41. Huxley
41
HUXLEY
Misty moves with a sense of purpose, her hooves crunching against the earth as we plunge deeper into the wilderness. The moon casts scant light through the dense canopy above, yet Misty navigates the terrain with an uncanny ease that only a horse could possess in such darkness.
The night air is sharp against my skin, somewhat tempering the heat of anxiety building up in me. Misty’s steady trot picks up as if she senses something. I trust her instincts, leaning into her rhythm, letting her lead me through what I hope is a shortcut to where Savannah might be.
Now, the trail becomes less distinct, and I know we’re venturing into areas seldom touched by human presence. It’s both exhilarating and daunting, knowing that each step brings us closer to potentially dangerous territory.
I flick open the sat phone to reconnect with Chase. The situation’s evolved, and it’s critical we coordinate our next moves.
“Chase, rendezvous at grid reference—old Mitchell Ranch. It’s an isolated spot, but GPS should have fidelity on the coordinates. ”
“Copy that,” Chase’s response crackles through the static, his tone resolute. “I’ll set up at the ranch. What’s your ETA?”
“Unclear,” I reply, eyes scanning the densely clouded sky visible through the forest canopy. “I’m cutting through on a shortcut. Terrain is hostile, but the mount is holding up.”
Chase’s voice betrays a hint of amusement. “Mount?”
He isn’t privy to the full picture yet. “Yes, partner, I’m mounted. It’s Savannah’s horse. Her name’s Misty.”
The man chuckles. “This scenario is squarely in your deckhouse, Comet. Seems like all those years, ranching was prepping you for this op.”
“Counting on that, Chase. I’m inbound from the east—it’s forest all the way. Your best approach is via the old front entrance. Anticipate compromised pathways,” I instruct, ensuring the details are clear.
“Understood,” he confirms.
“Keep your comms open as long as you can. I’ll reconnect ASAP.”
“Be safe. We’ll find her, Comet.”
Misty and I press on, mile after relentless mile. She weaves through trees and over streams with precision. I’m aware of the risks—of wildlife, of getting lost, of running into whoever might be holding Savannah. But I have no option but to confront them as they come.
I glance at my compass. The mare is unerringly headed toward the ranch. There’s a drive in her pace, her hooves finding purchase on the mossy earth. The deeper we go, the more I rely on her vision and instincts as my flashlight fades into insignificance. She knows this land, and her intuition about Savannah’s location feels almost supernatural.
We make our way through the clearing, finally reaching the ranch.
I trade my flashlight for my Glock as we slip past the dilapidated fences that no longer serve their purpose. The outlines of discarded farm equipment are visible, strewn haphazardly across the overgrown land like relics of a forgotten time. The place exudes a sense of desolation, tangible even in the dim light. This ranch, once a vibrant home brimming with life and Savannah’s pride, now lies lifeless, its potential unfulfilled. A distance away, there’s an abandoned crater, a remnant from a big project that never got off the ground.
Misty’s muscles tense beneath me. My own senses sharpen, every sound and movement magnified in the eerie stillness. The probability that Savannah’s captors are prepared for a quiet intrusion seems unlikely. They would anticipate the roar of an engine, not the stealthy padding of hooves.
The vast expanse of the ranch stretches around us, and cold sweat coats my neck. Savannah could be anywhere! I lower my voice to a near-silent whisper, my words directed at Misty, “Lead the way, Misty. We need to find Savannah.”
Misty moves, her steps sure even in the uncertain light. As we move, the foliage thins, and a well-defined path emerges. I pause to scan the ground, my flashlight beam illuminating numerous motorcycle tracks crisscrossing the dirt. The decision is swift—dismount. The risk of exposure is too great, and Misty’s white coat could make her an easy target.
Securing her to an oak tree, protected by its generous shadow, I whisper reassurances. My hand rests briefly on her neck. “Stay here. I’ll bring her back.”
Transitioning to foot, I adopt a low, agile posture, moving stealthily from one cover to the next, whether it be derelict farm equipment, crumbling walls, or dense tree lines. Each step brings me closer to the ranch’s core, the likely location of Savannah.
My phone vibrates with a discrete ping, a call from Chase.
“Visuals on the front gate. Parked on the valley’s far side, out of enemy sightlines. I’m on foot. No equine support,” he reports with a hint of humor.
“I entered from the east. Head toward me, I’m following a trail. Night vision equipped?”
“Locked and loaded.”
“Move fast. Regroup on my signal.”
Chase and I rendezvous in the shadowed terrain. He eyes my minimal gear with a raised eyebrow. “That all you got?” he quips, gesturing at my ballistic vest, the sheathed knife on my belt, and the Glock in my hand, conspicuously lacking a night observation device.
“Just got in from Bogota,” I reply tersely, checking my equipment one last time.
We scrutinize the trail ahead. “This has to lead somewhere,” I murmur, scanning the horizon.
Suddenly, the distinct crunch of boots on dirt halts our conversation.
We immediately drop to a crouch, blending into the underbrush. Chase slips on his goggles. “Six men, positioned on that ridge to the right,” he reports quietly.
Blackwater Brutes. I can almost smell them. They’re the masters of the night, exploiting the darkness to their advantage. No doubt they’re well equipped.
“Any signs of a camp? Lights?” I ask, peering toward the indicated area.
“Negative, but that doesn’t mean they’re just loitering. They could be guarding something beyond that hill,” he speculates, his voice low. After observing the area a bit more, he murmurs, “Damn, these guys. They’re giving me flashbacks to my days as a junior hoodlum.”
Chase often uses his underworld history to lighten tensions, but nobody knows his full story. Some believe the gang exploited his youth to silence many rivals, while others suggest he witnessed something truly atrocious.
He then turns to me. “What do you want to do, Comet?”
“Let’s advance,” I decide.
“I’m fully kitted. I’ll keep tabs on them. Ready to intervene if they get twitchy,” Chase assures me, checking his rifle.
“I’ll take the high ground, see what’s behind that ridge. Keep it silent. We can’t tip off whoever’s holding Savannah.”
“SEAL training, Comet. Stealth is in our DNA,” he responds with a ghost of a smile.
I clasp his shoulder briefly, then we split. I angle off the main path, seeking cover where possible, but maintain my course parallel to our target.
I’ve barely covered any ground when the uneasy shuffle of leaves and Misty’s distressed neigh slice through the silence. Her anxiety is palpable, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.
Almost immediately, a shout pierces the night, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps. I can’t leave Misty vulnerable. She’s as much a part of this team as any of us. Rushing back, I find her still tethered and restless. I unfasten her and give her a firm tap on the thigh, urging her to flee into the safety of the darkness. Reluctantly, she turns and gallops away, disappearing into the night.
The guard’s voice carries back to his group as he returns without investigating further. “Just some wild horse,” he dismisses the disturbance. His oversight grants me a crucial moment.
After a tense wait to ensure they’ve moved on, I retrace my steps cautiously. My phone vibrates. It’s Chase, checking in. “What the hell was that?”
“I had to release Misty,” I whisper into the phone, my voice low. “Heading up the ridge now.”
The path steepens aggressively, challenging with each step, but determination pushes me onward. After cresting the hill, a flickering light catches my eye in the distance—an isolated lodge that stands out against the desolate landscape. It pulses with life, contrasting against the surrounding darkness. That has to be it. Savannah has to be there!
But then Chase calls. “Two are on the move! I’m taking them down!”
I hear two thuds behind me. Chase manages to shoot them silently, but it’s a matter of time before the rest of the group finds out the intruder is more than just a wild horse.