Little boy ran out of a van crying for help. When bikers saw it, they didn’t hesitate. The boy shot out of the white van barefoot, blood on his heel, eyes wide with an animal kind of terror. And when he screamed, “Let me go.” The sound cut through the highway like a blade. “Before we continue, tell me in the comments where you’re watching from.
” Knox didn’t think. None of them did. The crew was spread across two lanes, engines rumbling low under the falling dusk. They’d been riding in a loose diamond formation, letting the Montana wind push the day out of their bones when the van swerved onto the shoulder hard enough to kick gravel into the air. Then the door flew open.
Then the boy ran. Knox’s bike slid sideways across the center line before he consciously moved the handlebars. Jonas braked hard, Ridge swung left, Wheeler cut behind the van, and Doc was already yelling something Knox didn’t hear over the roar of the engines. The boy’s legs buckled as he stumbled into the asphalt.
He turned back once, just once, toward the open van door. A shadow leaned forward, an adult arm reaching out, fingers stretching like hooks. Knox saw that hand, and something inside him snapped. He gunned the throttle and planted his bike between the boy and the van so fast the tires screamed. His boot hit the pavement, kicking out, forcing the child behind him.
Wheeler blocked the van from reversing. Ridg’s front tire was inches from the bumper. Jonas stepped off his bike and raised both hands, palms outward. “Easy,” Jonas said. “Stay inside the vehicle.” “But the driver didn’t stay inside.” He climbed out slowly, mid-40s, clean shaven, a cheap reflective vest, a clipboard still tucked under his arm.
He looked like every delivery man on every highway. Plain, tired, forgettable, too forgettable. “Hey, hey, this is a misunderstanding,” the man said, forcing a laugh too tight at the edges. That kid, he’s my nephew. He just panicked. Family stuff, you know how it looks. Knox didn’t answer him. He was looking at the boy.
Bare feet, shallow breathing, pupils blown wide, knees scraped raw from whatever hell he ran through before the van stopped. Doc crouched beside him, lifting the boy’s chin gently. “Hey, kid,” Doc murmured. “You hurt? You can talk to me.” The boy didn’t speak. His gaze flicked between the crew like he didn’t understand what safety meant.
Then with a tremor that didn’t belong to panic alone, he whispered, “Don’t let him take me back.” Knox felt the ground shift beneath him. Not physically, internally, quietly. The way old scars shift before they bleed again. Jonas stepped closer to the driver. “You got ID?” “Sure,” the man said. Like I said, huge misunderstanding. He reached slowly for his wallet.
Too slowly, too rehearsed. Ridge circled around the van, checking the back doors. There were scuffs on the inside handle, fresh scratches, tiny fingernail marks. Ridg’s expression hardened. “Nox,” he called quietly. “Take a look.” Knox approached, the boy still gripping his sleeve with trembling fingers.
He peered inside the van. Blankets on the floor, bungee cords, a thermos, two plastic water bottles, a half-closed duffel bag, and straps bolted to the flooring. Cut recently, edges frayed, one still warm from tension. Knox exhaled once, slow, steady, the way he did right before a bar fight or right after a nightmare. He turned back to the driver.
Where were you taking him? The man forced another smile. I told you family. We had an argument. He jumped out while I was pulling over. Crazy kid. The boy suddenly grabbed Knox’s jacket, shaking his head violently. No, he’s lying. He’s lying. The sound tore through the quiet like a rock through glass. The driver’s smile vanished. He stepped backward toward the van.
“Okay,” he said, voice flattening. “I’m done talking.” Wheeler moved instantly, blocking his path. “You’re not driving anywhere,” Wheeler said. The driver’s eyes sharpened. Small, calculating, not shocked, not scared, prepared. Doc looked up at Knox. His vitals are off. He’s dehydrated, underfed. Something’s wrong. Knox nodded once. Yeah, I know.
The boy tugged his sleeve again, voice breaking. He said he said I wouldn’t see my mom again if I screamed. Every biker in the circle froze. Jonas lowered his voice. This isn’t one guy acting alone. Rididge’s hand tightened on the wrench hanging from his belt. He’s a courier. Wheeler checked the treeine. Where’s the escort? Vans like this don’t run solo. The driver lunged toward his van door. Knox moved faster.
He slammed the man against the side of the van, one arm across his chest, boots skidding on gravel. “You open your mouth,” Knock said quietly. “And you tell me right now, who are you delivering him to?” The man smirked, breath shaking. You think you can stop it? You don’t know what road you’re standing on. Knox leaned in.
And you don’t know who you just ran into. The man’s smile flickered just slightly. Enough. Engines hummed in the distance. Low approaching. Too synchronized for coincidence. Jonas heard it first. Knox, he murmured. We’re not alone. The boy whispered. They’re coming. Knox felt the asphalt vibrate under his boots. The van driver smiled again. This time genuine.
You’re already dead. Knox didn’t turn to the sound. He didn’t look at the horizon. He didn’t blink. He only said one thing. Mount up. The crew moved as one. The highway went silent. And the next second, engines erupted from both ends of the road. Engines thundered from both ends of the highway.
Deep, heavy, synchronized. Not civilian, not random. It was the sound of vehicles that didn’t worry about being seen. Jonas moved first, pulling the boy back behind Knox as Ridge slid his bike sideways to block the lane. Wheeler took a knee beside the front tire, hand already drifting toward the handle of the crowbar strapped to his frame.
Doc crouched with the boy, keeping himself between the kid and the open road. Knox kept the driver pinned against the van. No panic, no chaos, just a shifting of air. The kind men feel right before violence decides what it wants. The first vehicle crested the hill. A black SUV with no plates. Lights dead.
Grill guard heavy enough to push a truck off the road. The second approached from the opposite direction. Same model. Same blackout. Same purpose. Ridge muttered. Escort. Told you he wasn’t alone. The driver smirked, breath warm against Knox’s forearm. You’re out of time. Knox leaned closer, voice low. Not for him.
The boy whimpered as another engine joined the soundsscape. Somewhere deeper in the trees. Jonas heard it first. A faint hum. Too smooth to be a truck. Too quiet to be a bike. Drone. Jonas said low altitude. Doc swore under his breath. They’re running full sweep. Wheeler stood cracking his knuckles. Whatever they think they’re here for, we’re not handing it over.
The first SUV slowed to a stop 20 yard away. The doors didn’t open. The windows didn’t drop. They just sat there like predators watching the herd make its last movements. Then the second SUV rolled to a stop behind the crew, boxing them in. Jonas whispered, “We have 90 seconds before they act.” Knox didn’t look away from the driver.
He tightened his arm across the man’s chest until the driver coughed. “What’s the boy’s name?” Knox asked. The man didn’t respond. Knox pressed harder. What’s his name? The boy’s voice answered instead, small, shaking. Eli. Knox’s eyes flicked down to him. All right, Eli, you’re staying with us.
The boy nodded, but his whole body trembled, not just from fear, but from something older, something conditioned. Doc checked his pulse again. He’s malnourished, dehydrated, and scared past reason. Knox, we need to move him. This standoff isn’t good for him. But the driver chuckled. You’re not moving anywhere.
Knox finally released him, only to shove him hard toward Wheeler, who caught the man by his vest and slammed him onto the van’s hood. Wheeler growled, “Stay!” The driver winced, but smiled again. That same eerie, too clean smile. “You boys don’t know the first thing about what’s coming.” Ridg’s jaw flexed. “We’ll learn.” The drone’s hum grew louder, circling above them.
Then, headlights on the nearest SUV flashed once. A signal. Jonas whispered. “They’re coordinating.” Doc lifted Eli into his arms, preparing to shift him behind the bikes for cover, but the boy pushed back, eyes wide with terror. “No,” Eli whispered. “They’ll take me. They always take me.” Knox knelt so he could look the boy in the eye. “Not this time.
” Eli stared at him as if waiting for the lie to show itself. It didn’t. Knox rose and flicked his chin toward Ridge. bikes now. The crew moved fast, practiced, calm, a silent language in motion. Wheeler zip tied the driver’s wrist with a strip of nylon from his saddle bag. Ridge checked the side of the highway for an escape route. Jonas fired up his bike engine snarling.
Doc secured Eli to his chest using a makeshift strap, keeping one hand on the boy’s back. The drone swooped lower. Then both SUVs opened their doors at the same time. Six men stepped out. Three from each side, dressed in dark tactical gear, no unit patches, no badges, no hesitation, clean boots, clean hands, dirty mission. One of them lifted a small speaker device and pressed a button. A voice boomed across the highway.
Too calm, too controlled. Put the boy on the ground and step away. Ridge laughed. That voice has never seen a real road. Final warning, the voice said. You are in unlawful possession of protected cargo. Knox felt Eli flinch at the word cargo.
He stepped forward, planting both boots in the center of the lane, shoulders squared. “He’s a child,” Knox said. The silence that followed was colder than the mountain wind. Then the voice replied, “Not tonight.” Doc tightened his grip on Eli. “Nox, I know.” Jonas revved his engine once, a warning. Ridge did the same. His front tire angled like a bull lowering its horns.
The six men adjusted their formation, spreading across both flanks, moving like they’d rehearsed this dozens of times. No urgency, no fury, just execution. The drone hovered and fixed its camera. “Nox,” Wheeler murmured. “We need a breach, not a war.” Knox nodded. “Ridge, make a distraction.” “Jonas, you flank left.” Wheeler on me. “Doc, keep Eli low and tight.
” Eli looked up at him, voice tiny beneath the engines and threats. Are we going to die? Knox didn’t answer immediately. He knelt instead, touched the boy’s shoulder. Eli, Knox said. Look at me. The boy did. You see those men? Knox pointed to his crew. They don’t run from danger. They ride into it. Eli swallowed.
His breath shook, but he nodded. The tactical team lifted their weapons. Not guns, not yet, but restraint devices, prepared for a snatch, not a firefight. Knox dropped his visor. Go. Ridge tore right, his engine screaming. Jonas shot left, dropping smoke from a pouch on his belt. Wheeler shoved the driver to the ground and grabbed his bars.
Doc ducked low with Eli covering the boy’s head. The tactical team lunged forward. The drone dropped lower. The highway exploded into motion. Engines roaring, gravel flying, boots pounding asphalt. and Knox rode straight into the center of them. Knox didn’t aim for the men.
He aimed for the space between them, the one place where hesitation lived. The tactical line didn’t expect that. They expected fear, surrender, maybe a standoff. They didn’t expect a pack of bikers choosing forward over safety. Ridg’s bike roared past Knox’s left side, throwing gravel like shrapnel. Jonas cut a hard angle to the right, smoke trailing behind him and blooming into a low fog across the highway.
Wheeler closed in behind Knox, engine snarling like it was hungry. The kid strapped tight to Doc’s chest, curled into him, hands gripping leather. Doc leaned low, shielding Eli with his entire torso. The first tactical operator stepped forward, raising a restraint gun. Knox dropped his weight left, dragging the bike into a sudden lean.
The restraint round fired, a weighted cable slicing past his shoulder and clattering harmlessly onto the asphalt. Knox straightened the bike, eyes locked, heart quiet. He lived for seconds like this. He thrived in decisions made faster than breath. The operator recalibrated, raising the weapon again, but Rididge’s back tire slammed into the man’s shin just enough to break stance without breaking bones. The operator stumbled, narrowly avoiding the hard pavement.
Wheeler saw the stumble and dove off his bike mid roll, tackling the operator with the force of a falling tree. Jonas slid under the arm of another operator, dragging a cloud of smoke with him. The man coughed, swung blindly, hit nothing. Knox reached the center of the formation. Three operators remained in his path. The lead one grabbed a baton from his belt.
A telescopic model with a weighted core. He swung it down toward Knox’s handlebars. Knox lifted his elbow to block, but stopped halfway and did something no one expected. He break hard. The sudden stall threw the operator off balance. His baton hit empty air.
His boots slipped across the gravel and he fell forward, landing on his palms. Knox’s bike idled inches from his face. Knox didn’t hit him, didn’t run him over. That would have been easy, almost satisfying. But that wasn’t how this crew worked. behind them. Doc sprinted low across the pavement. Eli tucked against him. He didn’t look back.
Doc never wasted seconds he couldn’t afford. A second operator lunged for Doc. Wheeler intercepted him, shoulder-checking him into the van hard enough that the metal dented. Wheeler didn’t pause. He grabbed the man’s restraint gun off the pavement and threw it into the brush. The drone dipped lower, camera worring. “Jonas!” Knox barked. Jonas was already moving.
He snatched a length of chain from Rididge’s saddle bag, tossed to him mid-motion, and swung it upward. The chain hit the drone’s underside, jamming the spinning rotors. The drone spiraled, screaming as it toppled through branches and vanished in a burst of sparks. Ridge barked a dry laugh, one eye down, but the SUVs weren’t done. Doors slammed shut, engines revved.
The vehicles began repositioning, one pulling forward to cut off their north route, the other backing into the south lane. They were being boxed in again. Knox revved once, loud enough to get the crew’s attention. Formation, he shouted. The crew tightened instantly, instinctively. Wheeler at rear left, ridge up front for shielding. Jonas flanking right.
Doc centered with Eli. Knox leading. The operators regrouped too, forming a crescent around the bikers, weapons raised. Not lethal weapons, not yet, but precise ones meant to incapacitate and seize. A voice rose over the highway, the same tone as before. flat, professional, nearly bored. Stand down. Surrender the boy.
You are significantly outmatched. Knox reassembled himself in the center of the highway. Eli was breathing too fast. Doc was whispering something to him, grounding him, anchoring him. Knox spoke without turning around. Doc. Doc’s voice was low. He’s in panic shock. He won’t stay conscious long. Knox nodded once, then he looked at Ridge.
You see anything we can use? Rididge’s eyes scanned the edges of the woods, the dips in the highway, the slope where rain runoff carved small trenches. Ridge didn’t think in words. He thought in terrain. He pointed to the culvert great half a mile ahead. Drain tunnel, low clearance, bikes fit, SUVs don’t. Wheeler cracked a half smile. You want to ride blind into a drainage pipe? Ridge shrugged.
You got a better idea? Jonas wiped his nose. Blood. I vote pipe. The operators tightened formation. The SUV engines roared again. No time. Knox kicked his bike into gear. On my mark, he said. The operators raised their weapons, adjusting trajectory. Knox, Doc warned. Eli can’t take a hit. He won’t. Knox looked once at the boy.
Eli lifted his gaze, eyes wet, terrified, but locked on Knox. Knox said it quietly, so only Eli heard. You’re going home. Lie swallowed, barely nodded. The lead operator shouted, “Stand down!” Knox whispered. “Now!” He dropped his clutch. His bike launched forward. The crew exploded behind him. Operators sprinted. SUVs lunged. A restraint round fired, whistling past Wheeler’s ear. Ridge broke left, clipping an operator’s hip to slow him.
Jonas swerved, kicking up a smoke flare behind him. Doc kept Eli tucked beneath his arm, head low, breath steady. The crew reached the culvert grate, a rusted metal mesh over a storm tunnel. Ridge smashed his boot into the weak point, kicking the great free. It clanged onto the asphalt. Knox didn’t hesitate.
He rode straight into the dark. Ridge followed. Jonas ducked low and shot in. Doc lifted Eli tighter and disappeared into the tunnel’s mouth. Wheeler slid sideways and forced his bike through last. Behind them, the operators halted at the entrance. The tunnel too narrow to understanding. The darkness too absolute to track quickly.
The situation slipping out of their hands. Get flashlights. one shouted. But it didn’t matter because the bikers were already swallowed by the tunnel, engines echoing through a black throat of concrete and water. Eli buried his face against Doc’s chest, trembling. Doc whispered to him through the roar, “You’re okay. You’re okay. We’re here.” Knox didn’t speak.
He rode through the dark with one thought beating inside him like a second heartbeat. Not this boy. Not today. Not again. The drainage tunnel swallowed everything. Sound, light, certainty. What remained was the echo of engines and the cold slap of water spraying off spinning tires.
Knox lowered his head as the ceiling dropped to barely a meter above him. The tunnel walls tightened, forcing every rider to lean, crouch, control the throttle with the precision of a surgeon. Ridge was right. SUVs couldn’t follow here, but that didn’t mean the threat was gone.
Behind them, faint but clear, came the metallic clatter of boots reaching the tunnel’s edge. Voices shouted orders. Flashlight beams stabbed into the opening, fractured by dripping water. The tunnel curved left. Knox didn’t slow. He knew slowing now meant someone behind them, catching a glimpse of a shadow they could shoot toward. Doc rode huddled over Eli, who shook violently, arms locked around Doc’s vest.
Doc kept whispering through the roar, each word barely audible. Breathe. I’ve got you. Keep your head down, Eli’s fingers tightened. Wheeler muttered behind them. Feels like riding inside a damn coffin, Jonas replied, voice strained. Then shut up and ride.
Ridge, leading the pack behind Knox, pointed forward in the dim flicker of Knox’s rear light. Sharp right up ahead, Ridge called. Watch the dip. There’s runoff water. They hit the bend fast. The tunnel tilted downward sharply, and water pulled at the floor, splashing up in cold sheets. Knox’s back tire slipped for half a second, just a half, and he corrected the slide with instinct older than most people’s entire experience on the road. Behind him, Jonas wasn’t as lucky.
His tire hit algae along the concrete, skidding sideways. Wheeler reached out with one hand, grabbing Jonas’s jacket and yanking him upright before his bike toppled. Jonas spat, “Oo, you won. You owe me nothing.” Wheeler barked. “Ride.” Up ahead, the tunnel widened for a moment. enough space to breathe without scraping your knuckles on concrete.
Knox lifted his visor, letting in cold air that tasted like rust and old storms. Ridge? Knock said. How far does this run? Half mile, maybe more. It’ll spit us out near the creek bed. From there, we need high ground. Think they’ll follow above? Ridge wasn’t sure. You could hear it in his silence. Doc voice tense answered instead. They have comms. They’ll spread out.
They’ll try to get ahead. Eli stirred at the word they, his breath hitching. Doc tightened his hold. You’re safe, Eli. You hear me? Safe. The boy didn’t answer, but he didn’t collapse into panic either. He just held on. Ahead, Knock spotted light, faint flickering at the tunnel’s end. A square of pale gray. Dusk or night, he wasn’t sure anymore. Exit, Knock said.
Get ready. Ridge revved twice. Jonas shook water off his gloves. Wheeler cracked his neck. Doc steadied Eli. They burst into the open with a spray of water. The tunnel spat them out into a narrow drainage ditch carved between two slopes. The land was wild, uneven, punctured by brush and broken tree roots.
Above them, the sky was storm thick, the last remnants of daylight sinking into bruised clouds. Knox rolled to a stop under a cluster of trees, scanning the ridge line. Jonas dismounted. Think they’ll find the exit? Wheeler replied. They’re already looking for it. As if on Q, a distant horn blared, one short, one long, echoing across the valley. Ridge swore.
That’s their signal. They’re repositioning. Doc checked Eli again. The boy’s breathing was rapid, shallow, the panic twisting him into a tight coil. Hail. Doc started, then stopped, catching himself. This wasn’t Hail’s crew. This was Knox’s. Knox turned toward Doc. What’s wrong? He’s crashing again. Fears pushing him into shock. Is he conscious? Barely.
We need somewhere sheltered, somewhere quiet, and I need 10 minutes without anyone shooting at us. Ridge scanned the ridge line up the slope. There’s an old hunter’s lodge, abandoned. Seen it last season. Wheeler snorted. You trust your memory that far back? Ridg’s stare sharpened. You want to argue or save the kid? Wheeler shut up. Knox nodded. We move. He took Doc’s bike by the handlebar to steady the climb.
Jonas and Wheeler pushed from the rear. Ridge scouted ahead, scanning the surroundings with the instincts of a man who trusted terrain more than people. Halfway up the slope, Eli whispered something. Doc leaned close. What, kid? Say it again. Eli swallowed hard. They said They said if I scream, they’d take me where nobody comes back. Knox froze midstep. His voice was level, calm.
What else did they tell you, Eli? The boy hesitated. Then they said, “You’d never find the other kids.” Doc’s face drained. Wheeler clenched his jaw. Ridge’s eyes narrowed, scanning the trees with new meaning. Jonas muttered under his breath. “There are more.” Knox felt the weight of the entire night settle on his shoulders. He didn’t look shaken. He didn’t raise his voice.
He simply said quietly. We’re not leaving any kid behind. Not tonight. Not ever. As they reached the ridgetop, Ridge pointed forward. Lodge 100 yards. Stay low. They moved across the clearing. Quiet, deliberate. Knock spotted footprints near the lodge entrance. Fresh. Multiple sets. He raised his hand. Stop. Wheeler whispered.
They’re ahead of us. No. Ridge corrected, crouching low and brushing a bootprint. These prints are small, lightweight, not adults. Doc’s face twisted. Oh, God. Knox whispered. Eli. The boy trembled harder. There were others in the van before me. Knox steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. We’ll find them.
Then the sound came from inside the lodge. A small, terrified voice barely audible. Please help. Doc’s eyes widened. Jonas moved first, Wheeler second. Ridge circled wide to flank. Knox approached the door, every muscle ready. He put one hand on the handle, looked back at the crew. On three, one, two, three.
Knock shoved the door open. The lodge was dark, cold, abandoned, but not empty. Two children, a boy and a girl, huddled in the far corner, wrapped in a dirty blanket, eyes hollow, faces stre with dried tears. The girl gasped when she saw Knox. Are you the good guys? Knox didn’t answer right away.
He looked at Doc, Ridge, Wheeler, Jonas, and Eli, who stared at the other children with something deeper than fear. Something like recognition. Knox knelt slowly. “We’re the ones who showed up,” he said. Behind them, far off, but closing. SUV engines rumbled. The hunters were coming. And now the stakes had tripled. For a moment, no one moved.
The cabin’s stale air felt heavy, thick with the kind of silence that clings to places where fear has been living too long. Dust floated in narrow beams of moonlight leaking through broken boards. The two newly found kids stared back at the crew like animals, expecting the trap to snap shut again. Ridge scanned the corners, weapon drawn, checking shadows for movement. Jonas sealed the door quietly.
Wheeler moved to a window and peeked through a gap in the wooden planks. “Engenses are spreading,” Wheeler muttered. “One down the ridge road, one circling wide. They know this place.” Knox approached the children slowly, hands open, voice low. “What are your names?” The boy’s lips trembled. “Cal?” He looked about eight. The girl clutched his arm.
“May?” Seven, maybe younger, her face pale under layers of dirt. Doc knelt beside Eli, who stared at the new children with a quiet horror that made his shoulders shake. Knox asked gently. “How long were you here?” May whispered. “Since yesterday, or maybe longer.” “I lost counting.” Cal added. “They left us when they moved the others.” His voice cracked on the last word. Knox felt the night tilt on its axis.
“The others?” Jonas asked. Cal nodded. “There were four more. Two big kids, too small. He swallowed. They said the buyer was coming. May squeezed her eyes shut. Knox looked at Ridge. You see any tire tracks? Yeah, Ridge answered. Fresh ones heading deeper into the forest, vansized. Wheeler cursed under his breath.
So, the pipeline runs straight through here. Jonas exhaled sharply. We got to move all three of them and find the others. Doc stood, adjusting Eli against him. They won’t survive staying here. We need warmth, fluids, and a place I can set up a proper check. Knock scanned the room. It was barely a cabin.
Collapsing roof, cracked floorboards, a half-rotten table leaning against one wall. No heat, no cover, no safety. We take all three with us, Knox said. No splitting, no leaving. Wheeler raised an eyebrow. You sure? More kids means slower pace. Slower is fine, Knox replied. Losing them is not. Doc tightened his jaw. “Then we need a destination. The nearest warm shelter isn’t close.
” Ridge answered before Knox. Good. Flint Creek Station, three miles through the woods, Wheeler stared. That place still standing mostly. Roof half heat. Wood stove if it didn’t rot out. Wheeler sighed. Well, hell, better than freezing here. Jonas pressed his ear to the wall. They’re close. Footsteps up ridgeside. Three men.
Knox turned to May and Cal. Listen, he said softly. We’re leaving right now. You stay between us. You don’t run. You hear anything scary, you hold on to my jacket or docks. We’ll get you out. May nodded, tears streaking her cheeks. Cal asked, voice tiny. Will they chase us? Knox didn’t lie. Yes. Cal swallowed.
Will they catch us? Knox crouched down, met his eyes. “No,” he said, “because we aren’t letting them.” A faint crack sounded outside. The snap of a boot on a dry branch. Jonas lifted two fingers. Left side closing. Ridge extinguished the lamp in one swift motion. Darkness swallowed the cabin. Knox whispered, “Positions!” Doc gathered Eli, May, and Cal into the tight corner farthest from the entry. Wheeler moved to the right wall.
Jonas took the left. Ridge crouched near the back window. Knox positioned himself directly in front of the door. Outside, voices murmured, “Tracks here. Check inside. Lights were on.” Knox breathed slow. He didn’t start fights. He ended situations. A gloved hand touched the doororknob. Wheeler’s grip tightened on a broken table leg he’d repurposed as a club.
Jonas whispered, “Ready?” Knox raised his voice low and calm. “Don’t open that door.” A beat of stunned silence outside. Then the man behind the door said, “You’ve got something that doesn’t belong to you.” Knock stepped closer. “The only thing in this room that doesn’t belong is you.” The man outside chuckled, a humorless sound. Last warning: “Hand over the kids.
None of you walks out of here otherwise,” Ridge muttered. “They talk too much.” The door began to open. Knox didn’t wait. He kicked it inward, smashing it into the man’s face. The operative stumbled backward, enough for Jonas to lunge out, tackling him into the dirt. Two more men charged from the side.
Wheeler burst from the cabin, swinging the table leg hard across the first man’s jaw. The second swung a baton, catching Wheeler’s ribs, but Ridge was already there, slamming him into the cabin wall with a force that shook loose dust from the ceiling. Doc held the kids tight inside, shielding them with his whole body.
“Don’t look,” he whispered, pulling their heads against his chest. “Don’t look. Outside, Knox pinned the first operative with his knee, disarming him with a twist that cracked bone. The man groaned, rolling onto his side. But through the trees, another sound rose. Engines more than before. A convoy. Jonas hissed. “We need to move now.
” Knock stood, dragging one operative’s radio from his vest before tossing the man aside. “We go north,” he ordered. “Flint Creek Station.” Ridge nodded. “Trails tight. They’ll struggle with vehicles.” Good, Knock said. Wheeler, pick up Cal. Jonas, take May. Doc stays with Eli. Keep formation tight. Wheeler swung Cal onto his hip. Jonas lifted May with careful hands. Doc cradled Eli. Knox listened one last time to the forest. The convoy was coming fast.
Too fast. They’re done talking. Knox said. Ridge smirked. So are we. The crew slipped into the dark forest. Children held close, boots silent on the wet earth. behind them. The operatives regrouped, injured, furious, shouting orders. The hunt had truly begun, and Knox understood something as he ran through the trees. This stopped being a rescue. It became a war.
The forest swallowed them whole, not gently, not protectively. The pines were tall, jagged silhouettes against a storm-thick sky, their branches clawing at the crew as they pushed deeper into the darkness. Mud sucked at their boots. Roots rose like traps. The air felt tight with tension, the kind that comes before something breaks.
Knox led the way, his flashlight off, relying on memory and the faint silver glint of the trail whenever clouds shifted. Behind him, Ridge moved like he was born in forests. Jonas, breathing hard but steady, held May close. Wheeler carried Cal with one arm and used the other to clear branches. Doc kept Eli strapped to him, whispering steady breaths into the boy’s hair. Stay with me, kid,” Doc murmured.
“Match my breathing. Just match it.” Eli tried. His small fingers clutched Doc’s jacket, shaking hard. His breath stuttered against Doc’s chest. Ridge murmured, “They’re spreading. I hear two teams, left and right.” Knox never stopped moving. How far to the creek? Quarter mile, maybe less. Behind them, the night cracked with static. A radio. One of the operatives.
Wheeler froze. You still have that damn radio from earlier? Knox dug into his pocket, pulled out the device he ripped from the operative’s vest. A faint voice crackled through it. Unit 3, confirm. Tunnel exit located. Tracks heading north. Repeat. Heading north, Ridge smirked. They’re tracking our footprints, Jonas muttered. Good. That means they’re behind schedule.
Knox clicked the radio off and tossed it into the ravine beside them. Wheeler whispered. They’re closing fast. Knox replied, “Then we move faster.” The forest thickened, undergrowth rising like a tide. Jonas stumbled once, but kept May close. Wheeler’s ribs were bruised from the baton strike, his steps slightly off, but he didn’t complain.
Ridge carved the trail ahead with silent hand signals only Knox could interpret. “Then Eli spoke, the first word since the lodge,” he whispered. “I know this place,” Doc slowed. What do you mean? This forest, Eli said, voice trembling. They drove through here before when they moved the others. Knock stopped.
His boots sank into the soft earth. Eli, he said quietly. Are you sure? Eli nodded, eyes wide. They took us past a broken sign with an animal on it. A deer. Jonas lifted his head. I saw a sign like that coming in. Ridge confirmed with a slow nod. Trail marker. Old hunting route. Knox exhaled. Eli. Did they stop near it? Yes, Eli whispered.
That’s where they separated us. Some kids went one way, some went another. May tightened her grip on Jonas, trembling. Cal whispered. They took a girl named Sarah. She was crying. They put her in a different van. Doc closed his eyes for a moment, just one second, the weight of it pressing heavy on his breath. Knox looked at his crew. We’re following the hunting route. Ridge, lead.
Ridge nodded once, then slipped ahead like a shadow. Jonas whispered to May. Just hold on, sweetheart. Hold on. Wheeler murmured to Cal. You’re safe, little man. I got you. Doc held Eli even tighter. Knox followed Ridge, pushing through thorn brush, muscles burning with urgency. Then the forest changed. The sounds shifted.
The air grew still. Even the wind paused. Ridge raised a fist. Stop signal. Knox halted. Doc Wheeler. Jonas froze. Ridge whispered, barely audible. Flashlights ahead. Knox crouched behind a fallen tree, peering between branches. Through the pines, faint beams danced across the ground, methodical, searching.
Multiple sources, more than five, maybe eight. They moved with purpose, sweeping the trail, the brush, the space between trees. A voice carried through the forest. spread out. They have the kids. We recover or we terminate. Cal whimpered and buried his face against Wheeler. May hit her face in Jonas’s shoulder.
Eli pressed closer to Doc. Wheeler whispered. They’re too close. Knox’s eyes stayed cold. Steady. Ridge terrain. Creek ahead. If we cross our prince disappear in the water, Doc whispered. But the kids, we carry them, Knock said. Jonas exhaled. Then let’s move. They slipped off the trail and descended the slope carefully. Every step chosen, every sound measured.
Flashlights swept above them. Voices called to each other. The tactical team was fanning out wide, tightening the net. When they reached the creek, the water was freezing, mountain cold, running sharp over slick stones. Knock stepped into it first. The shock hit instantly, stealing breath. Wheeler muttered. This is going to suck.
Jonas smirked. Everything tonight sucks. Doc lifted Eli above the waterline and followed. The current pulled at their boots. Ridge navigated them along the shallow stretch, feet numb, legs burning. May whimpered when Jonas stepped into a deeper pocket, water splashing her legs. Cal clutched Wheeler like a lifeline. Suddenly, Ridge shoved Knox backward. Knox caught himself on a boulder, ready to strike.
Then he saw it. A deadfall trap. A massive log suspended by a frayed rope positioned over the trail they almost followed. One wrong step and the log would have swung down like a guillotine. Ridge whispered, “They set traps. They know this forest better than we do.” Knox felt his pulse tighten. “We stay in the water.
” They followed the creek for another hundred yards until Ridge motioned them toward a bank with thick brush cover. “Up here,” Ridge said. “This way. Quiet.” They climbed out of the creek, dripping cold, muscles shaking from exertion. The forest behind them lit up with flashlight beams. Tracks end at the creek, someone shouted. “Follow upstream.” “No, downstream. Spread out!” Knox whispered.
“Keep moving.” And then the forest opened into a clearing, small, sloped, half hidden under leaning pines. Ridge pointed silently. A shape stood at the far end, a cabin, no lights, silent, broken roof line. Flint Creek station. Wheeler exhaled. We made it. Jonas still holding May whispered. Doesn’t look like much.
Doc said, “It just needs to be warm and quiet.” Knox led them toward the door, boots squishing in wet moss. He reached the entrance, put his hand on the handle, and froze. The handle was warm, recently touched. Knox pulled his hand back slowly. Ridge whispered, “Someone’s inside.” Knox met his eyes. E, get ready. He pushed the door open with his boot. The hinges creaked softly.
The darkness inside wasn’t empty. Someone inhaled, shaky, frightened. Knox stepped forward, body tensed, and a soft voice broke the silence. Are you the ones who escaped? Knox’s jaw tightened. There was another child inside the station, a fourth. And he wasn’t alone. The voice came from the far corner of the cabin, thin, scared, but carrying something else, too. Something like disbelief.
Knox stepped inside first, one hand raised in a calming gesture, the other ready to move if anything in the dark shifted wrong. Ridge entered behind him, shoulders low, senses sharp as broken glass. Wheeler and Jonas flanked the kids at the doorway. Doc held Eli close. May and Cal pressed against his sides like shadows clinging to warmth.
Knox’s boots creaked on the warped floorboards as his eyes adjusted. A boy sat crouched beside the old wood stove. Skinny, pale, about 10, wrapped in a dirty jacket two sizes too large. One knee scraped raw, hands trembling so hard he kept tucking them under his thighs to hide it. But it wasn’t the boy that made Knox freeze. It was the faint movement behind him. Ridge whispered, “There’s someone else.
” Knox’s voice stayed steady. Step into the light. At first, nothing happened. Then, slow, deliberate, a man stepped out from the shadows, unarmed, breathing hard, clothes torn, one side of his face bruised deep purple. He raised both hands slowly. “I’m not with them,” he said. “I swear it.” Wheeler snorted.
“Yeah, everyone says that.” The man shook his head, swallowing. “They took my son.” Knox’s eyes flicked to the boy by the stove. “Yours?” Knox asked. The man nodded. “Yes, his name’s Trevor. They grabbed us off the highway, took him first, used me as leverage.” Ridge narrowed his eyes.
“How’d you get away?” Trevor answered before his father could. “He didn’t,” the boy’s voice trembled. “They dumped him here after he tried to fight back. said they’d come for both of us once they finished moving the other kids. Doc adjusted Eli, who was shivering from cold in shock. Jonas muttered, “So this place was a holding spot.” Wheeler scanned the room.
“Anyone else inside? Anyone hiding?” The man shook his head. “No, just us. You hear them outside?” Knox listened. Engines, voices, movement through the brush, closing in, fanning out, tightening their circle. He exhaled. Yeah, they’re pushing hard. Trevor’s father lowered his hands a little. If you’re running, take me with you, please.
My boy hasn’t slept since they grabbed him. Trevor whispered. Dad, don’t let them take me again. That did something to Knox. A small shift, a tightening of muscle around his jaw. He looked at Ridge. Safe to bring them. Ridge nodded once. They’re not armed. And the kids shaking out of his skin. Knox turned to the father. What’s your name? Shawn.
Shawn. We’re moving the kids to get them warm and stable. You come, but you do exactly what I say. Shawn nodded so fast he nearly fell. I will. I swear. Knox turned toward the stove. You get that running earlier? Shawn shook his head. No fuel. The woods soaked. Jonas checked the back door. They’re close. Maybe a hundred yards.
Doc’s hands steadied on Eli. We can’t stay here. Eli’s shaking too hard. May and Cal need heat, not another cold cabin. Wheeler shifted Cal to his other arm. They’ll surround this place if we wait. Ridge pointed through a cracked window toward a narrow ravine behind the cabin. Backtrail, Ridge whispered.
Steep drop, slick rock. They won’t expect kids to be moved down it. Knox nodded. We go now. All lights off. No noise. Shawn gathered Trevor into his arms. Jonas grabbed May. Wheeler grabbed Cal. Doc carried Eli. Ridge led them out through a side door so old it practically crumbled on its hinges. As they slipped into the trees, Knox took the rear, watching, listening.
The forest was alive with predators. Voices rose behind them. They were here. Look for heat signatures. Fan out. They can’t be far. Shawn froze at the sound. Knox whispered, “Keep moving.” They reached the ravine. A narrow shoot of slick stone and mosscovered logs.
The drop wasn’t sheer, but it was steep enough that one misstep could send someone sliding 30 ft into boulders. Wheeler stared down into the darkness. You sure about this, Ridge? Ridge replied simply, “No, but it’s our only shot.” Jonas set May against his side and started slowly descending backward, boots gripping roots. Doc whispered to Eli, “Close your eyes. Lean into me.
” Eli obeyed. Trevor clung to his father like he feared gravity as much as the men hunting them. Knock started down last, his hand brushing the hilt of the knife on his belt. Rain began to fall. Not hard, not heavy, but enough. Enough to slick the stone. Enough to make the trail harder. Enough to tell Knox the night wasn’t finished.
Halfway down the ravine, May slipped. Jonas reacted instantly, wedging his foot against a rock and catching her before she tumbled. You’re okay,” he said softly, heart pounding. “You’re safe.” She nodded, trying not to cry. Cal whimpered as Wheeler braced him tighter. Trevor held on to Shawn with white knuckles. Knox watched them all move. One line of fragile hope clinging to the forest’s ribs.
Then, Ridge hissed, “Freeze!” Everyone stopped midstep. Flashlights swept across the top of the ravine. Voices drifted down. They went this way. Check for heat signatures lower. They can’t get far. Knox pressed himself into the rock wall, breathing slow. Ridge moved silently along the ledge, keeping his body between the children and the light.
Jonas held May so tight she buried her face in his chest. Doc shielded Eli with both arms. Wheeler crouched over Cal, whispering, “You’re good, little buddy. You’re good.” Trevor pressed into Shawn, shaking. The lights passed. Footsteps moved on. Slowly, Ridge signaled, “Move!” They descended the last stretch of the ravine and reached a narrow forest floor, low, mossy, sheltered by fallen trees.
Knox whispered, “Ridge? Which way?” Ridge pointed north. There’s an old service road half a mile that direction leads around the mountain. We take it to Flint Creek. That station is safer. Wheeler exhaled. Finally, Ridge added, “But we got to hurry. They’re sweeping down from the ridge and they have dogs. May trembled. Cal whispered.
Dogs. Shaun’s eyes went hollow. We heard them before. They use them on kids. Eli buried his face deeper into Doc. Knox didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. We outrun the dogs, he said. We outrun the men and we don’t lose a single kid tonight. Jonas nodded. We move. But then a noise split the forest.
A low rising hum. Mechanical, not an engine, not a drone. Ridge stiffened. Knox, Ridge whispered. Do you hear that? The humming grew. Steady, deep, unnatural. Knox’s eyes narrowed into the dark. That’s not a drone, he stepped forward. That’s a generator. Wheeler cursed. What the hell would they need a generator for in the middle of the forest? Ridge turned pale.
to power whatever they built out here. Knox felt the truth hit him like a punch. The pipeline had infrastructure hidden, mobile, close, and if the kids were moved along this route, Knox whispered. They’re not just transporting kids. He looked into the trees. They’re holding them. The hum deepened, vibrating through the soil under their boots.
Steady, controlled, industrial, not the wild rattle of a generator dragged into the woods. This was larger, built in, fixed. Knox crouched low, the rain mingling with the sweat on his forehead. He motioned for the crew to tighten around the children. Doc adjusted Eli, who leaned weakly against him. Trevor clung to Shawn. May slid her small hand into Jonas’s vest.
Cal held Wheeler’s sleeve like a rope. Ridge moved ahead in a half crawl, body gliding through brush like it was part of him. Knox followed close, stepping only where Ridge stepped. Wheeler and Jonas took the flanks. Doc kept the kids in the middle, silent but purposeful. The forest opened gradually as they pushed forward, the hum growing louder.
The scent changed, too. No longer pine and damp earth, a faint metallic tang, oil, fuel, something sterile and wrong. Ridge raised his fist again. Stop. Knox eased forward beside him. Through a screen of ferns and roots, he saw it. A structure low, rectangular, disguised with branches and canvas like a hunting cabin without any of the life. Steel paneling half buried under moss.
A portable fence surrounding it barely visible in the dark. Inside, silhouettes moved. Figures, flashlights, boxes being carried, a table, a chair, and a cage, a small one. May gasped. A tiny sound quickly smothered by Jonas’s hand. Knox’s breath tightened, and it wasn’t anger. It was something deeper, something colder, a wordless hunger to understand what exactly he was looking at and to tear it apart.
Ridge whispered beside him. That’s not a holding pen. It’s a staging point. Wheeler’s jaw clenched. For what? Ridge didn’t look away. For whatever comes next, Shawn trembled behind them. That’s where they took the kids earlier, he whispered. Trevor heard the screaming. Trevor nodded, pressing into his father. They said the buyer checks them here before the next van picks them up.
Doc held Eli closer. May hit her face. Cal bit his lip until he tasted blood. Knox exhaled slowly. We can’t leave that place standing. Wheeler murmured. We can’t hit it either. Not with the kids, Ridge added. There’s too many inside. Four men, maybe five. Another two outside and a dog. Jonas asked. Then what? We sneak around it. Knock studied the terrain.
The portable fence had an opening on the backside. The hum came from a generator platform built under a tarp. And the cage. The cage sat too close to the structure like it had been used recently. There were small shadows inside the cabin. Blankets, maybe clothes, evidence of someone held here. Knox made a decision. Fast, quiet, absolute. We go around, he said.
Stay low. No noise, no confrontations. The kids come first. Doc nodded immediately, but Jonas stayed tense. What if there are more kids inside? Knox’s jaw tightened. We survive this hour, then we get reinforcements, then we come back, Ridge murmured. We can’t save anyone if we get surrounded now.
Knox shot him a brief glance. He wasn’t arguing. He was judging himself. They moved slowly, one body after another, through ferns wet with rain under fallen logs slick with moss. Ridge led them around the perimeter, keeping eyes on the guard’s patterns. The dog barked once, low warning, snapping at the air, but a handler quieted it with a short command. Wheeler whispered.
If that dog catches Eli’s scent, Doc stiffened, “I know,” Ridge signaled with two fingers. “Wait!” A guard walked past them, boots heavy, flashlight flicking across the fence line. The light slid over Rididge’s boots, but didn’t stop. The guard kept moving, humming under his breath. casual, confident, safe in the power he thought he owned.
Knox’s hand tightened around the knife at his belt. The flashlight moved on. Ridge signaled again. Go. They slipped behind a line of brush 3 ft from the fence. The hum of the generator seemed louder here, almost pulsing like blood through a vein. Knox hated it. Hated the idea of a machine meant to power suffering.
May stumbled, a twig snapping under her shoe. Jonas caught her quickly, whispering, “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re okay.” But the dog’s ears shot up, a growl, a sharp tug on the leash. The handler turned. Ridge reacted instantly, flattening himself against the mud, motioning everyone to freeze. The dog sniffed the air, sniffed again, growled deeper. The handler pulled him back. “What? What is it?” the dog whined, pulling toward the trees.
Knox’s heart hammered silently. Then a voice from inside the cabin, “Bring the dog back in. We’re moving the last crate.” The handler swore and tugged the dog away. Ridge exhaled quietly. Knox didn’t because inside, through the thin canvas walls, they heard something else. A weak, muffled cry. A child’s cry.
May’s hand tightened into a fist. Cal’s breath hitched. Eli whispered, “Sarah.” Doc looked at Knock as not questioning, but demanding with his eyes, but Knox didn’t flinch. “We get our kids to safety first,” he said. His voice didn’t crack, didn’t falter, didn’t soften. Jonas swallowed hard.
“So, we leave, whoever that is.” Knox’s jaw locked. He said nothing for five long seconds, then we come back. Ridge nodded. Wheeler closed his eyes, jaw grinding. Doc held Eli, May, Cal, and Trevor tighter. They moved again, another 20 yards across wet pine needles, another 10 behind an old fallen spruce.
Then they slipped down a slope, using the noise of the generator to cover their steps. Once they were far enough that the hum softened into a background drone, Ridge straightened. We’ve got 5 minutes until they sweep the perimeter again, Shawn whispered, trembling. What if they already moved the other children? Knox answered quietly. Then we hunt the vans. Wheeler smirked without humor. We’re outnumbered, outgunned, freezing, and carrying five kids. Six.
Jonas corrected, nodding at Shawn. Shawn blinked. I’m not a kid. Jonas shrugged. You’re scared. Counts enough. Knox checked the sky. Clouds shifting, moonlight breaking, and fractured silver pieces. Ridge? Knock said. Distance to the old service road? Half mile. Maybe less if we cut through the cedar line. Doc breathed relief. Good. Eli’s losing body heat.
He needs fire, blankets, real warmth. Knox nodded. Then they heard it. Not from the camp behind, not from the ridge above, but from ahead. Engines, not SUVs, not tactical motorcycles. Ridge froze. Wheeler stiffened. Jonas tilted his head. Doc murmured. That’s not them. Knock straightened. Those engines, that sound, low, dirty, familiar. A biker crew, but not theirs,” Ridge whispered.
“You expecting anyone?” “No,” Knock said quietly. The motors got louder, closer, then headlights cut through the trees. Three bikes rolling slow, deliberate, forming a line at the far edge of the cedar grove. The kids stiffened. Shawn stepped back. Wheeler raised his wrench. Jonas reached for his knife. Doc shielded Eli.
Knox stared into the light, recognizing the silhouettes. He breathed one word. Reavers. Ridge cursed under his breath. Jonas muttered. We’re dead. Wheeler growled. They’ll take the kids and sell them before the suits even get here. The three bikes rolled to a stop. Engines idled. The largest rider dismounted. Boots sinking into the mud.
Helmet still on. He lifted a hand. Knox, the man said. Been a long time. Knox’s face didn’t move. Not long enough. The man stepped forward a single pace. You’ve got something that belongs to us. Knox didn’t blink. No, he said. You’re wrong. The man tilted his helmet upward. Under the visor, a scar down his cheek cut like a riverbed.
“Kid,” he said softly, almost kindly. “You should have stayed out of this road.” The Reavers didn’t move, didn’t posture, didn’t rev their engines like they used to when picking fights with drunk miners outside roadside bars. No, this was different. Measured, controlled, intentional, which made it worse. The man with the scar, Rook, stood in the mud like he’d been waiting for Knox all night.
Rain gathered on his helmet and slid down the ridge of the dark visor, dripping into a silent puddle at his boots. Behind him, two more Reavers sat a stride their bikes, hands resting casually near their belts. Not threatening, not relaxed, a quiet middle that trained men to notice. Ridge whispered. “We don’t have the numbers,” Wheeler muttered.
“We don’t have the time,” Jonas added. “And we sure as hell don’t have the luck.” Knock stepped forward, placing himself between the kids and Rook. Doc tightened his hold around Eli, May, Cal, Trevor. Shawn stood back, torn between fear and desperate hope that someone, anyone, wasn’t here to hurt them. “Nox’s voice came low, steady.” “This road’s not yours tonight, Rook.” Rook chuckled softly.
Everything east of Flint Creek is ours tonight. Knox didn’t flinch. You’re running with the pipeline. Rook tilted his head. You think those men in black vests pay us? No. They need muscle familiar with terrain. They need quiet movers. They need shadows on wheels. We just do the driving. Jonas spat. You’re hauling kids. Rook’s reply was a tired shrug. Cargo ain’t our business, brother. Someone pays. We ride.
Knox’s voice sharpened. How far are you willing to bend, Rook? Rook took one slow step forward. You’ve always been soft, he said. Soft about kids. Soft about the past. Soft about that girl you couldn’t save. Knox moved before the breath finished. Ridge grabbed his arm instantly. Knox, don’t.
Knox stopped, but only because Rididge’s fingers dug into bone. Rook laughed once quietly. There he is. The one man I knew would eventually stand in my way. Wheeler moved closer to Knox. We’re burning daylight. We don’t have Doc whispered. Keep your head, Knox. Eli’s breathing is slipping again. Cal whimpered. May clung tighter to Jonas.
Eli buried his face in Doc’s jacket. Rook watched the kids with an unreadable stillness. We’re taking them, he said. Wheeler barked. Over my dead? Knox raised a hand, stopping him. Why? Knox asked. Rook. Orders. Rook replied. Orders from who? Rook didn’t answer. Which was the answer. They weren’t independent tonight. They were working for whoever ran the pipeline.
Knox lowered his voice. Rook, do you know what they do to them? Rook hesitated. A half second flicker, almost invisible, but Knox caught it. Rook said, “I know enough.” Knox stepped forward until only 3 ft separated them. “You’re a lot of things,” Knox said softly. “But you were never a man who’d stand by while kids screamed.
” Rook didn’t blink, but his jaw tightened. Ridge watched the exchange with sharp eyes. “Nox, you’re rolling dice on a man who cut your throat once,” Wheeler muttered. “Half inch more and none of us would have met you.” Jonas growled. “And now you want to have a therapy session?” Rook smirked. “You brought the whole choir tonight.
” Knox spoke again, ignoring them. “You can walk away right now. No blood, no orders broken, no noise.” Rook shook his head. “You know I can’t.” Knock said. “Then don’t walk away.” Rook paused. “What?” Knox stepped closer. “Help us.” Wheeler stiffened. Jonas whispered. “Are you out of your mind?” But Knox didn’t look back. “You know what’s happening,” Knox said. “You know what’s in those crates.
You know what this road is being used for. And you know once they’re done with the kids, they’ll bury the men who drove them.” Rook stayed still. Knox pressed harder. “You think they’ll let you walk? You think you’re not a loose end?” He pointed to the woods.
You hear that hum? That’s not a generator for coffee and lights. That’s an operation moving real product. When they’re done with it, they’ll wipe every man who ever touched the pipeline. Ridge whispered to Wheeler. He’s not wrong. Wheeler muttered. Doesn’t mean Rook cares. Knox raised his voice again, not angry. Heavy. I’m giving you a way out. Rook stared at him. Then he took off his helmet. The rain hit his scarred face, running down the gash across his cheek.
His eyes, colder than the storm, harder than the forest floor, locked onto Knox. “You asking me to betray three clubs,” Rook said. “And a contract that pays more than any job this year.” “I’m asking you,” Knox replied. “To choose not being a monster.” “Silence!” Ridge shifted, ready for a fight. Jonas adjusted May on his hip, knife still hidden in his hand.
Doc checked Eli’s pulse again, whispering, “Stay with me, kid.” Wheeler’s fingers tightened around Cal. Trevor buried his face into Shaun’s coat. Rook looked at all of it. Every shiver, every bruise, every terrified child, and his jaw finally unclenched. He walked back to his bike, lifted one side of the saddle bag, and pulled out a small device, black with a single antenna. He tossed it to Knox. It landed in the mud at Knox’s boots.
“What is it?” Jonas asked. Rook answered. A repeater signal booster. Whoever’s after you is tracking every radio transmission in the valley. That thing gives them your exact coordinates. Knock stared at it. You were baiting them to us. Rook nodded. Yeah, I was. Wheeler took a step forward, rage sharp in his eyes. Ridge caught him.
Rook continued wiping rain from his face. But I didn’t expect to see kids. His voice shifted lower, almost human. And I didn’t expect you, Knox. Knox didn’t move. Rook lifted his chin toward the device. Destroy it now. Knox stomped it under his boot. The crack echoed in the trees. The reavers behind Rook shifted, uncertain. Rook turned back to Knox.
You didn’t hear this from me, he said. There’s a transport hub 2 miles ahead. They’re prepping the kids they already took. You want to save them? He gestured toward the forest. That’s where you go. Ridge hissed. Why help us? Rook put his helmet back on. Because I’ve done bad things, he said, and that he pointed at the kids ain’t going to be one of them.
Knox stared at him. Rook stared back. Then he revved his engine. Run, Knox, Rook said. Because the men behind me, his voice dropped into a warning. They won’t hesitate. The Reavers rode off, engines cutting through the forest like thunder, leaving Knox and his crew in the mud, alone, cold, carrying six children and with two miles to go until the transport hub.
Doc said quietly. Knox, Eli’s fading. Knox nodded. Then we move. He stepped forward into the dark, rain running down his face like another kind of burden. No hesitation, no fear, just decision. We finish this,” Knox said. “Tonight.” Rain threaded through the trees in fine cold needles as Nox led the crew deeper into the forest.
Every drop carried weight now. Every sound mattered. They had 2 miles to reach the transport hub Rook warned them about. 2 mi with six children, one man half broken, and a crew who hadn’t slept, eaten, or breathed easy since the first scream on the highway. Knox didn’t show the exhaustion pulling at his bones. He moved like the storm itself.
Quiet, inevitable, forward. Ridge walked beside him, eyes scanning the terrain the way a sniper reads a battlefield. Jonas carried May, whose head lay on his shoulder, her breath soft but steady. Wheeler kept Cal close, nudging him whenever the boy’s steps wavered.
Doc held Eli, who was growing weaker by the minute, his skin pale under the streaks of rain. Trevor clung to Shawn, both shivering, both terrified. Knock slowed and turned to Doc. How’s Eli? Doc bit back the truth but couldn’t hide all of it. He’s cold, dehydrated, and his pulse is a thread. He’s not crashing yet, but we’re close. Eli stirred weakly. Misari, I’m slowing you down.
Knox crouched in front of him, rain dripping off the brim of his jacket. Look at me, Eli. Eli tried, his eyelids fluttered. You’re not slowing us down, Knox said. You are why we’re moving. Eli nodded barely. Wheeler whispered. I hear engines far off. They’re shifting positions. Ridge lifted his chin. They’re coming from behind.
Reavers must have diverted them. Jonas frowned. Why help us then send the wolves to our backs? Knox answered. Because they need the pipeline distracted. They need us to draw the heat. Shawn spoke, voice breaking. So we’re bait. Knox didn’t sugarcoat. No, we’re a problem they didn’t plan for. That makes us dangerous.
Behind them, thunder rolled, not from the sky, but from engines hunting them through the woods. Knock signaled for silence and moved forward again. The forest thickened. The hum they heard earlier faded with distance. Now new sounds took its place.
Metallic clinks, the faint grind of machinery, and voices soft at first, then clearer. Jonas paused. You hear that? Wheeler crouched. That’s yelling. Kids,” Ridge whispered. “No, adults giving orders.” Knox motioned them low. They crawled forward through brambles and moss until Ridge raised a hand. “Stop.” Before them, through a break in the trees, the forest opened into a clearing, and there it stood, the transport hub.
Not a building, not a shack, but a cluster of vehicles and equipment arranged like a field outpost. Three white cargo vans, two black SUVs, a larger truck with reinforced panels, flood lights, dimmed but ready. Tables covered with clipboards, blankets, bottles, restraints, and cages. Five of them, three filled, two empty.
Inside the filled cages, children quiet, still, eyes hollow. May buried her face in Jonas’s chest. Cal froze, one hand gripping Wheeler. Trevor trembled violently. Shawn pulled him close. Doc’s body shook with restrained fury. Ridge went cold. Jonas exhaled slowly like he might shatter. Knox didn’t move for a long moment. Then ow many guards, he asked. Ridge counted. Seven men. Maybe eight. One dog. Wheeler added.
The SUVs are warm. They’re prepping to move. Jonas whispered. We can’t hit them headon. Not with the kids. Knox nodded. We’re not fighting. We’re splitting them. Doc blinked. What? Knox pointed. Storm’s coming. They’ll be watching the eastern tree line. They expect hunters. They expect the reavers. They expect police. Ridge understood first. They don’t expect anyone from the creek.
Knox nodded. We come from below. Mud, wet ground, no sound. Jonas whispered. What about the kids? They can’t climb another ravine. No, no said. They won’t. He turned toward Doc, Jonas, and Wheeler. You stay here. Keep the kids down. Quiet. Safe. Shawn panicked. You’re leaving us? Knox shook his head. We’re not leaving. We’re clearing the way. Ridge straightened.
You’re going in with just me? Knox nodded. Wheeler looked at him like he’d lost his mind. Jonas hissed. Two men against eight. Knox replied calm. They won’t see us coming. Doc stepped forward jaw tight. If you fall, we won’t. Knock said. Doc’s voice cracked. And if you do, Knox didn’t blink. You take them and run. You run until your legs break. You run until the kids fall asleep safe.
Eli whimpered, clutching Doc’s shirt. Knox knelt next to him. Eli. Knox murmured. You hear those voices? The boy nodded. We’re going to shut them up, and when you wake up warm, you’re going to be with people who don’t let anything hurt you again. Eli whispered. promise. Knox didn’t speak promises he didn’t mean. I’ll keep you alive, he said. That’s the only promise you need. Knox stood.
He and Ridge slipped off their jackets, leaving only gear they could move silently in. Rain slicked their shirts. Mud coated their boots. Ridge smeared dirt across his face to cut the shine. Knox took a handful of soil and did the same. Wheeler whispered, “This is suicide.” Knox replied, “No, this is math.
” What math? Ridge asked. Knox nodded toward the camp. They can’t shoot near the cages. They need the product intact. Jonas swore under his breath. He hated how right Knox was. Wheeler whispered, “How do you want to start?” Knox answered without hesitation. “We cut the lights.” Ridge smiled a hard, thin smile. “Good.” Knox turned back to the crew. “Once lights go out, get ready.
When you hear my whistle, move the kids fast straight across. No talking. Doc nodded, gripping Eli. Wheeler exhaled. Knox, don’t die. Not tonight, Knox said. Ridge added, “If Knox dies, I’m leaving him there.” Knox didn’t even blink. Fair. They moved out. Ghosts in the rain, crawling on bellies through mud, sliding behind fallen logs, skirting puddles, avoiding broken branches, hugging roots. They reached the generator. A rusted metal box halfcovered with tarp.
A guard smoked nearby. Bored. His back turned. Knox motioned. Ridge flanked left. Knox flanked right. A flash of movement. A quiet thump. One man down. Unconscious. Silent. Knox ripped the generator’s fuel line. Ridge severed the auxiliary cable. The lights flickered. Knox whispered, “3 2 1.” The entire hub went black. Shouts. Chaos. The dog barked.
Flashlights scrambled. Children cried inside the cages. Knox and Ridge slipped deeper into the dark, moving toward the cages like wraiths. And behind them, Jonas whispered, “Move!” Doc picked up Eli and ran. Wheeler lifted Cal. Shawn dragged Trevor. Jonas carried May through the dark, through the mud, through the storm, straight into the open, toward the cages, toward the danger, toward the only chance they had.
Knox’s voice carried through the darkness. Ridge, left cage. I’ve got right. Ridge answered with a low whistle. And then a gun clicked. Close. Too close. Knox froze. A flashlight snapped on, illuminating his face. A guard whispered. You’re not one of ours. Knox’s jaw tightened. No, he said softly. I’m the one ending yours.
The flashlight burned white against the night, cutting Knox’s vision into a sharp, narrowing tunnel. Rain fell in thin needles, glenning in the beam. Behind the guard’s silhouette, the dark shapes of cages flickered in and out of view. Three children huddled inside, too scared to scream. Knox’s fingers twitched near his belt. The guard cocked the hammer with a soft mechanical click.
“Hands where I can see them,” he said. Knox didn’t raise them. Instead, he lowered his shoulders just slightly, the way a man does before he moves faster than his own fear. Ridge whispered somewhere in the dark. Two more on your right. Don’t do anything stupid. Too late. The guard stepped closer.
You’re done. Whoever you think you are. Knox moved. Not forward. Not sideways. Down. He dropped into the mud, sweeping his boot under the guard’s legs, hooking his heel behind the man’s ankle. The guard toppled with a grunt. Knox caught his wrist midfall, twisting until the weapon pointed skyward.
Rain splattered across both their faces as Knox slammed the guard’s head into the mud just hard enough to drop him without sound. Another flashlight beam sliced through the trees. “Someone over there.” Knox darted behind a generator casing as two guards approached. Guns raised, scanning the dark. Ridge emerged behind them like a ghost. One hit, two hits, both down.
Dropped into the mud like their strings had been cut. “Three more by the van,” Ridge whispered. “Two by the cages, dog still loose.” Knox’s jaw tightened. We go for the cages first. In the clearing, chaos spread like wildfire. Voices shouted, “Lights are out. Where’s the backup generator? Check the cages.
The kids. Check the kids.” The rain masked the crew’s footsteps. The mud swallowed sound, and the dark made the world small and dangerous. Knox crawled beneath the closest cage, lifting one corner with his shoulder. The metal groaned loud enough to make him freeze. A flashlight swept across the ground 3 ft away.
Inside the cage, a child whimpered softly. Knox whispered, barely audible. Stay quiet. He slid the bolt cutter from his belt and clamped down on the lock. The steel snapped with a muted crack. He pushed the cage door open an inch. A small face peered back. A boy about five shaking violently. Knox reached out his hand. “We’re getting you out,” he whispered. The boy didn’t move at first, and too scared, too gone.
Then slowly, he crawled forward into Knox’s arms. Knox tucked him close, shielding him from the rain. One cage down. Ridg’s voice hissed. Knox, incoming 2:00. Knox ducked low just as a guard swept his light across the cage. The beam passed inches above Knox’s head. “The locks broken!” the guard shouted.
“Someone’s here!” Before Knox could move, the dog barked close, furious, teeth snapping, paws pounding the mud. A handler’s voice echoed behind it. Track him. The dog lunged toward Knox’s scent, but something moved faster. Jonas exploded from the treeine, scooping May with one arm as he hurled a chunk of wood with the other. The log hit the dog mid-sprint, knocking it sideways. The handler swore and ran after it.
Ridge hissed. Nice throw. Jonas whispered back, “Shut up and keep cutting locks.” Knox passed the rescued boy to Jonas. “Get him back to Doc.” Jonas nodded and vanished into the dark. Knox moved to the next cage. This lock was heavier, reinforced, not built for transport, built for holding. The rain made the metal slick. He braced the cutter and bit down harder. Snap.
He swung the door open. Inside were two children, twins maybe, holding hands, eyes wide as stars. One whispered, “Are you angels?” Knox swallowed something heavy. “No,” he said. “Just people who showed up.” Ridge grabbed one child while Knox lifted the other. Mud splashed up their legs as they sprinted back into cover. Behind them, Wheeler’s voice cut through the storm. Knox, right side.
Two guards rushed from behind a van, aiming low. Knox threw himself in front of the twins, spinning his body to shield them. A stun round snapped past his head, slamming into a tree trunk and crackling with electric discharge. Ridge tackled one guard from behind. Wheeler caught the other with a wrench swung like a hammer, dropping him hard.
Knox shoved the twins toward the brush. Run to Doc. Don’t stop. The kids disappeared into the foliage, swallowed by safety. One cage left, the smallest. The lock rusted, but intact. Knox felt the weight of time pressing on his spine. He braced the cutter. Rain splashed. Voices shouted. Flashlights converged. Ridge snapped. Hurry. Knox gripped the handles, pulled. Metal screamed.
The lock broke. Inside the cage was a tiny girl, no older than four, curled in on herself like a wounded animal. Bare feet blew from cold, lips trembling. She didn’t lift her head. Knocks reached toward her. Sweetheart, it’s over. She didn’t move. The thunder of engines rose behind them. Louder, closer. The Reaver’s enemies, the pipeline crew, the men hunting them all night.
Ridge looked at Knox. They’re coming. Knox nodded. Take her, he whispered. Ridge lifted the girl gently and wrapped her inside his jacket. Knox scanned the clearing. Guards down, cages open, chaos spreading, but they weren’t safe yet. Doc’s voice cut through the dark. Knox, Eli’s out. We need to move. Knox felt something crack open inside him. Ridge, get the kids across the creek. Wheeler. Jonas, flank them. I’ll cover the rear.
Ridge didn’t argue. The crew ran. May held by Jonas. Cal in Wheeler’s arms. The rescued children carried by Ridge and Shawn. Doc clutched Eli, whose head lulled against his chest, breath thin. Knox stepped into the center of the camp. Rain streaming down his face, surrounded by fallen guards, broken lights, open cages.
He whistled once, sharp, piercing, a signal, a declaration, a warning. And from the forest, another whistle answered. Jonas. They’d reached the crossing. Knox turned to run, but a voice cut through the storm. Knox hail. He stopped. Slowly turned. A man stepped out of the dark. Not a guard, not a reaver, not a stray. A commander, black coat, gloves, earpiece. A man with authority carved into every motion.
The one giving orders, the one controlling the pipeline. He lifted a pistol, aimed square at Knox. You just ruined a very expensive operation, the commander said. And you’re not leaving this forest alive. Knox didn’t blink. Come stop me,” he said. The commander smiled once, thin, sharp, and pulled the trigger. The gunshot cracked through the clearing like a split in the sky. Knox didn’t feel pain.
Not at first, just the pressure of air shifting beside his cheek as the bullet tore past him and punched into the steel van behind him. Sparks shot off the metal. Rain hissed against the hot impact. The commander adjusted his aim, calm, certain, like Knox was already a memory. Knox didn’t give him a second shot.
He dove behind the generator casing, rolling through mud, grabbing the fallen guard’s baton on the way. Another shot rang out closer, clipping the edge of the casing, sending splinters of metal into Knox’s shoulder. The commander’s voice echoed, “You can’t hide. You’re outnumbered, outgunned, out of time.” Knox rose just enough to see the man’s silhouette, the pistol extended, arm steady. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t angry.
He was a professional closing a case file. Knox inhaled once. Rain filled his lungs like cold smoke. Then he ran. Not away from the commander, toward him. The man fired twice. One round splintered a wooden crate. The other grazed Knox’s ribs, hot pain ripping through him. But Knox didn’t stop. Mud sprayed behind him as he sprinted through the dark, closing the distance.
The commander tried to recalibrate, but Knox hit him like a bull, driving his shoulder into the man’s chest and slamming him into the side of the van. The pistol dropped. Both men hit the mud. The commander recovered quickly, too quickly, and slammed his elbow into Knox’s face. Knox tasted blood, metallic and sharp.
The commander grabbed Knox’s collar, growling, “You think you’re rescuing them? You’re just delaying the inevitable.” Knox slammed his forehead into the man’s nose. The commander grunted, grip loosening. Knox shoved him away. Both men scrambling to their feet in the rain. Behind them, chaos still raged. Shouts, flashlights, engines, Wheeler yelling directions, Jonas calling names. Doc shouting for help as Eli’s breath weakened.
The forest was a battlefield. Knox didn’t have time for a duel. The commander lunged with a knife. Knox caught his wrist twisted, felt tendons strain. The blade dropped into the mud. The commander drove a knee into Knox’s ribs. Knox answered with an elbow to the jaw, forcing the man backward against the van. They grappled violently.
No grace, no rhythm, just survival. The commander spat blood. You don’t understand what’s coming. There’s more than this forest. This is part of something bigger than you’ll ever stop. Knox slammed him against the van again. I’m not trying to stop the world. Knox growled. Just you. The commander roared and lunged again, pinning Knox to the van door.
His hand closed around Knox’s throat, squeezing hard. Knox clawed at his wrist, feeling vision blur. Rain fell harder, drumming on metal, drowning the sound of Knox’s breath choking out. Somewhere in the trees, a small voice cried, “Knox!” Eli, barely conscious, barely hanging on. Knox’s vision tunnneled, his pulse slowed. The commander smiled. “This road ends here.
” Knox’s hand brushed the fallen baton in the mud. He gripped it and swung. The baton cracked across the commander’s temple with a wet, heavy thud. The man staggered sideways, stunned. Knox swung again onto the jaw, dropping him to his knees. The commander tried to rise.
Knox hit him once more, clean across the head. The commander fell into the mud, unconscious. Knox staggered back, chest heaving, throat burning. He didn’t look at the body. He didn’t need to. He ran back toward the forest, toward the children, toward the crew. Through rain and mud, he sprinted across the clearing, adrenaline burning through the pain in his ribs.
Voices grew louder as he neared the ravine. Jonas shouting, “Go. Keep moving.” Wheeler, Cal, stay with me. Don’t look back. Shawn, Trevor, hold my arm. Don’t let go. May crying softly. Are we safe yet? Doc’s voice trembling. Eli, stay with me. Stay with me. Knox reached them. Doc was kneeling in the mud. Eli cradled in his arms.
The boy’s eyes were half closed, breath thin as thread. “We’re losing him,” Doc said, voice cracking. Knox dropped beside them. Eli blinked weakly. “Nox.” Knox brushed the boy’s soaked hair back from his forehead. “I’m here.” “Did we save the others?” Knox swallowed hard. “You helped save them.” A faint smile flickered at the edge of Eli’s mouth. Jonas shouted from behind.
“They’re coming. We have 30 seconds.” Wheeler barked. Move. Ridge pointed north. The creek roads clear. If we hit it now, they’ll lose our tracks in the water. Knox lifted Eli into his arms. The boy weighed almost nothing. Stay with me. Knox whispered. Stay awake. May grabbed Knox’s sleeve. Is he okay? Knox met her gaze. Not yet, but he will be.
They ran through rain, through mud, through trees that tore their clothes and branches that scraped their arms. Knox carried Eli close, feeling each shallow breath like a countdown. Doc stayed beside them, one hand on Eli’s back as if holding the boy’s life in place.
Behind them, men shouted, dogs barked, engines revved, but the roar of the creek grew louder. Ridge jumped into the water first, gesturing frantically. This way, they splashed through the freezing current, letting the water swallow their footprints. Wheeler carried Cal. Jonas kept May above the water. Shawn held Trevor tight. Ridge guided them, checking the banks for movement.
Knox waited deeper, holding Eli’s head above the surface. Eli whispered barely audible. “Cold?” “I know,” Knox said. “Just a little longer.” Doc pressed fingers to Eli’s neck. His pulse is dropping. “Nox, we have to get him warm now,” Ridge pointed. “Old ranger shed up ahead. It’s small, but the roof holds.
We can use it.” They broke through the treeine, stumbling onto a narrow trail. The shed stood 20 yards ahead, crooked, half buried in moss, but intact. They burst inside. Knox laid Eli on a pile of old canvas tarps. Doc tore off his jacket, then Ridg’s Wheeler’s Jonases. Anything dry enough to wrap the boy in. “Fire,” Doc said.
“Ridge, fine wood, Knox, keep him talking.” Knox knelt beside Eli, leaning close. “Eli, stay with me.” The boy’s eyes fluttered. “Did we beat them?” Knox’s voice cracked for the first time all night. We did. Doc pressed a warm cloth to Eli’s cheeks. “Easy, kid. Breathe.” Eli’s breathing steadied slowly, painfully, like footsteps climbing out of darkness. May touched Eli’s hand. Cal held his other.
Trevor stood close, eyes wide, silent. Ridge lit the fire using dry bark from under the floorboards. Flames rose. Heat filled the shed. Dogs barked faintly in the woods, distant now, disoriented, losing the trail. Knox leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closing for a moment. Wheeler exhaled. Knox, you’re bleeding. Knox opened his eyes.
I’ll live. Doc checked Eli’s pulse again. He finally nodded. He’s stable. A silence settled. Heavy, warm, exhausted. The children huddled together under blankets. The crew sat in the dim firelight, soaked, bruised, but alive. Knox stared at the flames. This wasn’t victory. It wasn’t revenge. It wasn’t justice.
It was something smaller, something real. One night, one forest, one line they refused to let evil cross. Ridge finally broke the silence. “What now?” Knox watched Eli sleep, the boy’s breath steady at last. “We get them home,” he said quietly. “All of them. Wheeler nodded. Jonas leaned his head back against the wall.
Doc closed his eyes, one hand still resting on Eli’s back. Ridge added, “And after that,” Knox stared at the fire, listening to the storm ease outside. “Then he said softly, we go after the rest.” Rain pattered on the roof. The fire cracked. The children breathed outside. The road stretched into the dark. Not ending, just changing direction. Knox closed his eyes.
The night wasn’t over. The fight wasn’t done. But for the first time since the boy ran from the van screaming, “Let me go.” The road felt a little brighter.
