And if Redwood wanted to stop me, they were going to drown in their own blood trying.
101
Carter
The ridge was slipping. Smoke rolled over the slope, masking Redwood’s push but not slowing it. Shadows moved in the haze—fast, disciplined, coming harder with every wave.
Cyclone grunted, blood soaking through his sleeve, but he kept firing, his rifle roaring like a cannon. River crouched low, methodical, every burst from his rifle cutting clean, controlled. Gideon’s laptop lay closed now, abandoned on the ground—his pistol empty, he’d switched to a rifle scavenged from one of the fallen.
We were running on grit and fury. And even fury has limits.
Then, through the haze, I heard it—the low chop of rotor blades.
My chest tightened. Extraction.
“Bird inbound!” Gideon shouted, voice raw.
The helicopter burst through the fog, skimming low over the trees, its wash kicking dirt and debris across the ridge. Redwood fire lit it up instantly, rounds sparking against the steel, but the bird pushed through, side door sliding open.
“Move!” River barked.
We formed up, dragging Sable between us. He fought, stumbling, that damn smirk clinging to his face even as blood ran down his leg. “Run all you want,” he rasped. “You’ll never outrun Redwood.”
I shoved the barrel into his back, forcing him forward. “Shut up and walk.”
Cyclone laid down cover, rifle booming in measured blasts. Gideon sprinted ahead, signaling the crew on the bird. River and I kept Sable between us, half hauling him over the rocks as rounds snapped past.
A bullet grazed my thigh, heat flaring, but I didn’t stop. Not when Harper’s voice echoed in my head—Always.
We hit the open stretch, the bird hovering just above the ridge. A rope ladder dropped, swinging wild in the rotor wash.
River grabbed first, hauling Sable up, the prisoner cursing, legs kicking. Gideon was next, climbing fast. Cyclone covered me, his last shells echoing like thunder, then he leapt, hands seizing the rope.
“Carter, move!” River bellowed from above.
I fired one last burst into the tree line, clearing space, then lunged, my hands locking tight on the ladder. My boots slipped on the rock as the helicopter lifted, jerking me off the ridge.
Below, Redwood men spilled from the treeline, their gunfire chasing us skyward.
But we were climbing. Free.
And I wasn’t letting go. Not now. Not ever.
102
Carter
The bird heaved under us as we scrambled inside, the roar of the rotors drowning out everything but gunfire snapping past. Cyclone pulled me in last, my boots dragging over the metal floor as the pilot banked hard to the right, skimming low over the treetops.
Sable collapsed in a heap, his wrists still bound, his breath ragged. Even half-conscious from blood loss, he had the gall to grin. “You’re only alive because Redwood allows it,” he rasped.
I drove my boot into his chest, pinning him to the deck. “You’re alive becauseIallow it.”
River crouched near the open door, laying down return fire with short bursts as the valley dropped away beneath us. “Clear enough!” he shouted, slamming the door shut. The gunfire dulled, replaced by the steady chop of the rotors.
The cabin reeked of smoke and blood. Gideon leaned back, wiping sweat from his brow, laptop clutched tight in his lap again like it was the only thing holding us together. Cyclone’s arm was wrapped in a makeshift bandage, his jaw clenched but his eyes sharp.
And me—I sat on the floor, rifle across my knees, chest heaving. My body throbbed with pain, grazes burning, bruises blooming, but none of it mattered.
