Chapter 28 Wren
Wren
The wind is worse outside.
Much worse.
The moment Boone opens the cabin door, the storm slams into us like it’s been waiting.
Cold air.
Sharp snow pellets.
Wind that cuts straight through clothing.
The mountains are disappearing under thick gray clouds rolling over the ridgeline.
Russ looks up.
“Well this seems safe.”
Adam shoulders his pack.
“We don’t have the luxury of safe.”
Boone grips my hand, pulling me down the porch steps before the wind can shove me sideways.
“Stay close.”
“I am.”
The snow crunches under our boots as we move toward the trucks.
The forest around the cabin groans under the storm.
Branches bending.
Pines swaying.
Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbles across the mountains.
That’s new.
Great.
Russ throws gear into the back of the truck.
“How far to this landing strip?”
“Fifteen minutes,” Boone says.
“If the road isn’t iced over.”
Russ groans.
“Oh, fantastic.”
Boone opens the passenger door and looks at me.
“You ride with me.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“That wasn’t really a question.”
“No.”
I climb in anyway.
The truck roars to life, and Boone immediately pulls onto the narrow mountain road.
Behind us, Adam and Russ follow in the second vehicle.
Snow swirls through the headlights.
The storm thickens the farther we drive.
The road climbs.
Twists.
Drops sharply along the cliffs.
Boone drives like he was born on mountain roads.
Fast.
Precise.
Focused.
I keep the laptop open on my knees, tethered to the truck system via hotspot.
The relay node moves again.
Closer.
Closer.
The mobile signal jumps another fifty miles.
My stomach tightens.
“He’s moving faster.”
Boone doesn’t look away from the road.
“How fast?”
“Eighty miles an hour.”
Russ’s voice crackles through the radio.
“That’s not a command center.”
“That’s a convoy,” Adam replies.
I zoom the signal again.
The routing pattern sharpens.
Three vehicles.
Leapfrogging signal relays.
Encryption shifting every thirty seconds.
“They’re trying to stay invisible.”
Boone nods once.
“Means they’re scared.”
Or confident.
I don’t say that part.
The countdown timer flashes on the screen.
5:18:33
We’re losing time.
The truck crests the last ridge.
The trees suddenly open.
A wide clearing spreads across the mountainside.
Old asphalt runway.
Cracked and faded.
Fire staging markers still painted on the ground from years ago.
Russ’s truck pulls up beside us.
Everyone jumps out.
The storm is brutal here.
Wind ripping across the open clearing.
Snow blasting sideways.
Adam looks up into the clouds.
“Where is he?”
As if answering the question—
A distant sound cuts through the storm.
Low.
Deep.
Rhythmic.
Rotor blades.
Russ grins.
“Well that’s a beautiful sound.”
The helicopter appears through the clouds seconds later.
Black.
Fast.
Cutting through the storm like it owns the sky.
The downwash hits the clearing hard as it drops lower.
Snow explodes across the runway.
The wind nearly knocks me backward.
Boone grabs my arm instantly.
“I’ve got you.”
The helicopter hovers for a moment.
Then drops onto the cracked runway.
Skids touching down hard.
The side door slides open.
A man in a flight helmet leans out.
Even through the storm I recognize him.
Logan Carter.
He waves us forward.
“Move! Move! Move!”
Russ grabs the gear bags and runs.
Adam right behind him.
The rotor wash is insane.
Snow.
Wind.
Noise.
I can barely see.
My foot slips on the icy pavement.
For half a second the world tilts sideways—
Then Boone’s arm wraps around my waist.
Strong.
Solid.
“Careful.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not allowed to fall right now.”
Despite everything, I almost laugh.
We reach the helicopter together.
Logan’s voice blasts through the headset speakers.
“Everybody in! Storm cell is getting worse!”
Adam climbs inside first.
Russ tosses the bags in.
Boone lifts me up into the cabin like I weigh nothing.
I slide into the seat and strap in.
Boone climbs in behind me.
The door slams shut.
Logan pushes the throttle immediately.
The helicopter lifts off the ground.
Hard.
The storm swallows us instantly.
The cabin rattles as we punch through the clouds.
Russ looks out the side window.
“Well this is slightly terrifying.”
Adam puts on his headset.
“How long to intercept?”
Logan’s voice crackles through the intercom.
“If your coordinates are right?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Then forty minutes.”
My heart pounds.
Forty minutes.
The timer flashes again on my screen.
5:11:07
Logan glances back at us from the cockpit.
“Anyone want to explain why we’re chasing something across the desert during a blizzard?”
Boone answers calmly.
“We’re stopping a man from taking control of the West Coast.”
Logan nods slowly.
“…Tuesday, huh?”
I stare down at the moving signal on my screen.
The convoy racing south.
Toward Los Angeles.
Toward control.
Toward Phase Three.
And now—
We’re racing them.
Through a mountain storm.
In a helicopter.
With just over two hours before the system activates.
I tighten my grip on the laptop.
Because somewhere ahead of us—
The Architect is running out of time.
And so are we.