The transport truck rumbled past them, its engine low and deliberate, the sound that didn’t belong in the quiet of Split Tooth Coulee. Elijah pressed himself deeper into the brush, barely daring to breathe as the vehicle rolled by. The truck’s dark metal sides reflected nothing, swallowing the faint predawn light. There are no markings. No windows. No humanity. Just a box built to move people who weren’t supposed to be seen.
When the truck finally disappeared around the bend, the forest seemed to exhale. Evan lifted his head first, scanning the road. Marianne followed, her eyes sharp, her posture tense.
Carter Hayes whispered, “We need to decide. Do we intercept that truck or go straight for the facility?”
Elijah didn’t answer immediately. His pulse hammered in his ears. The truck was heading toward Fourteen. Toward the coulee mouth. Towards the underground levels. Toward Chet.
Marianne looked at him. “Elijah. Talk to us.”
He forced himself to breathe. “If Chet’s in that truck—”
“He might not be,” Carter cut in. “It could be supplies. Equipment. Another detainee. Or a transfer out.”
Evan shook his head. “No. That truck’s too early. Too quiet. Too deliberate.”
Marianne agreed. “And they’re not running a full shift. Something’s happening inside.”
Elijah stared down the road, jaw tight. “We follow it.”
Carter frowned. “If we follow it, we risk being exposed before we even reach the perimeter.”
Marianne countered, “If we don’t follow it, we risk losing Chet entirely.”
Evan pointed towards the trees. “There’s a narrow path that parallels the road. Hunters use it. We can shadow the truck without being seen.”
Carter hesitated. “If we get caught—”
Elijah cut him off. “If we get caught, we'll deal with it. But if that truck is carrying Chet, and we let it disappear into Fourteen without us knowing where it stops, we lose our only chance.”
Silence settled over them. Then Marianne nodded. “We shadow the truck.”
Evan motioned for them to follow. “Stay close. Stay quiet.”
They moved through the brush, keeping the road in sight but maintaining enough distance to avoid detection. The forest thinned as they approached the coulee mouth; the trees giving way to scrub and exposed rock. The air grew colder, sharper, as if the land itself were warning them to turn back.
The truck slowed ahead, its brake lights glowing faintly in the dim light. Marianne crouched behind a fallen log. “Why’s it stopping?”
Evan peered through the branches. “Checkpoint.”
Elijah’s stomach dropped.
A small outpost sat at the mouth of the coulee — a prefab structure with a single floodlight, a barrier arm, and two Solstice guards in dark uniforms. One held a clipboard. The other carried a rifle slung across his chest.
Carter whispered, “That wasn’t here last month.”
Marianne’s voice was low. “They’re tightening security.”
Evan nodded. “They know something’s wrong.”
Elijah’s pulse quickened. “The girls.”
Carter grimaced. “Or Chet.”
The truck rolled to a stop at the barrier. One guard approached the driver’s window. The other circled the vehicle, tapping the sides with the butt of his rifle.
Marianne whispered, “They’re checking for tampering.”
Evan added, “And for escape attempts.”
Elijah’s hands curled into fists.
After finishing his inspection, the guard signaled the driver. The barrier arm lifted. The truck rolled forward, disappearing into the coulee mouth.
Marianne turned to Elijah. We cannot follow it through the checkpoint. We will expose ourselves.
Evan pointed to the left. “There’s another way in. A drainage cut. Narrow. Steep. But it bypasses the checkpoint.”
Carter frowned. “How narrow?”
Evan smirked. “You’ll fit. Probably.”
Marianne nodded. “We'll take it.”
Elijah didn’t hesitate. “Lead the way.”
They moved quickly, staying low as they skirted the checkpoint. The guards didn’t look their way. They didn’t expect anyone to be stupid enough to approach from Split Tooth Coulee.
Evan found the drainage cut — a narrow, rocky channel carved by seasonal runoff. It plummeted into the coulee; the walls were slick with frost.
Marianne tested the edge with her boot. “It’s steep.”
Evan shrugged. “Better than being shot.”
Carter muttered, “Debatable.”
Elijah didn’t wait. He swung his legs over the edge and descended, gripping the rocks for support. The others followed, sliding and scrambling down the narrow chute. The cold bit into Elijah’s fingers, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. At the bottom, the coulee opened into a wide basin. The truck’s tire tracks cut through the dirt, leading deeper toward Fourteen.
Marianne crouched, touching the tracks. “Fresh.”
Evan pointed ahead. “The facility’s just beyond that rise.”
Elijah felt his chest tighten. “Then we move.”
They followed the tracks, staying close to the coulee wall. The air grew colder, heavier, as they approached the facility. The ground vibrated faintly beneath their feet — machinery, generators, something humming deep underground.
Carter whispered, “This place is wrong.”
Evan nodded. “It’s built to be wrong.”
Marianne slowed, raising a hand. “Stop.”
They froze. Ahead, the coulee narrowed again, funneling into a natural choke point. The truck had stopped there. Its engine was off. Its doors were closed. But the driver was gone.
Elijah’s breath caught. “Where is he?”
Marianne scanned the area. “He didn’t walk back. No footprints.”
Evan pointed to the coulee wall. “There. A door.”
Elijah followed his gaze. The coulee wall featured a metal door, almost invisible unless you knew where to look. No markings. No handle. Just a seam in the rock.
Carter whispered, “A service entrance.”
Marianne nodded. “And that truck delivered something through it.”
Elijah stepped closer, heart pounding. “We need to get inside.”
Evan grabbed his arm. “Wait.”
Elijah froze. Evan pointed to the ground near the door. “Look.”
Elijah followed his gaze. In the dirt, half‑covered by frost, was a small scrap of paper.
Elijah knelt, brushing it off with trembling fingers. A geometric bear claw stared back at him. And beneath it—
It was the mark. But this time it had a direction. A message.
Marianne whispered, “Elijah… is that—”
“Yes,” he said, voice breaking. “It’s Chet.”
Carter looked toward the door. “Then he’s inside.”
Elijah stood, gripping the paper so tightly that it crinkled. “Then so are we.”
But before they could move, a low mechanical click echoed from the coulee wall.
The metal door opened. Slowly. Silently. Someone — or something — was coming out.
And the team had nowhere to hide.
They pressed themselves against the coulee wall as the door slid open, breath held, hearts pounding — because whatever stepped out next would decide whether they lived long enough to reach Chet at all.