We climbed into the vehicle, doors slamming in quick succession. Marcus behind the wheel, me riding shotgun, and Alex and Miles crammed in the back with duffel bags and equipment wedged between them. The interior smelled of wet wool, pine resin, and the tang of mingled fear and sweat.
Thunder cracked overhead like a cosmic warning shot.
Marcus shifted into drive. "Time to move."
Gravel sprayed beneath our tires as we pulled away. The cabin receded in the side mirror, gradually swallowed by sheets of rain and dense forest until I couldn't distinguish its outline from the surrounding wilderness.
Thunder rolled across the sky as we began our descent down the mountain road. I kept my eyes fixed on the side mirror, watching for any movement beyond the relentless cascade of water. The windshield wipers thrashed back and forth at their highest setting, fighting a losing battle.
Miles broke the tense silence first. "You ever think maybe we should've just burned that place down and vanished? Left no evidence, and nothing but ash for them to sift through?"
I smirked lightly. "Next time, I'll bring matches."
Miles exhaled. "Because we'll be doing this again."
The road narrowed as we descended, trees pressing closer on both sides. Every curve revealed fresh small streams cutting into the gravel road. Marcus navigated each hazard with the focused precision I'd come to expect from him.
In the back seat, Alex remained uncharacteristically silent. When I angled the rearview mirror to see him, I saw his eyes locked on the road ahead, pupils dilated with either fear or concentration. One hand gripped the back of my seat, knuckles bleached white against the dark fabric.
I wanted to reach back and cover his hand with mine, drawing some of that tension into my own body. Instead, I remained still and focused on alerting Marcus to hazards he might miss.
He set his jaw in a rigid line I recognized from childhood emergencies and adult crises alike. His hands remained perfectly positioned at ten and two on the steering wheel. The veins along his forearms stood out in stark relief.
He'd entered what our father had called "deployment mode"—that state of hyperaware calm where emotions were acknowledgments rather than experiences. I'd seen it during forest fires, hostage situations, and the aftermath of our father's death.
Subconsciously, I mirrored his focus. It was the fraternal synchronicity that had saved our lives more than once.
My breathing slowed, and my senses sharpened. We were moving, and we were together.
Everything else was secondary.
The SUV's GPS signal flickered and died. The blank map indicated our status as traveling in the middle of digital nowhere.
Marcus grunted. "We're flying blind. Alex, can you pull up the offline maps on your phone?"
Alex fumbled with his phone. "Signal's completely gone. I downloaded some area maps earlier, but the resolution isn't detailed enough for these back roads."
We crawled forward with the SUV's headlights barely penetrating the gray curtain ahead. Every fifty yards revealed a new obstacle—fallen branches that Marcus had to navigate around or washed-out sections of the shoulder that narrowed our precarious path.
"Veer to the left here." I directed Marcus. "The right side appears flooded."
He adjusted course without question, trusting my assessment. Our tires splashed through standing water, and the vehicle hydroplaned momentarily. My stomach tightened when we fishtailed, but Marcus's hands remained steady on the wheel.
A low branch scraped violently across the roof. Miles flinched violently, his composure cracking. "Jesus—too close." His hand briefly touched the roof interior. "Storm when I was eight. A branch shattered the window next to me."
Marcus glanced at the rearview mirror. "You haven't forgotten that?"
"Therapist, remember? I analyze trauma for a living, including my own."
We rounded a bend and confronted a scene of complete devastation. What had once been road had transformed into a churning river—a fifteen-foot section completely washed away. Muddy torrents rushed across the gap, carrying debris and small boulders in its violent current.
"Marcus—" My warning was too late.
Marcus slammed the brakes hard. The SUV slid forward on the slick surface, tires searching for traction. We skidded toward the washout, the front wheels locking at an angle that threatened to tip us toward the ravine on our right.
My body lurched forward against the seatbelt, causing the strap to bite into my shoulder and chest. I heard thudding noises in the back as bodies and equipment shifted violently.
The vehicle skidded to a stop mere feet from the edge of the collapsed road section. Water sprayed over the hood, slapping angrily against the windshield. For several heartbeats, no one spoke or moved.
