Chapter 9 - The Cold Crossing
Leo opened his mouth to gasp from the biting cold, but Sarah slipped her wet hand over his lips, tears leaking down her cheeks into the muddy creek water. Mark drew his pistol beneath the surface, holding his breath as the laser beam flickered against the bark.
The hound let out an uncertain whine, turned upstream toward a floating piece of debris, and bounded away into the brush. The beam followed. The heavy footsteps of the handler crunched past, fading into the drumming roar of the rain.
Mark waited until the red glow vanished completely before exhaling a long plume of vapor. ""Move. Now.""
They hauled themselves out on the opposite bank, their clothes dragging them down with freezing weight. Leo’s lips were turning a faint shade of blue; hypothermia was becoming a far more immediate threat than Vanguard’s rifles.
Mark stripped off his soaked tactical vest and wrapped his wool sweater around his son. ""Look at me, Leo,"" Mark whispered, rubbing the boy’s trembling arms vigorously. ""Look at my eyes. You’re being so brave. We’re almost there, okay?""
""Are we... are we going home, Daddy?"" the boy’s voice barely carried over the wind.
Mark’s chest seized with an agonizing pang of guilt. ""Soon, buddy. Soon.""
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They crested the ridge and stumbled onto an abandoned logging road. Resting in a cluster of briars twenty yards ahead sat an old rust-speckled Ford truck with a cracked windshield—Marcus’s fallback transport.
Mark reached under the wheel well and found the magnetic key box. He unlocked the driver’s door, but as he pulled it open, the interior dome light illuminated a body slumped across the steering wheel.
