Mason

Like someone had put their hand down deliberately and pushed, leaving a mark that said, I was here.

Mason stared at the handprint and whispered, He's ahead of us.

That didn't make sense if he'd been behind us all night.

Unless he'd moved around us.

Unless he knew the terrain well enough to circle while we ran.

A cold, clean thought settled in my mind.

He knows these woods better than we ever will.

That afternoon, the creek widened, and the terrain leveled slightly.

The forest thinned enough that we could see farther between trunks.

We started to hear something else beneath the rain.

A distant hum.

At first it was so faint I thought it was wind.

Then it became clearer, steady and low, mechanical, a road.

We looked at each other, and for the first time in days, I saw hope that didn't feel fragile.

We quickened our pace, stumbling toward the sound.

The hum grew louder, then faded, then returned like the road curved away and back.

Then we saw it.

A strip of gravel through the trees.

A forest service road.

It wasn't a big paved highway.