The view gave Alexa a panorama of the devastation from the storm. The wider path led higher into the mountains and looked worn, but a narrower trail split and diverted toward the valley in a pattern of switchbacks. It wasn’t clear which way her team should go, not after the ravaging storm had done its damage. As Alexa had promised Kinkaid, they had picked up the trail that morning, using other means than the footprints that had been washed out. Her scouts had found a vague track of fresh machete cuts in the vegetation and other subtle signs. Although she knew they were on the trail again, finding the markers was hit or miss, and at times they had to retrace their steps. She ordered her men to stop at the fork and found a small clearing with good cover below the ridgeline to rest and wait until her trackers returned with news. At this elevation, the thin air made it harder for Alexa to breathe, especially with the exertion of carrying a heavy field pack. Sweat and grime covered her skin, a fact she did her best to ignore.
