Chapter 7 - The Trap in the WoodsThe sedan’s tires kicked up a violent spray of mud and loose gravel as Clara hurled the car into the dense canopy of the coastal reserve. Low-hanging pine branches whipped against the windshield with loud, cracking snaps, scoring the glass like white lightning.
In her rearview mirror, the black Escalade loomed like a mechanical monster, its high beams cutting through the dark woods and blinding her.
Clang!
The heavy SUV rammed their rear quarter-panel again, sending the sedan spinning into a shallow ditch near an abandoned logging bridge. The engine coughed, sputtered, and died, plunging them into sudden, terrifying silence broken only by the hiss of the steaming radiator.
"Clara! Are you okay?" Leo gasped, his small hands grabbing her arm.
"I'm fine. Get out! Now!" Clara shoved the passenger door open, unhooking Leo from his seat and hoisting him onto her back in a fireman's carry.
They scrambled up a steep embankment, diving behind a dense thicket of rhododendron bushes just as the doors of the Escalade slammed shut.
Two men in tactical gear stepped out of the SUV, holding heavy-duty flashlights and tactical shotguns. Their boots crunched methodically on the gravel as they swept the area.
"The car is empty," one of them barked into a shoulder radio, his voice crackling through the static. "They crashed near the old logging bridge. They couldn't have gotten far on foot—the kid can't walk without braces."
"Search the tree line," a familiar, ice-cold voice hissed over the radio speaker.
Eleanor Sterling. She was listening in real-time.
"Sweep every inch of those woods. If they reach the main highway, we're all finished. Grandfather wants them found. And make sure it looks like an accident."
Clara held her breath, pressing Leo’s head down into the damp moss against her chest. She could hear the heavy boots of the mercenaries crunching through the leaves just ten feet away from their hiding spot. The beam of a tactical flashlight swept across the brush, bathing their sanctuary in a harsh, probing white light.
This is it, Clara thought, her hand instinctively closing around a heavy jagged rock on the ground. If they find us, I go down fighting.
Suddenly, a loud, piercing screech echoed from the opposite side of the woods—a police siren, wailing through the night air with red and blue lights flashing against the distant treeline.
"Federal marshals! Drop your weapons!" a booming voice echoed through the megaphone.
The mercenaries froze, spun around, and scrambled back toward their Escalade, tires squealing as they tore backward down the logging trail, disappearing into the night.
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Dr. Marcus Vance stepped out from behind a massive oak tree a few moments later, lowering a megaphone with a shaking hand, flanked by two federal agents in windbreakers.
"Clara?" Vance called out softly into the dark. "Leo? You can come out now. You're safe."
