"Everyone okay?" Marcus turned to look over his shoulder.
Miles answered in an unsteady voice. "Fine."
Alex clutched the plastic case harder than before. "I'm alright… startled, but okay."
I faced Marcus. "We can't go forward."
He added his own observation. "And we can't go back to the cabin."
I measured my breathing—four counts in, four counts hold, four counts out—to calm myself so I could think clearly. The rain-muffled silence stretched until Marcus broke it with unexpected calm.
"I know a place—ranger station. I stayed there during a wildfire op. No one's using it this time of year."
I glanced at him. "How far?"
"Three miles northeast through the conservation area. There's an access road about half a mile back. Not on commercial maps."
Miles leaned forward. "And you just happened to remember this now?"
"It was Plan C."
"What happened to Plan B?"
Marcus shifted into reverse. "We passed it two miles ago. It's a hunting cabin, but it's too exposed."
Miles raised an eyebrow. "You sure it's still standing? Your wildfire deployments weren't exactly yesterday."
"Concrete foundation. Metal roof." Marcus executed a three-point turn. "Designed to survive this kind of weather. The Forest Service maintains it for emergency response."
Marcus accelerated back the way we'd come. "It will be safer than here."
I twisted in my seat to gauge Alex's reaction. He caught me watching and nodded once, a barely perceptible movement that conveyed complete trust.
The SUV lurched forward through the storm, wipers still battling the relentless downpour. We approached the barely visible turn-off, marked only by a weathered wooden post half-concealed by overgrown brush. Marcus slowed the SUV to a crawl, headlights sweeping across what appeared to be a game trail rather than any road designed for vehicles. He didn't hesitate before turning sharply.
The transition was immediate and jarring. The SUV bucked violently as its tires dropped into hidden ruts masked by pooling water. Mud sprayed in arcing fans from our wheels, splattering the windows and momentarily blinding us until the wipers cleared enough for marginal visibility. The suspension groaned in protest.
"Fucking hell," Miles hissed through clenched teeth. "This isn't a road—it's a cemetery wannabe."
The path—if it deserved such a generous term—narrowed further, forcing branches to scrape along both sides of the vehicle. The sound reminded me of fingernails dragging across a chalkboard, setting my teeth on edge. We crawled forward at a walking pace.
I saw something through the passenger window. "Marcus—"
"I see it." He adjusted his course to avoid a fallen log partially blocking our path.
Lightning cracked suddenly overhead, so close the accompanying thunder arrived almost simultaneously. For one brilliant moment, the world outside transformed from murky shadows to stark relief—trees illuminated in electric blue, and raindrops suspended like glass beads in mid-air.
The image seared itself into my mind as darkness reclaimed the forest. My tactical assessment wasn't reassuring—we were funneling ourselves into a position that violated every principle of strategic movement.
I pushed aside my misgivings. "Keep going. We're committed now."
Marcus nodded grimly, hands steady on the wheel as he navigated another section where rainwater had carved channels across what remained of the trail. The vehicle's undercarriage scraped against protruding rocks.
We hit a particularly deep rut without warning. The SUV groaned like a wounded animal. My hand shot forward instinctively, bracing against the dashboard to prevent my head from striking the windshield.
The SUV righted itself with another mechanical groan. Marcus eased off the accelerator, allowing momentum to carry us through the next section, where the trail briefly leveled out.
I scanned the impenetrable forest wall for any sign of a clearing ahead. "How much further?"
