She scrambled down the slope, her legs trembling. The first man was moaning, trying to staunch the flow of blood from his arm. The second lay still in the snow.
“He’s just unconscious,” Liam said, his voice tight. He was already going through their packs. He pulled out a satellite phone and a wallet, tossing the latter to Elara.“See if there’s ID.”
Her hands shook as she opened it. Corporate security badges. For Blackwood Resorts International. The developer.
“It’s them,” she whispered.
Liam crushed the satellite phone under his boot.“They can’t call for backup.” He looked at the two men, then at her. The violence of the last few minutes hung in the air between them, a stark, brutal reality.
“We have to keep moving,” he said, his voice softer now. He reached out and gently took the rifle from her trembling hands.“You did good, Elara. You were brave.”
His praise, earned in blood and snow, meant more than any literary award ever could. They had survived the ambush. But as they turned and began the final, grueling descent towards the distant highway, Elara knew the real fight—the one for the truth, and for the future that truth would destroy or create—was just beginning. And she was no longer just a bystander. She was all in.
Chapter 9:
The End of the Road
The old logging trail was a faint, overgrown scar in the snow, but to Elara, it felt like a highway. Every labored step brought them closer to the distant hum of the state highway, a sound that promised civilization, witnesses, and a chance.
Liam moved with a relentless, grim energy, his encounter with the hunters having forged him into something harder, sharper. He kept the rifle ready, his head on a swivel, but his free hand often found the small of her back, a steadying pressure that said, I'm here. We're together in this.
They reached the tree line. Across a hundred yards of snowy field, the highway stretched, grey and slushy with passing traffic. Salvation.
"We can't just walk out there," Liam said, pulling her behind a thick pine. "If they have people in the sheriff's office, there could be a BOLO out for us. Or for this." He nodded at her bag.
"So what do we do? Hitchhike?"
"Something like that." He pointed to a small, weathered building nestled where the logging trail met the highway—a general store with a single gas pump out front. "Marty's. He's been here since my dad was a kid. He's not on anyone's payroll."
They watched for ten tense minutes. A few cars came and went. No police cruisers. No black SUVs.
"Okay," Liam said. "We go in, we use Marty's phone, we call my contact in Burlington, and we get the hell out of here."
Hand in hand, they broke from the cover of the trees and trudged across the open field. Every second felt exposed, every crunch of snow underfoot like a gunshot. They reached the relative safety of the store's wooden porch, the "OPEN" sign swinging in the wind.
The bell above the door jingled as they entered. The store was warm, smelling of coffee, woodsmoke, and aged timber. An old man with a kind, wrinkled face looked up from behind the counter.
"Liam Holt," he said, his voice raspy. "Heard there was some trouble up on the hill. Storm do much damage?"
"Something like that, Marty," Liam said, his voice tight. "I need to use your phone. It's an emergency."
Marty's eyes flicked to Elara, to the bag she clutched, to the grim set of Liam's jaw. He nodded slowly. "Back office. Help yourself."
Liam guided Elara towards a small, cluttered room behind the counter. As he picked up the old rotary phone, Elara leaned against the doorframe, finally allowing herself to believe they might make it.
The bell on the front door jingled again.
Both of them froze. Liam slowly set the phone down.
A voice, smooth and cultured, filled the small store. "Martin. Good to see you. I'm looking for two friends of mine. They might have stopped in. A man and a woman."
Elara peered through the crack in the doorjamb. A man in a long, expensive wool coat stood by the counter, brushing snow from his sleeves. He was in his fifties, with silvering hair and a calm, predatory smile. She recognized him from the business section of the newspaper. Robert Corbin. CEO of Blackwood Resorts.
"I'm alone, Mr. Corbin," Marty said, his voice steady. "Just me and the ghosts."
Corbin's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I doubt that." He placed a hand on the counter. "The woman has something that belongs to me. A metal box. Old family heirlooms, you understand. Sentimental value." He leaned forward. "I'm a reasonable man, Martin. I just want what's mine. Then everyone can go home."
Liam's hand found Elara's, his grip vise-like. He shook his head, his eyes telling her to stay silent, to stay hidden.
