CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Dr. Nora Redfeather stumbled forward, her legs aching from the relentless march deeper into the dunes. Behind her, she could feel the presence of her captor, the cold steel of his knife a constant threat against her back.
The moonlight cast long shadows across the rippling sand, creating a landscape that seemed both familiar and alien to Nora. These dunes, which she had studied for years, now felt like a hostile maze, each identical ridge offering no hope of escape or rescue.
"Keep moving," the man growled, his voice low and menacing.
As they ventured further into the heart of the dunes, Nora tried to gauge how far they'd come. A mile? Two? In the moonlit landscape, distance was deceptive. She knew that even if she could somehow overpower her captor, finding her way back would be nearly impossible. This might be a death sentence already.
Suddenly, the pressure of the knife increased. "Stop here," the man commanded.
Nora halted, her heart pounding in her chest. She turned slowly, hoping to reason with her captor. "Please," she began, her voice trembling, "whatever you think I've done—"
"Silence," he hissed. In the pale moonlight, Nora could see him more clearly now. The sight caused her breath to catch in her throat.
"Ranger Thorsson?" she gasped, disbelief coloring her voice. "Einar? But... why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you?"
Einar "Sage" Thorsson, the beloved veteran ranger of Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park, stood before her. His weathered face, usually creased with laugh lines, was now a mask of grim determination. The kindly old man who had guided countless visitors through the dunes now looked at her with cold, unfeeling eyes.
His expression twisted into something bitter. "You wouldn’t understand. None of you do. You’re all blind to what’s right in front of you."
She swallowed hard. His words dripped with scorn, shutting down any hope of reasoning with him. But she couldn’t give up—not yet. "Einar, please," she tried again. "I’ve worked with you for years. You know me. You know I only want to protect the dunes, just like you do."
His laugh was sharp and humorless. "Protect them? You? You’re as bad as the rest of them. Every study you publish, every grant you win—it brings more people. More interference. You think you’re helping, but you’re part of the problem."
Nora’s heart pounded as the knife glinted in the moonlight. He was delusional, but she needed him to keep talking. Maybe, just maybe, if he became distracted enough, she could make her escape.
He stepped back and tossed something at her feet—a shovel. "Start digging," he said. "And throw the sand far. If the hole collapses, you’ll have to start over."
Her hands shook as she picked up the shovel. The cool handle felt foreign in her grip, its weight heavy with dread. She cast a glance at Einar, gauging his movements. He was pacing now, his gaze fixed on the distant dunes. His focus wasn’t entirely on her.
Not yet.
As she began to dig, she scanned the area. The sand was uneven, soft enough that running would be treacherous, but if she could create enough distance, she might make it to the ridge. If she could just distract him enough…
"Einar," she said, her voice cracking. "You’ve dedicated your life to protecting this place, inspired so many people. Now you're throwing that all away?"
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer.
She pressed harder, her voice trembling with both fear and resolve. "You’re a hypocrite, you know that? Killing people, burying them in the dunes—how is that any better than what those tourists did? You’re not protecting this place. You're ruining it."
That struck a nerve. Einar whirled on her, his face contorted with fury. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about!"
Nora took a half step back, clutching the shovel tighter. "Then explain it to me," she said, her tone steadying. "Help me understand."
For a moment, he seemed to wrestle with himself, his grip on the knife loosening slightly. Finally, he snapped. "Fine. You want to know why I'm doing this? Because no one else will do it. I’ve watched these dunes for forty years—watched them get trampled, disrespected, desecrated. Those influencers last summer? They laughed in my face when I tried to stop them. Said the fines were worth it for the 'likes' they’d get."
He began pacing again, his voice rising with anger. "And the park board—they told me we needed the publicity. The visitors. Like we were selling tickets to some sideshow. That’s when I realized the system is broken. The dunes needed someone to take a stand. To treat the dunes as sacred again."
His voice cracked, raw with conviction. "What I'm doing… it’s not murder, Nora. It’s sacrifice. The dunes demanded it."
Nora’s heart thundered in her chest. He was completely unhinged, but his pacing was erratic now, his grip on the knife slack. This was her chance.
Without hesitation, she dropped the shovel and bolted, sand shifting beneath her feet as she sprinted toward the ridge. The night air tore at her lungs, and the dunes seemed to tilt and sway as she ran. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her legs burning with every desperate step. She didn’t look back—she couldn’t afford to.
"Stop!" Einar’s voice roared behind her, a guttural command that shook the stillness of the night.
Her foot slipped in the loose sand, and she staggered, nearly falling. But she caught herself, using the momentum to push forward, adrenaline surging through her veins. The ridge wasn’t far now—maybe fifty yards. If she could just make it over the crest, she might find cover or a way to lose him.
Behind her, Einar’s heavy footsteps pounded, muffled by the shifting sand. He was faster than she had anticipated, but she had a lead. She forced herself to keep moving, her body screaming in protest.
She reached the base of the ridge, the incline steeper than it had looked from a distance. The sand was soft and unstable, making every step a struggle. Her hands clawed at the ground, pulling herself upward as gravity threatened to drag her back down.
Einar’s voice carried through the darkness, closer now, laced with both anger and something almost pleading. "Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Nora! You’re only wasting time."
Nora ignored him, the ridge’s crest just a few feet away. Her fingers dug into the cold sand, and she pulled herself over the top. She paused for just a second to gaze down the other side. A small valley of dunes stretched out before her, dark and alien in the moonlight. It wasn’t much, but it was a chance.
She half-ran, half-slid down the slope, each step a gamble as she tried to maintain balance. The bottom was close now—just a few more strides.
If she could reach the far side of the ridge, maybe she could find another ridge, another hiding place. Her legs screamed in protest, but she forced them to keep moving.
The flat expanse of the valley seemed to stretch endlessly before her, every step an eternity. She stumbled, her ankle twisting slightly, and cried out in pain. Still, she pushed on, her vision blurring from the effort.
"Nora!" Einar’s voice was closer now, almost within reach. The sheer force of it sent a fresh wave of terror through her. She couldn’t let him catch her—not yet, not here.
Her foot caught on a buried rock, and this time she couldn’t recover. She hit the ground hard, the impact driving the air from her lungs. Sand filled her mouth and nose as she struggled to push herself up. But it was too late.
Einar’s hand closed around her arm, yanking her to her feet with a force that sent pain shooting through her shoulder. She screamed, clawing at his grip, but he held firm. The knife gleamed in his other hand, a deadly promise.
"You should’ve stayed still," he hissed, his voice low and venomous, his breath hot against her ear. "Now you’ve made it worse for yourself."
Nora thrashed, desperate to break free, but his grip was unrelenting. The moonlight illuminated his face—his expression was calm, almost serene, but his eyes burned with a terrifying intensity.
"Let me go!" she cried, tears streaming down her face.
Einar shook his head slowly, almost pityingly. "There's no sense delaying the inevitable any longer."
He dragged her back toward the ridge, her feet stumbling over the shifting sand. Every step felt like a death knell, her earlier burst of hope now a distant memory. She gasped for air, her mind racing for another way out, but Einar’s grip was ironclad.
As they reached the ridge, he shoved her forward, forcing her to climb back up. The knife pressed into her back, its cold steel a warning not to resist. When they returned to the hole, he gestured sharply.
"Get in," he ordered, his voice cold as the night.
Nora hesitated, her tears falling freely now. "Einar, please. It’s not too late to stop this. We can fix this. Together. This isn't who you are. You're kind, gentle—a good person."
His eyes hardened, all traces of the man she once knew gone. "That man is dead," he said. "Now get in."
Sobbing, Nora lowered herself into the hole. The sand was cold against her skin, its weight pressing down as Einar began to shovel it over her.
"Why the symbol, Einar?" she asked, desperate to stall him. "Why mark your victims like that?"
He paused, his voice soft with reverence. "It’s the sign of the ancient ones. The Nashoni were the original protectors of these dunes, long before any of us. I honor them."
Nora opened her mouth to reply, but Einar cut her off. "No more questions," he said, his voice chillingly calm. "Take these moments to quiet your spirit. You won’t have many more."
He began burying her. With each shovelful of sand, Nora’s world grew darker.