Chapter 9
NEVE
Engines roar behind us. I risk a glance back. Snowmobiles are closing the distance with terrifying speed. They're professional machines. They're faster than ours. The hunters are gaining ground.
Fear claws up my throat. My hands grip the throttle harder, knuckles white inside my gloves. Wind tears at my face like knives. Cold burns my lungs with every gasping breath. Our snowmobile screams as I push it as hard as it will go, the engine protesting, but it's not enough. It's never enough.
The distance is shrinking. I can see them now. Black helmets. Rifles strapped to their backs. One raises a pistol.
Gunfire cracks through the morning air. Snow explodes beside us where bullets hit.
They're too close. They're way too close.
Magnus fires back from behind me, twisting to aim at the hunters.
The shot goes wide. It's hard to aim from a moving vehicle.
It's hard to hit anything when every bump threatens to throw us off.
"Hold on!" Magnus shouts over the roar of wind and engine.
Like I have any other choice. My thighs burn from gripping the seat. My arms shake from fighting to keep us steady on terrain that's getting rougher. Magnus presses closer against my back. He's a solid weight. An anchor in the chaos. His arm stays extended, ready to fire again if needed.
More gunfire. Closer now. A bullet punches through the windscreen and plastic shatters across my lap. The edges are sharp. I duck my head but keep the throttle pinned. I can't slow down. Slowing down means dying.
Another bullet whines past my ear. It's so close I feel the displacement of air. My stomach lurches. Death is missing by inches.
Ahead, rocky outcrops rise from the snow. Massive boulders are creating a natural maze. I aim for them without hesitation. The terrain gets rougher. Our snowmobile bounces over hidden obstacles. We're going too fast for this. If I hit something wrong, we'll flip.
I navigate through a gap between two boulders with barely any clearance. Then we're in the rocks. We're sheltered. I kill the engine.
"Off! Now!" Magnus is already moving, grabbing his rifle. "We go on foot!"
I scramble off on shaking legs. Magnus grabs my hand and pulls me deeper into the rocks. We're running. My research conditioning kicks in. I have months of hiking through wilderness with heavy packs. My body knows how to do this even when my mind is screaming about bullets and hunters and death.
We reach a position where the rocks form a natural fortification. Magnus pushes me down behind cover. His rifle comes up, the barrel resting on stone. His breathing is controlled. He's focused. Cold efficiency replaces everything else.
"Stay down." His voice is flat. It's empty of everything except command. "Don't move unless I tell you."
I nod and press myself against the rock. I try to make myself small. The hunters' engines grow louder. Then they cut off. Silence falls, heavy and waiting. I can hear my own breathing. My heart is hammering. The wind is whistling through the rocks.
Then there's movement. Shadows against snow. Men are spreading out in professional formation. Their weapons are up. They know we're here. They're taking their time.
Magnus's finger rests on the trigger. His eye is at the scope. He's absolutely still. He's patient. He's a predator waiting for prey to make a mistake.
A man steps into view. His rifle is raised. He's scanning the rocks where we're hidden. He's confident. He's professional. He doesn't know death is watching him.
Magnus fires.
The crack splits the silence. The man's head snaps back. His body drops. He's gone. Just like that. A life ended in the time it takes to blink.
My stomach clenches. I've never watched someone die before. Not like this. Not violent. Not sudden. The reality of it crashes over me. That was a person. Someone with a life. A family maybe. Now just a corpse in the snow.
The shot echoes. The other hunters scatter, diving for cover. Return fire sparks off stone near our position. Chips of rock spray. Magnus doesn't flinch. He doesn't react. He shifts his aim like he's at a shooting range. He's tracking. He's waiting for the next target.
He's cold. He's efficient. This is what he is. What he does. He's a killer.
Another man moves. He tries to advance on our position. Magnus fires. The man jerks and goes down. Red blooms across white snow. Two are dead. The second shot is as calm as the first.
My hands shake where they're pressed against stone. It's adrenaline. It's fear. It's something else I don't want to name. Magnus just killed two men and he's as steady as if he's making coffee.
A third man tries to flank us. He's coming around the rocks.
It's smart. It would have worked if Magnus wasn't expecting it.
Magnus tracks him through the scope. He leads the target.
He accounts for distance and wind. He squeezes the trigger with the same careful precision as the first two shots.
The man collapses mid-step. He never saw it coming.
Three are dead. Maybe thirty seconds total. It's professional. It's precise. There are no wasted shots.
Silence falls again. Minutes pass. Nothing moves except wind-driven snow. Magnus stays in position. Finally he lowers the rifle slightly.
"Stay here." He's moving before I can argue. He slips between the rocks. He's checking the bodies. He's making sure there are no more threats.
I stay pressed against the stone, shaking now that the immediate danger has passed. The adrenaline crash is hitting hard. Magnus just killed three men with the same efficiency most people use to chop vegetables. There was no hesitation. There was no remorse.
Magnus comes back and drops to his knees beside me. His hands are on me immediately. They're rough. They're checking. He's patting down my arms, my legs, my torso.
"Are you hit?" His voice is shaking. It's the only crack in the cold exterior. "Tell me. Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine. I'm not hit." I grab his hands and stop the frantic checking. "I'm okay."
Magnus pulls me against his chest hard. His face buries in my neck. His whole body is trembling. He was terrified for me. Not for himself. For me.
I pull back and cup his face with both hands. I force him to look at me. Then I kiss him hard. I'm claiming him. I'm refusing to let the darkness of what happened separate us.
"I'm okay." I say it against his mouth. "We're okay."
Magnus kisses me back with desperate hunger. His hands are fisting in my coat. When he pulls back, his expression is raw in a way I've never seen.
"We need to move." He's forcing himself back into operational mode. "More could be coming. We salvage what we can and go."
Magnus stands and pulls me up. He leads me back to where the bodies lie in the snow. I look away but he doesn't. He goes through their pockets with matter-of-fact efficiency. He takes ammunition. He takes supplies. He takes a sat phone. He takes cash. He takes anything useful.
This is his world. Survival means using every advantage. Even the ones that come from dead men. I'm choosing this. I'm choosing him. I'm choosing this world of violence and running.
We continue on foot. The snowmobile is abandoned. It's too easy to track. Magnus navigates by instinct and knowledge. He checks landmarks I can't identify. He's heading north toward wherever this safe haven is supposed to be.
The hours drag. The cold is brutal. My legs burn. My lungs ache. But I don't complain. I don't ask to stop. Because stopping means dying and I'm not ready for that.
Eventually Magnus stops at what looks like a random spot in the wilderness. There are no markers I can see. But he pulls out a sat phone from his pack.
He dials a specific sequence. He waits. There's no greeting. "Icarus. North approach. ETA ten minutes."
There's a pause. Then a voice I can barely hear. Magnus nods and ends the call.
"He'll meet us." Magnus shoulders his pack again. "Or shoot us. Fifty-fifty."
"That's reassuring."
"Zeb doesn't like surprises. But he won't kill us without hearing us out first."
We walk for several more minutes. The terrain shifts. We're climbing now. There are rocky outcrops and sparse trees. Then I see them. Markers. They're deliberately placed. They're territory boundaries.
Magnus stops at the markers. He waits. He doesn't cross. He doesn't call out. His hands are visible and away from weapons. I follow his lead.
Then he's there. Like he materialized from the landscape itself. A man who moves like he's part of the wilderness. He's tall. He's built solid. He has a rifle in hand. His eyes assess everything in seconds.
He recognizes Magnus but doesn't lower the weapon. "You brought trouble to my mountain."
"Trouble found me." Magnus's voice is even. "She needs protection until we can get her evidence out."
His eyes shift to me. The assessment is thorough. It's clinical. "You're the biologist. Caryn mentioned you." His expression shifts. It's not quite a smile. But the hostility eases. "She's my woman. She's in the cabin. She'll want to help."
He lowers the rifle and turns without another word. He starts walking. Magnus follows. I have no choice but to keep up.
The cabin appears without warning. It's camouflaged so well I nearly miss it until we're close. It's built into the mountainside. It's fortified in ways that suggest excellent tactical planning.
The door opens before we reach it. A woman steps out. It's a familiar face that I haven't seen in years. Caryn. My friend who disappeared. Who we all assumed was dead.
My breath stops. My heart stutters. It can't be. It can't be her. But it is.
She's alive. She's thriving. She's happy in a way I never saw during our academic days when we were drowning in research and deadlines and the pressure to publish or perish. She sees me and her face lights up. There's genuine joy. There's recognition.
"Neve?" She's crossing the distance between us. "Oh my God, Neve!"