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Chapter Thirty-Eight

D amian

The sacred site Joseph chose rises before us like a temple to forgotten gods. Red rock walls tower overhead, ancient markings still visible despite centuries of wind and rain. Maya’s tension grows with each mile, her fingers drumming restlessly against her thigh.

“He’s here already.” She points to a car partially hidden behind an outcropping. “That’s his style—arrive early, scout escape routes.”

There appear to be no other vehicles, no other tire tracks.

Parking the truck where Joseph suggested, we approach on foot. The petroglyphs seem to watch our progress—spirit animals, sacred symbols, and images that transcend spoken language. This place holds power older than Rome itself.

Movement catches my eye—a flash of familiar nervous energy as Franky emerges from behind a boulder. He looks worse than when I last saw him—thinner, haunted, his usual restless manner edged with genuine fear.

“Baby, I told you to come alone!” His eyes dart between us, then to the canyon’s shadows. “This isn’t safe. They could be watching—”

“Perhaps,” Maya cuts him off. “But here we have the advantage of position. And if we’re in trouble, having a gladiator with us is a good thing.”

She’s right. Joseph chose well. The sacred site offers multiple escape routes while limiting approaches. The spirits may or may not be watching, but the tactical advantages are real.

“You said you had information.” Maya’s voice carries steel beneath the surface. “About the pharmaceutical companies.”

Franky tugs at his collar—a gesture I’ve seen Maya mirror when she’s preoccupied. “I overheard their plans. Recorded meetings. They’ve tried to breach the Missouri sanctuary a few times already. They’re desperate to get tissue samples, to study how the freezing process preserved…” He swallows hard as his eyes dart from me. “They’ll never stop hunting him.”

“And you know this how?”

“Because I’ve been working with them!” The words burst out like water from a broken dam. “Not by choice—they grabbed me after you escaped, said I could help them track him or…” He swallows hard. “But I’ve been gathering evidence. Every illegal move they’ve made, every attempt to acquire him. Enough to destroy them.”

Maya’s shoulders tense. “Where is this evidence?”

“Safe. Hidden.” His eyes dart around again.

“Hidden where?” A new voice interrupts, smooth and edged with menace. “Looks like you’ve picked the wrong team, Franky.”

Black-suited figures emerge from the canyon shadows—corporate security, armed and ready. Their leader smiles without warmth. “Did you really think we wouldn’t be watching? Listening? That we’d let you play both sides?”

Maya shifts into a fighter’s stance as more armed men appear. I count eight… no, ten. Despite my abilities and Maya’s training, there are too many for direct confrontation. And they won’t fight fair—they’re armed.

Is this the end of the chase? Three unarmed people against ten men with guns?

Am I moments away from being dragged from Maya’s side? Forced into one of their black vehicles and taken to some facility where they will cut me open like a gutted deer?

“Now, now.” The leader’s smile widens. “Let’s be reasonable. You want your father alive, right, Maya? We can just have a simple trade. No one needs to get hurt.” He smiles, but his eyes are dead as his gaze settles on me with predatory intensity. “Surely we can reach an arrangement that benefits everyone.”

“The only arrangement,” Maya says quietly, “is you leaving. Now. This is sacred ground.”

Laughter ripples through the security team. “Sacred ground won’t stop bullets, sweetheart. And though your two-thousand-year-old pet gladiator might be impressive, he’s not bulletproof.”

“No,” a deep voice agrees. “But we are many.”

Joseph emerges from behind a boulder, and he’s not alone. Members of his tribe appear from the shadows, armed with a mixture of modern and traditional weapons. More figures appear on the canyon rim—Sarah and many others we recognize from the reservation.

The security team’s smiles fade as they realize they’re not only surrounded, but there are arrows and guns pointed at each of them.

“This is sovereign tribal land,” Joseph says calmly. “You have no authority here. No jurisdiction. And no chance of taking anyone against their will.”

The leader’s hand twitches toward his weapon. “We have federal backing—”

“You have greed.” Joseph’s voice carries the weight of centuries. “And dishonor. The spirits do not look kindly upon such things.”

A strange wind whips through the canyon, carrying the scent of sage and something older, wilder. The petroglyphs seem to ripple in the changing light.

“Last chance,” Maya says softly. “Leave. Or find out exactly how sacred this ground really is.”

The corporate security leader’s hand tightens on his weapon, calculating odds. He knows his team has the advantage of firepower, but they’re surrounded and on unfamiliar terrain. I recognize the look of a man weighing victory against survival—I’ve seen it countless times across the sand of the arena.

“This isn’t over,” he says, voice pitched for his team alone, but my gladiator’s hearing catches every word. “Alpha team, maintain positions. Beta, fall back to vehicles. We’re regrouping, not retreating.”

Joseph steps forward, his weathered hand raised in warning. “You mistake our patience for weakness. This land has known predators before. It has ways of protecting its own.”

Around us, tribal members move with practiced precision, arrows knocked but not yet aimed. No aggression, only absolute readiness. One of the security team—younger than the others, less hardened—shifts nervously. The leader notices, his calculation changing as he realizes his team’s resolve might fracture.

For a moment, violence hangs in the air like lightning about to strike. Then the leader signals his men. The security team retreats slowly to their vehicles, weapons still ready but confidence shaken.

“This isn’t over,” the leader warns.

“No,” Joseph agrees. “But today’s battle is.” He turns to Sarah and quietly adds, “Begin the plan we discussed.”

At his words, tribal members move with practiced efficiency. They proceed to the north, I assume to the vehicles the tribal members arrived in.

“We have maybe thirty minutes before those men regroup,” Sarah explains, leading us toward a battered van. “They’ll set up surveillance on all the main roads, but we have ways they don’t know about.”

“The old trails,” Joseph adds. “Paths that remember feet walking on them long before roads existed. We’ll split up, use multiple vehicles, different routes. Make it impossible for them to know which to follow.”

“The three of you are with me,” Sarah continues as she looks up at the narrow sliver of sky above us. “When we emerge from this box canyon, the watchers will have no idea which car or cars you’re in.”

The plan unfolds with the precision of good planning. Maya’s hand finds mine for one brief squeeze. Her eyes speak so eloquently we don’t need words—we’re a team now, we can do this, I care about you.

Multiple vehicles depart in different directions, dust trails marking their passage across the landscape. Our enemies won’t know which carries precious cargo and which serves as distraction. No matter how many eyes may be tracking us, there are too many trails for pursuit.

Hours pass as we travel routes that barely qualify as paths. Sarah navigates by landmarks I can’t even see, her confidence never wavering. Finally, as sunset approaches, we arrive at a point far from where we began.

“The corporate teams are still searching the main roads,” Running Bear calls to report with quiet satisfaction. “Their machines cannot find what the land chooses to hide.”

Maya turns to her father, her palm face up. “The evidence.”

“Everything’s here on this flash drive.” He digs into his sock and then holds up a small device. “Their attempts to breach the sanctuary, the illegal surveillance, the bribes to local officials. I just… I couldn’t…” He looks at her with tears in his eyes. “I couldn’t let them hurt you, baby. Not for my mistakes. Not again.”

Maya’s expression is complex as she pauses. Finally, she says, “This doesn’t fix everything, Dad. Not by a long shot.”

She looks at her father—really looks at him, perhaps seeing him clearly for the first time. “No more running. No more schemes. You help us end this, or you’re on your own.”

“I promise, baby.” For once, his usual nervous energy stills. “I choose truth this time.”