Rachel left Hector to clean up, moving the boxes away from the area toward his store. She had no time to spare.
She'd have loved to take him along, but making sure the east end didn't literally explode from Julian's mess was still important, and she wasn't sure if Cinza had completed the theft yet. So it was Rachel alone who blitzed into the woods, with only the watchful gaze of Will from afar keeping her company. She sent a single tap along their connection, a signal to him that she was okay and that she loved him, before she plunged into the eastern woods.
Her hand clutched the largest ruby she owned like it was a stress ball, the hard edges digging into her palm. The scent of the pines wafted by her nose pleasantly, completely at odds with her racing heart and the adrenaline pumping through her veins.
Every few seconds she stopped to desperately search for tracks, but there was so little to go on. All Rachel could do was hope she followed the most likely path for the reverend to take if he were seeking out Cinza's home based on rumors alone.
Why couldn't you just wait, Smith? she shouted in her skull. Why are you out here alone in the dead of night?
Rachel wasn't ever going to get an answer to her questions. She burst into a small clearing a few minutes later, following the scent of smoke.
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There, lying on the damp moss, was a charred and broken body. He looked as though his back had been snapped in half backwards and his head shoved into the dirt. His arms and legs were melted and his clothes had been burned away. Eyes wide with terror, the man's hands were still clasped tight around the only object to survive the onslaught. Rachel knelt down and touched it—a metal crucifix, held up to his heart in desperate prayer before the end.
"Holy Jesus…" came a mutter from nearby.
Rachel twisted around sharply. She hurled out her hand with the ruby and grabbed sharply at the connection with Will three times in rapid succession, but she knew it to be futile. Whomever it was could kill her without hesitation and she'd have no chance. She couldn't really defend herself in a fight. In that instant, wracked with terror, Rachel fully expected to die.
She saw the expression on Robert Harrison's face, flickering in the firelight dancing in her outstretched hand, and knew she wasn't about to die—but someone else might be. He wasn't looking at her, but at the reverend's broken and battered body. His eyes were thick with sorrow and fury.
"Those bastards are gonna die for this," Robert growled, the rifle in his hand glinting horribly in the orange glow.
Rachel opened her mouth, but could not find any words to reply with. She was still in shock from the body beside her—a man whom she'd considered a fast friend only half a day earlier. Robert turned and walked into the woods, rifle in hand, back to Rallsburg.
"All those fucking cloaks are gonna burn."