Eloy pressed his thumb against his temple and pushed. Deviation Sense fired. The pulse ripped outward through the pre-war channels, and every node it touched echoed back with coordinates. Ten signatures.
The closest two were less than four hundred meters from the creek bank they'd just fled. The others fanned out in a crescent, closing the gap at speeds that turned his stomach.
"They're still on the creek line." Eloy's voice came out steadier than his pulse. "Getting out of the water bought us maybe ten minutes."
His hand went to the bandage wrapped around his head. Damp. Warm against his fingertips. He wiped it on his pants and kept moving.
