Chapter Thirty Two
Last Stand
Rachel Williams
Bishop doesn’t wait for Beth and David to recover from the trap. The moment the rocks settle, and their shouting turns into frustrated scrambling, he touches my arm.
“We move,” he says. “Now.”
There’s no hesitation in him. No fear. Just that sharp, controlled intensity that’s been building since the river. From the moment he realized the people we trusted were the ones hunting us.
I nod, and we slip back from the choke point, staying low behind the rocks, moving along the ridge toward the higher rise on the north side. The terrain steepens, the brush thickens, and the wind cuts colder across the exposed stone.
But Bishop moves like he’s memorized every inch of it.
He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t slow. He doesn’t question.
He’s leading us the way someone leads through hostile territory; someone who’s done this before, in places far worse than these woods.
I follow close, my breath tight, my boots slipping on loose shale. He reaches back once, steadying me without breaking stride.
Below us, Beth screams again angry, panicked and furious at being outmaneuvered.
David’s voice follows, low and controlled. “They’re moving. They’re going higher.”
Bishop hears it. I see the way his shoulders shift, the way his jaw tightens.
“They’re tracking us,” I whisper.
“They’re trying,” he says. “But they’re not trained for this.”
We climb another ten feet, reaching a narrow ledge tucked beneath an overhang of rock. It’s sheltered, concealed, and gives a clear view of the ridge below.
A perfect secondary position.
Bishop crouches, scanning the terrain with a soldier’s eyes. “This is where we hold them.”
I settle beside him, heart pounding. “What do you need me to do?”
He looks at me.
“You stay behind me,” he says. “You watch the left flank. If Beth tries to circle, you warn me. If David comes straight up, I’ll handle him.”
I swallow hard. “You think he’ll come for you.”
“I know he will.”
There’s no bravado in his voice. No arrogance. Just certainty. Cold, steady certainty.
Because Bishop understands men like David. Understands their psychology. Understands their need for dominance, control, the thrill of the hunt.
And he knows exactly how to break them.
I can understand to a point, but I have no idea what motivates Beth. She is the one I don’t understand in this scenario.
We settle into position, the wind biting at our faces, the sun dipping lower behind the trees. The ridge below rustles with movement; branches snapping, rocks shifting, voices rising.
Beth is climbing again, slower this time, more cautious. David is right behind her, relentless, methodical.
They’re coming.
Bishop leans close, his voice barely a whisper. “Rachel… whatever happens, you stay with me.”
I nod, my pulse hammering.
He reaches out, brushing his fingers against mine briefly.
“I won’t lose you,” he says.
Below us, David steps into the funnel again.