He didn’t need to glance overhead to know the FBI had located him. Thewomp-womp-wompof the rotor blades was loud enough to drown out Haint’s engine noise. The trees in front of him swayed in the downdraft. And a spotlight swung back and forth, occasionally piercing the canopy to light up the roadway like the midday sun.
And then it happened. He should’ve known it would. He was deep in the forest on a road mankind rarely used.
“Fucking hell!” He slammed on his brakes and clenched his teeth when an entire section of the track disappeared in front of him. A recent storm had washed it away, leaving nothing but a three-foot drop into loamy soil behind.
Haint slipped into a skid and the gravel made it impossible for Britt to keep the bike on the road. The most he could hope for was a controlled crash.
His biker boot dragged across the rocky surface as man and motorcycle skated off the roadside and down the steep embankment. Then, there was no keeping his feet under him or keeping the bike up.
He kicked away from the falling motorcycle so it didn’t come down on his leg. Then he barrel rolled down the hillside, keeping pace with his motorcycle as it crashed onto its side and skidded to a sudden stop a hair’s breadth from the trunk of a thick pine tree.
He banged into the rear wheel and came to rest on his back, staring sightlessly up at the canopy as pine needles fell from the sky like spiky, green snowflakes.
Thump-thump-thumpwent his heart.
Tick-tick-tickwent Haint’s cooling engine.
Womp-womp-wompwent the chopper’s rotor as the big bird executed a quick one-eighty.
He’d have liked to lay there and catch his breath. But there was no time.
Working on instinct as much as anything else, he quickly flicked off the flashlights and Haint’s headlight. He was immediately plunged into a world of darkness, and despite feeling every second ticking by like it was a physical force, he had to take a moment to let his eyes adjust.
He’d been taught that staring into the blackness wouldn’t magically enlarge his pupils. The trick was to move his eyes and focus, reallyfocuson attempting to see the landscape around him.
It took longer than he would’ve liked. But eventually, the stygian blackness lightened into deep shades of blue and gray. It wasn’t enough toseeby. But it was enough to allow him to get his bearings.
First things first,he thought.Get as far away from the scene of the crash as possible.
He had to zigzag around trees, crash through the underbrush, and avoid taking low limbs to the eyes. He figured he’d run another quarter mile when, suddenly, he could hear the chopper hovering somewhere behind him. The feds had probably spotlighted Haint’s chrome and were fast-roping in.
Fast-roping involved attaching a thick, braided rope to a mount on the side of a helicopter. Tactical teams could then slide down the rope without using a harness or a descender—it was all about individual strength and the personal perseverance required to hang on tight enough to keep from hitting the ground at a speed fast enough to shatter a leg but yet loose enough to allow for a quick drop-in before the guy on the rope above came down on your head.
It was a risky maneuver, especially when trees obstructed the drop zone and a guy was loaded down with eighty pounds of combat equipment. But Britt figured the feds weren’t nearly as geared up as he and the Knights usually were. This meant they’d not only be able to make the insertion easy-peasy, but they’d all be quick on their feet in pursuit.
He turned on the afterburners.
He was in superb condition. He had to be—it was in his job description. But the effort it took not to plow into obstacles because he was running near-blind had his heart banging against the cage of his ribs and his lungs working like bellows.
The chopper gained altitude—the rhythmic chuff of the blades wasn’t as loud as it’d been only minutes before. And just as he’d feared, he could now hear the crunch of heavy boots in the forest behind him.
Three pursuers,he decided.Maybe four.
He wasn’t sure how much time passed. When evading an enemy, the ticking clock seemed to speed up and slow down simultaneously. So it could have been mere seconds or many minutes later when he burst out of the forest into a clearing.
The lack of underbrush and trees was disorienting, but what was most shocking was that he could see. Like, actuallysee.
A hundred yards away, a small farmhouse with peeling white paint and a wraparound porch stood. The porch light was on. Because it was a black moon and because the overhead clouds blotted out the twinkle of starlight, the little yellow glow from the single fixture beside the front door was enough to light up the entire property.
A rusting but well-loved John Deere tractor crouched in the field in front of him. A shiny tricycle lay on its side beside an overgrown flowerbed. But the driveway was empty. And the fact that not a single light inside flipped on despite the roar of the helicopter circling overhead indicated to Britt that no one was home.
For a brief moment, he thought about taking refuge inside. But that’s what the feds would expect him to do.
SERE training, don’t let me down!he thought as he turned a quick three-sixty to assess all his options.
SERE stood for survival, evasion, resistance, and escape. He needed the evasion portion to throw his pursuers off his trail.
Reluctantly, he faced the forest again. It was human nature not to seek the darkness once you’d found the light. But heading back into the dense trees was his best bet.
