Page 20 of Revival in Laurel Valley

“Out! Now!” He grabbed the go-bag and satellite phone from the glove box while Liza scrambled out her side. He ran to the back, yanked open the hatch, and grabbed a second bag of supplies—the food and medical kit Wyatt had packed.

The motorcycle engine roared in the distance. Coming back.

“Move!” Grant grabbed Liza’s hand and pulled her off the road into the forest just as the motorcycle came screaming around the curve.

Bullets kicked up dirt where they’d been standing seconds before.

He looked around, getting his bearings. They were a few miles from the cabin. A few miles of rough terrain in the dark with a trained killer hunting them.

“We run,” he said, shouldering the bag. “Stay close to me. Don’t make noise. If I tell you to hide, you hide. If I tell you to run, you run. Understood?”

Liza’s face was pale in the moonlight, but her jaw was set. “Understood.”

Grant led them off the road and into the forest. The trees closed around them, blocking out the moonlight. He pulled out a small flashlight, keeping the beam low.

Behind them, he heard the motorcycle engine again. Getting closer.

“Run,” he said, and they did.

Chapter Five

The forest floor was treacherous in the darkness. What looked like solid ground gave way beneath their feet—layers of pine needles hiding rocks and roots and holes that could break an ankle. Liza stumbled twice in the first hundred yards, Grant’s hand the only thing keeping her upright.

Her head throbbed with each jarring step, the concussion making the darkness swim and shift. The flashlight beam created more shadows than illumination, turning every tree into a potential obstacle, every depression into a pit.

“Watch your left,” Grant said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Steep drop.”

Liza veered right, her shoulder brushing against rough bark. She could hear her own breathing, too loud, too ragged. Behind them, the motorcycle engine revved and faded, revved and faded. Caine was searching the road, looking for where they’d entered the forest.

They had minutes. Maybe less.

The grade steepened, and suddenly they were climbing. Liza’s thighs burned as she pulled herself up the slope, grabbing at branches, her boots slipping on loose scree. The duffle bags Grant carried didn’t slow him down, but she could hear the change in his breathing, the effort it took.

“Keep moving,” he said. “Don’t stop.”

She didn’t plan to stop. Stopping meant dying.

A branch whipped across her face, and she tasted blood. Her hands were already scraped raw from catching herself on rocks and bark. The cold mountain air burned her lungs with each gasping breath.

The motorcycle engine cut out.

Grant stopped so abruptly Liza ran into his back. His hand came up, signaling silence, and they both froze. Listening.

Nothing. Just the whisper of wind through the pines and the hammering of Liza’s heart.

Then—a sound. Footsteps on gravel. Caine had left the motorcycle. She was coming after them on foot.

Grant pulled Liza down behind a fallen log, his hand over her mouth, his body covering hers. The log was massive, easily four feet in diameter, probably brought down in a windstorm years ago. Moss grew thick on the north side, and mushrooms clustered where the bark had rotted away.

Liza pressed her face against the damp wood and tried not to breathe.

More footsteps. Closer now. The snap of a branch. The rustle of disturbed undergrowth.

Caine was tracking them.

Grant’s hand tightened on Liza’s shoulder—a warning or a comfort, she couldn’t tell which. His other hand rested on his weapon. She could feel the tension in every line of his body, coiled and ready.

A flashlight beam swept through the trees above them, passing over their hiding spot, moving on. Liza counted her heartbeats. Ten. Twenty. Thirty.