Chapter 101 Carter
Carter
The ridge was slipping. Smoke rolled over the slope, masking Redwood’s push but not slowing it. Shadows moved in the haze—fast, disciplined, coming harder with every wave.
Cyclone grunted, blood soaking through his sleeve, but he kept firing, his rifle roaring like a cannon.
River crouched low, methodical, every burst from his rifle cutting clean, controlled.
Gideon’s laptop lay closed now, abandoned on the ground—his pistol empty, he’d switched to a rifle scavenged from one of the fallen.
We were running on grit and fury. And even fury has limits.
Then, through the haze, I heard it—the low chop of rotor blades.
My chest tightened. Extraction.
“Bird inbound!” Gideon shouted, voice raw.
The helicopter burst through the fog, skimming low over the trees, its wash kicking dirt and debris across the ridge. Redwood fire lit it up instantly, rounds sparking against the steel, but the bird pushed through, side door sliding open.
“Move!” River barked.
We formed up, dragging Sable between us. He fought, stumbling, that damn smirk clinging to his face even as blood ran down his leg. “Run all you want,” he rasped. “You’ll never outrun Redwood.”
I shoved the barrel into his back, forcing him forward. “Shut up and walk.”
Cyclone laid down cover, rifle booming in measured blasts. Gideon sprinted ahead, signaling the crew on the bird. River and I kept Sable between us, half hauling him over the rocks as rounds snapped past.
A bullet grazed my thigh, heat flaring, but I didn’t stop. Not when Harper’s voice echoed in my head—Always.
We hit the open stretch, the bird hovering just above the ridge. A rope ladder dropped, swinging wild in the rotor wash.
River grabbed first, hauling Sable up, the prisoner cursing, legs kicking. Gideon was next, climbing fast. Cyclone covered me, his last shells echoing like thunder, then he leapt, hands seizing the rope.
“Carter, move!” River bellowed from above.
I fired one last burst into the tree line, clearing space, then lunged, my hands locking tight on the ladder. My boots slipped on the rock as the helicopter lifted, jerking me off the ridge.
Below, Redwood men spilled from the treeline, their gunfire chasing us skyward.
But we were climbing. Free.
And I wasn’t letting go. Not now. Not ever.