Chapter 7 Sawyer #2
"Sometimes. Phantom pain, mostly. The nerve endings remember the fire even though the skin's healed."
She traces higher, pushing up my sleeve to see the full extent. The scars are worst at my wrists and hands, where I gripped superheated metal trying to free Tyler.
"You held on until you physically couldn't anymore."
"Wasn't enough."
"It was everything." She looks up, and her eyes are bright with unshed tears.
My throat closes. In two years, no one's said that to me. Everyone focuses on the failure, the loss, the what-ifs. She's the first to see the attempt as its own kind of success.
Before I can respond, her laptop chimes. She pulls back, immediately switching to work mode.
"I've broken through another encryption layer." Her fingers fly across keys. "Oh God. Sawyer, look at this."
I move behind her, reading over her shoulder. It's a list of Prometheus Network members—dozens of names across multiple agencies. FBI, ATF, DHS, and even local law enforcement in LA.
"This is bigger than I thought." She scrolls through. "They've been embedding people for years."
"Can you send this to anyone?"
"Not without revealing our location. The moment I connect to any network, they'll trace us." She bites her lip, thinking. "But I might be able to... yes. I can fragment it, hide pieces in multiple locations, set them to auto-release if we don't check in."
"Dead man's switch."
"Exactly. Give me an hour."
She works with absolute focus, tearing into the MRE and methodically portioning out the contents—protein bar first, then the main packet, her movements precise as if she's dissecting a puzzle rather than scarfing down field rations.
I watch her for a moment longer, admiring the way her brow furrows in concentration, strands of hair falling across her face, as if she's oblivious to the world.
I return to watching our perimeter, rifle slung low across my chest, eyes scanning the treeline beyond the shelter's narrow window. The morning is quiet—birds chattering in the canopy, wind rustling the leaves like a soft sigh, nothing human to set my teeth on edge.
No footfalls, no distant engine hum, just the deceptive calm of the wild. But my instincts keep prickling, that low hum in my gut warning me the silence won't hold.
Needing to shake the unease, I move to the edge of the watch tower's platform, the weathered wood creaking under my boots as I lean over the railing.
The setup I rigged last year anchors from a reinforced beam here at the top— a thick steel cable stretched taut across the gap to a distant anchor point hidden in the far treeline, the pulley trolley hanging ready, its wheels greased for silent speed.
I test the line, giving it a sharp yank to feel the tension, vibration thrumming steadily up my arms, unyielding but with the perfect flex for a fast drop.
My fingers trace the cable from the beam mount, hunting for frays or slippage in the fittings, then I slide the trolley along a short test span, the faint metallic whisper confirming it's smooth and locked in.
Everything holds—secure, a lifeline etched against the sky if we need to vanish into the green below.
Satisfied for now, I unclip and sling the rifle back over my shoulder, scanning the shadows one last time before stepping back inside.
She's still at the computer, but her eyes lift to meet mine, questioning.
We're too exposed here, too stationary. Prometheus has resources and motivation. It's only a matter of time before they find us.
The glint I saw earlier hasn't repeated, but the wildlife patterns are wrong. No birdsong from the west, where there should be morning activity.
The squirrels that were chattering an hour ago have gone silent. Small prey animals know when predators are near.
I count potential approaches—the trail we came up is the obvious one, but there's a ridgeline to the north that a skilled climber could traverse. The eastern face is a sheer drop, but the west has tree cover almost to the tower's base.
If I were assaulting this position, I'd send the main force up the trail as a distraction while a smaller team came from the west.
"There's something else." Her voice pulls me from my threat assessment. "The chemicals they're using—I found the source. They're being supplied by a company called Titan International."
Her voice draws me back inside. "You're sure?"
"Purchase orders, shipping manifests, everything." She looks up at me. "You know them?"
"Yes. If Titan is involved, this isn't just domestic terrorism. There's money behind it, probably foreign."
"We need to stop the chemical shipments."
"We need to stay alive long enough to stop anything." Movement in the tree line catches my eye. "Close the laptop. Grab your bag."
She reacts immediately to my tone, powering down and moving away from the window. She tucks the laptop inside her bag and slings it over her shoulder, while I track the movement—could be deer, but the pattern's wrong.
"What is it?"
"Maybe nothing. Maybe—"
The first bullet punches through the wall two inches from my head.
"Down!" I tackle her, covering her body with mine as more rounds tear through the wooden structure.