Chapter 6 - Into the Pines
Conan instantly slammed the laptop shut and shoved the titanium drive into his inner leather jacket pocket alongside Julian’s papers. He killed the lantern with a swift pinch of his fingers, plunging the cabin into absolute darkness.
Elena froze on the edge of the cot, Leo pressed against her chest. ""Conan... they're here?""
""Quiet,"" he breathed, crouching beside her. He slipped his firearm from his waistband, clicking the safety off with a muted snap.
Through the thin wooden slats of the cabin wall, two sets of headlights swept across the clearing, casting prison-bar shadows of the pine trees across the ceiling. Conan heard the unmistakable sound of car doors clicking open, followed by the soft, deliberate footsteps of tactical boots wading through the muddy brush.
""There's an old cellar door behind the woodstove,"" Conan whispered, his lips inches from Elena’s ear. ""It opens into an abandoned drainage tunnel that leads down toward the riverbank. You take Leo and go. Follow the downward slope. Do not turn on a light.""
Elena’s eyes widened with terror. She grabbed Conan’s sleeve with frantic desperation. ""No! I’m not leaving you. You saw what they did to Julian—they will kill you!""
""If they catch us together, they kill all three of us and burn the evidence,"" Conan whispered back, his tone unyielding yet fiercely tender. ""My job is to draw them away from the tree line so you have a five-minute head start. Once you hit the river road, look for a red barn with a white roof. Wait for me there.""
""Conan, please...""
""Elena, look at me,"" he commanded softly, placing his hand over hers on Leo's back. ""I spent four years in reconnaissance. These woods are my backyard. They are entering my domain, not theirs. Now go.""
Tears spilled over Elena’s lashes, but she nodded, steeling herself with a strength born of pure maternal survival. She slipped behind the heavy cast-iron stove, pulled the rusted ring of the cellar hatch, and descended into the dark earth without a sound.
Conan waited until the wooden hatch clicked shut. He counted to twenty.
Outside, a heavy voice called out: ""Conan Vance! Come out with your hands raised! You are surrounded by federal marshals. The child must be returned to his legal guardian!""
Conan smirked in the dark. Federal marshals. Miller was putting on quite the theatre for the local goons.
Instead of answering, Conan snatched an old kerosene bottle from the shelf, smashed it against the dry timber floorboards by the front window, and flicked his lighter. A wall of bright, crackling flame erupted instantly, illuminating the entire front facade of the cabin.
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""Breaching! He’s burning the structure!"" a voice yelled from the yard.
Three tactical officers rushed the front porch with a battering ram. Conan didn't wait for them to hit the wood. He kicked open the rear window, leveled his sidearm, and fired two suppressive rounds into the dirt at their flanks before disappearing like a phantom into the black, howling rain of the pine forest.
