"Half a mile, maybe less." Marcus squinted through the rain-streaked windshield. "Should see the clearing after the next ridge."
We lurched forward over one final crest, headlights sweeping across an unexpected clearing carved from the dense forest. The rain continued its assault, but the comparative openness after the claustrophobic tunnel of trees provided a momentary sense of relief.
Through the curtain of water, a structure gradually materialized—squat and weathered. Vines crept up the eastern wall. Despite its worn appearance, the metal roof remained intact, shedding water in uniform sheets.
"Told you." Marcus killed the engine but left the headlights on, illuminating our path to the structure.
I surveyed our surroundings, noting the natural defensive advantages of the position. The clearing provided visibility in all directions, while the forest edge offered concealment if retreat became necessary. A rudimentary rain collection system funneled water from the roof into a storage barrel—functional if not elegant.
No power lines connected the station to any grid, suggesting complete isolation from external infrastructure. Tactically speaking, it surpassed my expectations.
I unclipped my seatbelt and turned to face Alex. "Ready to make a run for it? It's about fifteen yards to the porch."
He nodded, gathering the waterproof case and his personal bag.
I took the lead. "Miles, you take point with Marcus. Alex and I will bring up the rear with the gear."
Before opening my door, I conducted a final perimeter scan, eyes tracing the treeline that encircled the clearing. No tracks marred the mud besides our own.
I knew we were still being watched—if not by human eyes, then by digital surveillance. Somewhere, operators were already dispatching resources to neutralize the threat we represented. We could measure our temporary advantage in hours, not days.
I gave the order. "Let's move."
With a strong shoulder check, Marcus pushed the door open. We burst into the building in quick succession, rain streaming from our clothes onto the worn wooden floorboards. I blinked, allowing my vision to adjust to the dim light.
The ranger station was a single room approximately twenty feet square, spartan but serviceable. Two metal-framed bunks with thin mattresses occupied the far wall. A small kitchenette with a propane camp stove stood opposite. Shelves lined with basic supplies—canned goods, emergency medical supplies, and outdated Forest Service manuals—occupied the space between.
In the corner, a cast iron wood stove squatted on a stone hearth, with a half-cord of split logs stacked nearby. Marcus immediately moved toward it, extracting a propane lantern from a wall hook above. He struck a match, and soon, warm amber light spread through the room.
Miles immediately set his bag down and began a methodical inspection. He checked windows, examining latches and frame joints. His fingers probed corners and crevices where surveillance equipment might be concealed. He lifted the ancient radio handset, inspecting its wiring with suspicion.
"No bugs, no cameras. Looks clear. Not even an obvious mouse nest, which is honestly surprising for a place this remote."
For the first time since leaving the cabin, I allowed my shoulders to relax incrementally. The tension didn't dissipate entirely, but it receded from crisis levels. We had shelter, concealment, and a defendable position. For the moment, it was enough.
Alex moved to a table in the center of the room, setting down the waterproof case with careful reverence. His soaked clothing clung to his frame, outlining his scholarly physique.
I claimed a chair opposite him, our knees nearly touching beneath the table's scarred surface. The impulse to reach for Alex's hand across the table struck me with unexpected force. I wanted to ask if he was truly okay—not only physically unharmed but spiritually intact after everything we'd endured.
I wanted to trace the lines of exhaustion around his eyes with my thumb. I wanted to acknowledge his extraordinary transformation into something fiercer and more resilient than either of us could have imagined in Tahiti.
Instead, I remained still, respecting the unspoken boundary that seemed to reassert itself whenever others were present. My fingers curled around my own knees instead, finding the damp fabric of my tactical pants and the solid bone beneath.
Marcus gave the next practical command, his voice low but steady. "We should change into dry clothes. Hypothermia's the last thing we need."
Miles was already unpacking with brisk efficiency.
I lingered near the table, watching Alex pull the waterproof case closer, his fingers tracing the edges like he needed to reassure himself that the data we'd risked everything for hadn't vanished. His clothes clung to him, soaked through. There was something steel-forged in him now. I hadn't noticed the moment it happened, but I knew I was no longer the one holding him up. He was holding himself.
We were wet, cold, and hunted. And yet here we were—still breathing.
While Miles started to doze off, and Marcus headed out the door for a perimeter check. Alex spoke.
"Do you remember our first night in Tahiti?"
"I remember everything about it."
He nodded. "From that first night, I knew I wanted you. Not only as comfort or distraction. Really wanted you."
