, and handed it to her. She kept her palm in place but pushed the shirt beneath it, pressing it into the cut.

The blood did not stop flowing.

“Come on, Jack, don’t die on me,” Dekka said. To Orc she said, “It’s an artery or something. I can’t stop it. What am I supposed to do? It won’t stop! You’re stronger than I am; push against it!”

Orc did as he was told. He mashed the bloody rag against Jack’s throat. The pulsing stopped but the pressure seemed to make Jack’s breathing raspy and labored.

Dekka looked around, frantic, like she was expecting to suddenly spot a first-aid kit. “We need needle and thread. Something.” She cursed furiously. “We have to get him back to the lake. At least someone there can sew him up. We have to go fast. Right now.”