Narrator

A roar that shook leaves.

Then a human scream.

One of the men, not sure which, cutting off abruptly.

Glenn shouted again, panic now under his rage.

The older man yelled something I couldn't make out.

The chaos bought us seconds.

We used those seconds like our lives depended on them, because they did.

We stumbled downstream, keeping the creek between us and the cabin, using the water to erase tracks as best we could.

Luke's breathing was ragged, wheezing, but he was moving now, adrenaline dragging him forward.

After maybe ten minutes, the screams and shots faded behind us, replaced by the steady rush of water and our own panting.

We didn't stop until our legs gave out in a dense patch of laurel where the creek bent sharply and the bank rose steep.

We crawled up the bank, collapsing under wet leaves.

Luke lay on his side, coughing, eyes glassy.

"'They—they took it,' he rasped.

"'The messenger.

And my—my gun.'

Tessa sat back against a tree, shaking, face streaked.

I know, she whispered.

Luke's eyes found her.

What?