I lower the binoculars. My hands are shaking violently now, and it has nothing to do with the cold.
“They were there,” I breathe.
“They were waiting.” Diego takes the binoculars back. “They tracked the vehicle signature. Or maybe they hacked the traffic cam at the rest stop. Doesn’t matter. They set up an ambush at the choke point.”
“If we had driven down that road?—”
“They would have put a .308 round through the engine block. Then they would have dragged us out.”
He looks at me. His eyes are dark, unreadable.
“The crow wasn’t superstition, Cassie. The crow flew because a kill team was moving into position.”
I stare at him.
He heard a bird. And he knew.
He heard a bird, and he saved my life.
Again.
The earlier anger evaporates, leaving a hollow, sickening realization in its wake. I am way out of my depth. I’m a child wandering through a minefield, and he is the only map I have.
“You were right,” I say.
“Being right keeps you alive.” He puts the binoculars away. “But now we have a new problem.”
“What?”
“They know we didn’t take the truck. They know we’re on foot.” He gestures at the vast expanse of mountains around us. “They’ll deploy drones. Thermal cameras. Dogs.”
“Dogs?”
“If they have a scent trail, yes.”
He stands, crouching low to stay below the skyline.
“We need to move. We need to find water to mask the trail. And we need to put ten miles between us and that truck before sunset.”
Ten miles.
My knee throbs. My lungs burn just thinking about it.
“I can’t,” the words slip out.
Diego looks down at me. “What?”
“I can’t do ten miles. Not in these shoes. Not with this knee.”
It’s the truth. And in my world, the truth is supposed to be the ultimate defense.
Diego stares at me. He doesn’t look sympathetic. He looks calculating. He’s running the probability model. Asset integrity vs. Mission success.
“Take off your shoe,” he says.
“What?”
“Sit down. Take off your right shoe.”
