Mason's POV
The howling pierced the night.
It was closer now. The dogs were on their trail. Above them, the drone hovered like a mechanical vulture, its red eye blinking.
Mason's mind raced. They couldn't run. The dogs would catch them in minutes. They couldn't hide. The drone could see their body heat through the branches.
Lisa clutched his arm, her fingers digging in. Grant stared up at the drone, paralyzed.
Think. Adapt. Overcome.
The stream. The frozen water. It was their only chance.
"Into the water," Mason whispered, his voice urgent. "Now. Walk upstream. It will throw off the dogs and cool our skin. The drone might lose our heat signature."
"It's freezing!" Lisa hissed.
"It's that or get torn apart," Mason said. He didn't wait for agreement. He shoved them out of the hollow and toward the stream bank.
The water was a shallow, icy ribbon. Mason stepped in first. The cold was a knife in his bones. He gritted his teeth. Lisa gasped as she followed. Grant stumbled in with a choked cry.
"Walk. Don't stop," Mason ordered, moving upstream against the gentle current.
The water was only ankle-deep, but it felt like walking through liquid ice. Every step was agony. Mason kept looking up. The drone buzzed, following the stream's path above them. It was still tracking them.
He needed to blind it.
He reached down into the icy water and felt around on the stream bed. His numb fingers closed around a smooth, heavy rock. He pulled it out.
The drone dipped lower, getting a better look.
Mason stopped. He took a breath, ignoring the cold screaming up his legs. He judged the distance. He threw the rock.
It wasn't aimed at the drone. It was aimed at the thick pine branch right above it.
The rock hit the branch dead-on with a loud crack. A pile of accumulated snow and ice dislodged from the needles. It fell in a heavy, white cascade directly onto the hovering drone.
The machine sputtered. The red light flickered. It wobbled in the air, coated in snow, then dropped like a stone into the stream with a sizzling plop. The blinking light went dark.
One problem down.
The howls were much closer now. They could hear the crashing of bodies through the underbrush.
"They're coming!" Grant yelped.
"Keep moving!" Mason said. They sloshed forward, the water numbing their feet. After a hundred yards, Mason pointed to a spot where large rocks jutted out of the stream. "Out here. Onto the rocks. Step where I step."
They climbed out onto the cold, dry stones. Their footprints from the water were gone. The cold water had lowered their body temperature. Maybe, just maybe, they were harder to see.
"Now we run. That way," Mason said, pointing away from the stream into a denser part of the forest.
They ran, stumbling over roots, their wet feet slipping. The howls changed. They became confused, frustrated. The dogs had lost the scent at the water's edge.
Mason pushed them for another brutal hour. Lisa was limping. Grant was wheezing. They finally reached a steep, rocky slope. At the top, half-hidden by trees, was a small, dark wooden shack. The old ranger outpost.
"There," Mason breathed.
They used the last of their strength to climb the slope. Mason tried the door. It was locked with a heavy padlock. He didn't hesitate. He stepped back and kicked the door right next to the handle. The old wood splintered, and the door flew open.
The inside was one small room. It smelled of dust and mice. There was a wooden table, a chair, a rusty wood stove, and a bunk bed with a thin mattress.
Mason barred the broken door with the chair. He went to the stove. There was old newspaper and a few logs beside it. In minutes, he had a small, weak fire going. The warmth was a blessing.
Lisa and Grant collapsed on the floor, shivering violently. Mason gave them his pack. "Dry socks. In the side pocket."
While they changed, Mason kept watch at the single, grimy window. The forest below was quiet. No lights. No howls. For now, they were safe.
"We can't stay long," Mason said. "They'll search all the buildings. At first light, we move again. We need to get to the highway, find a way to the city."
Grant held his wet socks near the stove. "How? They'll be watching every road."
"We'll figure it out," Mason said. He believed it. He had to.
For the next few hours, they rested. Mason didn't sleep. He sat by the window, watching the sky turn from black to dark gray. Dawn was coming.
Just as the first birds began to chirp, a new sound reached them.
Not dogs. Not drones.
A vehicle engine, grinding its way up the old forest service road toward the outpost.
Mason was on his feet instantly. "Get behind the stove. Don't make a sound."
He peered out the window. A sleek, black ATV with a closed cab pulled to a stop in the clearing below the shack. The door opened.
A man got out. He wasn't dressed for the woods. He wore a long, expensive wool coat over a suit. He carried a slim, leather briefcase. He looked up at the shack, brushed dirt from his sleeve, and began walking calmly up the slope.
He was alone.
Mason's hand went to his gun. This wasn't a mercenary. This was something else.
The man reached the door. He didn't try to force it. He knocked politely on the broken wood.
"Mr. Mason? My name is Mr. Aldrich. I represent Victor Sterling. I'd like to talk. I'm unarmed."
Mason glanced at Lisa and Grant, hidden in the shadows. He kept his gun down but ready. He moved the chair and opened the door.
The man, Aldrich, was in his fifties. He had sharp, intelligent eyes and a smile that didn't reach them. He looked Mason up and down, seeing the mud, the weariness, the defiance. His smile stayed put.
"May I come in? It's quite chilly."
Mason stepped back, letting him enter. Aldrich looked around the pitiful shack like it was a trash heap. He saw Lisa and Grant but didn't acknowledge them. He focused on Mason.
"You've caused a great deal of trouble, Mr. Mason. Last night was… expensive for Mr. Sterling. A damaged vehicle. A lost drone. Very agitated dogs."
"Get to the point," Mason said, his voice flat.
"Of course. A man of action." Aldrich placed his briefcase on the dusty table and clicked it open. He pulled out a single sheet of paper and a pen. Then he pulled out a checkbook. "Mr. Sterling is a reasonable man. He understands you are grieving. He wishes to make amends."
He wrote on the check with a gold pen. He tore it out and placed it on top of the paper. He slid them both toward Mason.
Mason looked down. The check was made out to him. The amount was five million dollars. The paper was a legal agreement. The top line read: Non-Disclosure and Liability Release Agreement.
"Sign the paper," Aldrich said smoothly. "Take the check. All of this goes away. You leave the state. You never speak of your wife again. In return, you live the rest of your life in comfort. A fair trade for your… silence."
Mason stared at the check. Five million dollars. More money than he'd ever see in ten lifetimes. It was an insult wrapped in a bribe. They were putting a price on Tessa's life. On the truth.
He looked at Aldrich's cold, confident face. The man truly believed this would work. That everyone had a price.
Mason picked up the pen. Aldrich's smile became real, triumphant. He thought he'd won.
Slowly, Mason reached out. He didn't pick up the check. He picked up the agreement. He held it over the rusty top of the wood stove, where the small fire still smoldered.
Aldrich's smile vanished. "What are you doing?"
The paper's edge touched a glowing ember. It caught fire immediately. A yellow flame raced up the page, turning the legal words to black ash.
Mason dropped the burning paper into the stove. He never broke eye contact with Aldrich.
"Tell Sterling my answer is no," Mason said, his voice low and steady. "Tell him some things aren't for sale. My wife's memory. The truth. His freedom. He can't buy any of it."
Aldrich's face hardened. The polite mask was gone, replaced by cold anger. He snapped his briefcase shut.
"That was a very stupid mistake, Mr. Mason. You had a door to walk out of. Now, you only have a cliff to jump off." He straightened his coat. "Mr. Sterling's men are surrounding this hill as we speak. They were my insurance policy. You have ten minutes to change your mind. After that, they come in. And they don't knock."
He turned and walked out of the shack, leaving the door open.
Mason rushed to the window. Down below, at the tree line, he saw movement. Dark shapes. At least six men, fanning out. They had rifles.
They were surrounded.
Aldrich got into his ATV and drove away, leaving them trapped in the shack on the hill.
Grant came up beside him, his face white. "What do we do?"
Mason looked at the surrounding forest, now hiding armed men. He looked at the steep slope behind the shack. It was a sheer drop down a rocky cliff.
They had no way out.
they escaped the drone and dogs.
they are surrounded on a hilltop with no apparent escape.