Chapter 22 Preparing for Battle
Ethan pushed his phone back into his pocket and turned to Clara. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, her fingers flying across the keyboard, compiling the last of the digital evidence. Aunt Beatrice’s notes and hand-drawn maps, Clara’s spreadsheets detailing Thorne’s shell companies and their convoluted financial trails, the high-resolution photos they’d taken, some of them corresponding with the sample hidden away in Aunt Bea’s root cellar. It was all meticulously organized into electronic files. She had even provided an index to assist in the navigation of the information. With a final determined press, she downloaded everything onto a single, small thumb drive.
He offered her a second thumb drive. “Make me another one.”
She quickly downloaded the same contents onto a second thumb drive.
Ethan pulled out two empty, metallic film canisters with a screw-on cap. A nostalgic smile curved Clara’s lips. “I thought you went digital,” she teased lightly, the tension momentarily eased by mundane humor.
“I sometimes go old school,” he replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He unscrewed the cap, and Clara carefully deposited a thumb drive inside each of them, and Ethan secured the caps, placing one in her hand and stuffing the other in his pocket.
He unfurled a topographical map across the table. “Lake Finney,” he pointed with a calloused finger, his voice dropping to a low, serious tone. “The north end, just past the old ranger station. There’s a hollowed-out stump between camping spaces three and four. It has a small cavity between two of its roots on the left side when you’re facing north. Jack will know what to look for.” He looked up, his gaze meeting hers, intense and unwavering. “Just in case we get separated and you have to make the drop instead of me.”
The gravity of his words hung between them. The possibility of separation, of danger, was not something they were speaking about hypothetically. It was a very real risk.
They loaded their packs, each a careful blend of necessities for five days of trekking and camping, allowing themselves an extra day for good measure. Water filters, freeze-dried meals, first-aid, navigation tools, and sleeping bags. No extraneous weight.
“Why can’t we just drive there and do the drop?” Clara asked, looking out the window at the rugged dirt track that led to the cabin. Logic, her default setting, cried out for efficiency.
“They’ll be watching our vehicles,” he said, his voice flat. He didn’t need to elaborate on who “they” were. Thorne’s reach was long, his methods insidious.
“They’ll probably be watching us too,” she mused, a shiver running down her spine despite the thick fleece she pulled on.
“Yep,” Ethan said, a rare, wolfish grin spreading across his face. “But out there, we can give them the slip.” His confidence was infectious, a balm to her simmering anxiety.
Clara took a moment to drive her Outback back to Aunt Bea’s cabin, a knot of worry tightening in her stomach. What if the people who broke into the cabin came back to damage her car?
“Somebody will be watching your place,” Ethan told her, sensing her apprehension.
“Resistance?” she asked, a tentative smile forming.
He nodded, a silent reassurance that they weren’t entirely alone in this fight. The community, though small and isolated, had its own quiet strength.
After leaving her Outback, Clara walked back down the lane, through the creaky gate, and got into Ethan’s battered pickup truck. The engine rumbled to life, a comforting sound of readiness. They drove up the more winding, scarcely-used road to Henry’s cabin, a sturdy, unassuming structure nestled deep in the woods. Henry, a man whose face was a roadmap of sun and wind, met them at the door.
“Everything’s ready?” Henry asked, his eyes sharp. “We’ll keep an eye on things here.”
Ethan clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Henry. We’ll be back in a few days.”
With a final nod, Ethan and Clara retrieved their packs from the truck bed. The forest beckoned, a dense, silent guardian. They adjusted their straps, took a deep breath of pine-scented air, and turned their backs on the last vestiges of civilization. From Henry’s cabin, they headed off into the woods, leaving the truck behind, a strategic move to obscure their trail.
The first day, Ethan set a relentless pace, navigating through dense undergrowth and over rocky scree with an almost supernatural intuition. With every aching step, a curious shift began within her. The wildness that had once intimidated her was continuously revealing its hidden beauty.
Ethan, ever watchful, would occasionally pause, offering a hand over a particularly tricky ascent or pointing out a fresh set of deer tracks. “See that?” he’d murmur, his voice low and steady. “They’re heading towards water.” He moved with the quiet grace of a predator, his senses attuned to every whisper of the wind, every snap of a twig. He wasn’t just walking through the woods; he was part of them.
Their first night was spent under a canopy of impossibly bright stars, the kind you only saw far from city lights. The crackle of their small campfire was the only sound, save for the distant hoot of an owl. As Ethan expertly prepared a simple meal of rehydrated chili, Clara found herself watching him, a warmth spreading through her that had nothing to do with the fire. He was utterly self-sufficient, capable, and profoundly connected to this land she was only just beginning to understand.
“Tired?” he asked, seeing her stifle a yawn.
“Exhausted,” she admitted, stretching out her aching legs. She gestured toward the sky. “They’re so beautiful out here, aren’t they?”
He smiled, a genuine, soft smile that transformed his rugged face. “When you get away from the city lights, they multiply and become a lot brighter.”
The following morning, they got an early start to their journey to Lake Finney. As she had the day before, Clara took in every sight, every sound and ever scent of her surroundings, basking in it all.
And then Ethan stopped suddenly and crouched. She followed suit.
“We’ve got company,” he murmured.
She looked around her, wondering what he had seen. She saw nothing. “How many?” she whispered.
“At least two. Maybe three.” Ethan’s voice was calm, but his jaw was tight.
They veered sharply, plunging into a dense thicket of spruce and fir. Clara, despite her fatigue, found a new surge of adrenaline. She pushed through thorny branches, ignoring the scratches on her arms, mimicking Ethan’s fluid movements. He led them through a maze of fallen logs, over mossy boulders, and down a steep, treacherous gully that seemed impassable. She saw him hesitate for a moment, looking back, then continue. He was deliberately choosing difficult terrain, knowing their pursuers wouldn’t be as familiar or as nimble.
They pressed on for hours, the silence broken only by their ragged breathing and the rustle of their clothes. As dusk approached, they found a small, hidden alcove beneath a rocky overhang, almost invisible from above or below.
“We’ll camp here,” Ethan whispered, his voice hoarse. “No fire tonight. We don’t want to give away our position.”
They ate cold rations in the deepening twilight, the tension a palpable third presence in their makeshift camp. Clara huddled close to Ethan, not just for warmth but for the sheer comfort of his presence. He was her anchor in this unforgiving wilderness.