Chapter 27 #3
Back at camp, the Mystery Machine transforms from odd little home to command center.
The softness of morning gets packed away with the blankets.
Monitors glow. Batteries charge. Radios line up on the counter.
Gear spreads across every available surface in organized piles that would look like chaos to anyone outside of this crew.
Maya checks med kits twice. Then a third time.
Tourniquets. Bandages. Thermal blankets. Water purification tablets. Antiseptic. Splints. Emergency beacon. Satellite phone.
Jax labels camera batteries with blue painter’s tape and mutters a running commentary about how every horror movie begins with “one last hike.”
Taylor sharpens a pink-handled knife on the RV step. I don’t ask why.
Owen loads rope, climbing gear, and a hard case of equipment he refuses to explain beyond, “Useful.”
Miles stands over the map table, marking route timing in pencil.
Pencil. Because erase-ability comforts him. And that’s something I know.
The final route bends south along a dry wash, then climbs through high desert brush toward a series of sandstone shelves.
From there, we’ll push into a cave system Owen found on old survey overlays, partially collapsed and mostly unmapped.
A thermal anomaly from two nights ago vanished in that direction. So did the audio pattern.
The cave mouths sit along a ridge locals avoid.
Of course they do.
Locals always know things before outsiders admit it.
I pack my own bag. This is new. Before I left LA, I made sure to give my things a reality check, taking into consideration everything I learned from this crazy crew.
Maya watches me from the med station as I check batteries, recorder, headlamp, extra socks, water bladder, granola bars, first-aid pouch, gloves, notebook, backup mic.
“Look at you,” she says.
I glance up. “What?”
“You’re prepared.”
I shrug. “Character growth?”
“Proud of you, and proud to have you with us,” she smiles and nods at me. My eyes go wide and watery, unsure what to do with her pure sincerity. Maya has been the backbone of this team and my constant source of sanity since arriving here. To have this acceptance from her means more than I can say.
But I try.
“Ditto, girl.” I stand and hug her. She freezes for a moment, then her arms find their way around me.
She pulls back, taking a deep breath. “You good?”
I look toward Miles.
He’s listening to Owen explain some cave access issue, brows drawn, one hand at the back of his neck. Serious. Focused. Alive in the work.
Then he glances over.
Finds me.
The tension in his brow softens. Small. Private. Mine.
“Yeah,” I say.
I mean it, for the most part. Fear still thrums faintly under all the excitement and anticipation. Fear of Ridgefield. Of caves. Of how much this place has rearranged me.
Maya follows my gaze and smiles.
“I’m really happy you came back.” The admission is so direct I nearly drop a battery. She avoids my eyes, as if it just hit her how sincere she was.
“Also,” she adds, rubbing at a smudge on the wall, “your misdirection post was evil genius.”
“Well, thank you,” I add a flourish with my hands.
“Don’t let Taylor name the strategy next time.”
I sigh. “Bigfoot Catfish is pretty good, though.”
Maya winces, but her eyes are still smiling.
The sun begins its slow drop toward the western cliffs, turning everything copper and rose. The air shifts with it. Heat drains off stone. Shadows lengthen. The desert cools into that eerie, electric hour before night arrives.
Nobody says much as we load the final bags. The silence feels loaded with everyone’s unspoken fears. Brush rustles beyond camp, and we all look up at the same time. Nothing moves. A raven crosses overhead, wings black against the pale sky.
Jax watches the raven disappear over the ridge. “Bad omen?”
Taylor adjusts the strap on her pack without looking up.
“Depends who you ask.” She glances toward the sky, expression unreadable. “Change. Transformation. Wisdom. Messengers, supposedly. Threshold stuff.”
“Threshold stuff?” I ask.
“Yeah.” Owen butts in, gestures vaguely with one hand. “Like standing in the doorway before your life turns into something else.”
Jax looks between Taylor and Owen, waiting for Taylor to shut him down.
“He’s not wrong. Some people think ravens show up when something’s ending,” she says. “Or starting. Depends on your flavor of emotional damage.”
“That feels ominous,” Jax says.
Owen and Taylor shrug simultaneously while Maya mutters sarcastically behind them, “Sure, let’s not ask the indigenous girl about animal symbolism.”
“Sorry, girl,” Taylor apologizes, giving her a hip bump. “What do you think?”
“Mostly, I think they mean something’s changing whether you’re ready or not.” Maya smirks.
Silence settles for half a second. Then Jax squints toward the sky. “So… that’s really spooky, right?”
Taylor smiles and elbows him. “Or it’s just a bird.”
Owen laughs, looking at her in a way that catches me off guard.
Miles comes to stand beside me. His pack is on. Radio clipped to his shoulder. Glasses clean. Jaw shadowed. Hair already wind-tossed.
He looks like the man I met. And also nothing like him.
This Miles is less frantic around the edges. Still intense. Still fucking brilliant. Still full of strange, impossible faith. But steadier now. Like the desperate need to believe has stopped swallowing him whole and started standing beside him instead.
He reaches for my pack strap and tightens it slightly.
“You ready?”
I could make a joke. A dozen spring to mind. It’s tempting.
Instead, I look past him at the high desert brush. The ridge waiting beyond camp. Somewhere out there, Ridgefield is chasing our ghosts. Somewhere closer, something real may be moving through rock and shadow, leaving almost-tracks and almost-sounds and the kind of proof that refuses to be clean.
I used to think uncertainty was something to overcome. Now I think it’s something you make peace with.
“I’m ready,” I say.
Miles nods. Believes me.
The crew gathers at the trailhead in a loose, silent line.
Taylor in front and Owen beside her.
Maya checking radios one last time.
Jax with his camera rig, holding it and muttering to it like it’s a small child.
Miles at my side.
The Mystery Machine is behind us, warm lights glowing in the windows, ready to welcome us home.
Then Miles’s hand finds mine. It’s only for a second, but it’s more than a squeeze. It’s a promise.
We step into the brush as the sun’s last light slips behind the ridge.