Chapter 3 #3
Not a question. An observation. He's read the situation correctly—I've already made my choice, made it the moment I picked up Sarah instead of disappearing solo into the forest depths.
Eight months of perfect solitude, traded for uncertain alliance with damaged operators and a bleeding analyst carrying intelligence that could change everything.
The helicopter rotors grow distant, searching in the wrong direction, following false trails and phantom heat signatures.
We ghost through the trees like the special operations veterans we are, three burned operators and one woman who might hold the key to understanding why we're all being systematically hunted.
My finger traces the crossbow's trigger guard, the familiar comfort of a weapon that's never failed me.
Alone, I was surviving. Together, we might actually accomplish something meaningful.
The thought terrifies me more than any assassination team ever could.
Sarah stirs against me, her voice barely audible above the whisper of wind through pine boughs. "The list... there are others. More operators in immediate danger. You have weeks before they're eliminated."
‘You’ instead of ‘we,’ she knows her injuries are serious.
"We'll find them," Kane says with quiet certainty that suggests he's already operational planning three moves ahead.
I adjust my grip on Sarah, feeling her blood warm and sticky on my hands, life leaking away one drop at a time.
Behind us, smoke rises from what used to be my perfect defensive position, a pillar of destruction marking the end of one chapter.
Ahead lies uncertainty and danger and the possibility of answers that might justify the risks we're taking.
For the first time in eight months, I'm moving toward something instead of away from it.
The vehicle cache appears through the trees exactly where I left it—an old Forest Service maintenance shed I appropriated months ago, hidden among dozens of similar structures scattered across the wilderness.
Inside, a beat-up Toyota Land Cruiser with stolen plates and enough supplies for a week off-grid.
Military rations, medical supplies, ammunition, communications gear.
Everything needed for extended operations in hostile territory.
I ease Sarah into the back seat with infinite care, noting how her skin is pale beneath layers of dirt and dried blood.
Shock is setting in and her, body temperature dropping despite the warm morning.
She needs IV fluids, antibiotics, possibly surgery if the shoulder wound has damaged major vessels.
"Drive," I tell Kane, tossing him the keys while sliding into the back beside Sarah. "I need to keep direct pressure on this wound, try to stabilize her for transport."
We pull out onto a logging road as the sound of helicopters circles back toward the explosion site like angry hornets. In the distance, more vehicles approaching—reinforcements that will find nothing but scorched earth and ghost trails leading nowhere useful.
Sarah's hand finds mine with surprising strength, weak but insistent. "The intelligence... it's all backed up. Multiple secure locations." Her eyes flutter, fighting to stay conscious as shock battles determination. "They won't stop hunting us. None of us are safe alone anymore."
I meet Kane's eyes in the rearview mirror, seeing my own grim understanding reflected there.
We both know what she's not saying directly—together, we're just a bigger target, easier to track, more vulnerable to coordinated assault.
But at least we'll see the bullet coming.
At least we'll have a chance to fight back as a unit instead of being picked off one by one.
The cab goes quiet except for the heater’s tired rattle.
I taste iron at the back of my throat as I realize with a jolt that the idea of choosing a unit again scares me more than any kill team.
Trust is a cliff. You don’t ease over the edge—you jump and pray the fall is short.
Sarah shifts against me, breath catching, and my decision stops being theoretical.
The Land Cruiser disappears into the Montana wilderness, four damaged souls running from a war we didn't start but might be the only ones capable of finishing.
My cabin burns behind us like a funeral pyre, eight months of solitary preparation reduced to ash and memory.
But Sarah's blood on my hands feels like possibility, like purpose beyond mere survival.
Like the first honest mission I've had since Syria, when I chose conscience over career and painted a target on my back that will never fade.
The mountain road stretches ahead, winding through wilderness that suddenly feels less like a sanctuary and more like a battlefield.
Behind us, the sound of helicopters fades into the distance.
Ahead, uncertainty and alliance and the slim chance that together we might actually survive what's coming. The thought claws at me worse than any kill team. I know how to fight enemies. I don’t know how to fight the part of me that wants to believe in them.
For better or worse, I’m no longer alone.