For a heartbeat, we're suspended—weightless, exposed, perfect targets silhouetted against the stars. Bullets snap through the air around us, one so close I feel its heat kiss my cheek. Savannah's scream tears from her throat, primal and raw.
Then gravity catches us.
The trolley engages with a metallic shriek, and suddenly, we're flying. The cable sings as we accelerate, twenty, thirty, forty miles per hour in seconds. Wind tears at our clothes, our hair. We're skimming through the canopy.
Savannah's hands are locked on the grips, mine covering them, holding her steady as we rocket through the darkness. I can feel her trying not to scream again, her whole body rigid with terror.
"Breathe," I shout over the wind. "I've got you. Just breathe."
We plunge deeper, the cable's angle carrying us down through the forest. Tree trunks flash past in the moonlight—any one of them could be death if we clip it. But I set this line myself, tested it dozens of times. The path is clear.
Behind us, muzzle flashes strobe through the trees—but we're already out of effective range, physics and speed making us impossible targets. The shooting continues, frustrated and futile, as we disappear into the night.
The cable’s slow descent carries us over a creek bed, moonlight on water blurring beneath our feet. Savannah makes a sound—half sob, half laugh—as she realizes we're actually going to make it.
"Landing coming up," I tell her, feeling the familiar markers flash past. "When I say, lift your legs."
The terminal tree looms out of the darkness—a massive pine on the opposite ridge, the cable's anchor point fifteen feet upthe trunk. The landing platform is narrow, built for one, but I've made it work before.
"Now!"
We lift our legs as the platform rushes up. I absorb the impact through bent knees, using our momentum to swing us around the tree trunk, bleeding off speed. The trolley squeals to a stop against the buffer, and we're suddenly still.
Savannah collapses against me, legs giving out, only my arms keeping her standing. She's gasping, crying, laughing—all at once.
"You're insane," she manages between breaths.
"But alive."
Distant gunfire echoes across the valley—they're shooting at shadows now, or maybe just venting frustration. I unclip us quickly, testing my footing on the narrow platform before helping her down to solid ground.
"Oh God." She drops to her knees in the pine needles, hands pressed to the earth like she's making sure it's real. "Oh God, we just—we flew?—"
"Can you run?"
She looks up at me, hair wild, eyes wider. "Better than I can fly."
I almost smile at that. Almost. But then I catch it—the sound of engines starting far below. They're not giving up.
"They'll take the logging road," I calculate quickly. "Try to cut us off at the highway. We go cross-country, stay in the trees."
I pull her to her feet, and she sways slightly before finding her balance. Her hand finds mine, grips tight.
"No more ziplines?"
"Fresh out."
"Thank God."
We plunge into the forest, leaving the cable swaying in the wind behind us. The hunters wanted a kill.
They got a vanishing act instead.
The forest is our advantage. I grew up in mountains like these, learned to track deer with my grandfather before I could properly hold a rifle. But Savannah is a city girl, and she's struggling with the uneven ground.
"This way." I pull her into a drainage ravine, natural cover that breaks the line of sight.
When I rigged the zipline, I needed a fast out and a secure exit. I’ve mapped this area of the forest and know it well.
