Page 35

The night had folded in fast, thick, black, and wet with rain.

The truck’s headlights cut through the darkness in twin blades, illuminating slick ribbons of asphalt, the tall shadows of trees that pressed close to the road like sentinels.

The windshield wipers worked in rhythmic urgency, smearing away the sheets of water that lashed against the glass, their beat loud in the silence.

Inside, the cab was dim. Natalie sat in the rear passenger seat, bundled in Mason’s flannel jacket, her breath fogging the window, her hands gripping the edge of the seat beneath her.

Her belly rose like a soft hill beneath the blanket draped over her lap.

She stared straight ahead, her body tense with effort, every muscle braced for the next contraction.

They were coming faster now. Deeper. Pulling at her like a tide she couldn’t hold back.

She said nothing. Not because there was nothing to say but because holding in the panic was all she could do to stay afloat.

Beside her, Mason kept one hand on the seat in front, the other on her knee.

His grip was steady. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the road since they left.

The dashboard lights painted his face in a glow of soft green and amber.

He looked calm, outwardly, at least. But his jaw was tight.

The muscles in his neck corded with restraint.

Every bump in the road sent a flicker through his eyes. Every breath Natalie took made him inhale with her, like he could carry the weight of her pain in his lungs if he just tried hard enough. In the driver’s seat, Davey sat stiffly, his hands white-knuckled around the steering wheel.

He stared out the window, but he didn’t see the trees, or the slant of rain, or the endless stretch of winding road that separated them from the hospital.

What he saw, again and again, was the door closing behind his mom.

Her back as she disappeared into the woods.

Her coat flaring like wings in the wind.

The ache in his chest was sharp and unfamiliar. He felt pulled in too many directions, his thoughts scattered like dried leaves across the forest floor. He should be strong, for Natalie. For the baby. But part of him wanted to scream. To turn the truck around. To find his mother and bring her back.

But he didn’t. Instead, he drove, in that growing quiet, between contractions, between breaths, between everything they were trying to hold together. The only sound in the cab was the wipers and the rain. The engine’s low grind. The baby’s silence.

Natalie pressed her forehead against the cool glass.

Her skin was damp with sweat, and she swallowed against the rising pressure in her chest. Her teeth clenched as another contraction rolled through her.

She didn’t cry out. She wouldn’t. Instead, her hand slid down to her belly, circling slowly, almost apologetically.

Not yet, little one, she thought. Just a little longer.

The road twisted again, winding through a valley where the mist pooled low and thick.

Water streamed in miniature rivers along the edge of the road, glinting like mercury.

The forest on either side leaned closer, dark and watchful.

The trees here were old. Silent. As if they knew the things the people inside the truck did not.

Mason’s fingers tapped once, gently, against Natalie’s leg.

A rhythm. A reassurance. He was here. He didn’t speak, afraid, maybe, that words would break something fragile.

That if he tried to say we’ll be okay, the weight of that hope might tip the balance.

Instead, he watched the road, trusting Davey to get them there safe.

And Natalie breathed. And Davey watched the road disappear beneath them, one mile at a time.

The hospital was still twenty minutes away, but the night stretched long. Like time itself had slowed to match the pacing of Natalie’s contractions, every minute drawn tight with tension, every breath a thread pulled thinner.

Up ahead, a deer darted across the road, pale in the headlights, ghost-like and sudden. Davey’s hands tightened on the wheel, but he didn’t swerve. He just eased the truck a little more firmly into the center of the lane and kept moving forward. Natalie’s fingers gripped the door handle.

The rain thickened. The trees leaned in.

And somewhere, not far away, another path was being walked.

Another life hung in balance. But here, in this truck, in the dark and the rain, a different kind of courage was being called upon.

The courage to hope. The courage to trust. The courage to believe they would make it in time.

The rain hadn’t let up. It came in waves now, light, then heavy, then steady again.

A constant, cold whisper against Olivia’s hood as she checked the contents of her canvas pack one last time beneath the flickering light outside the barn.

Her fingers were stiff with cold but still practiced, moving through bandages, gauze, gloves, tranquilizer darts, the emergency radio she prayed they wouldn’t need.

The lantern swung beside her on its hook, casting elliptical shadows across the fence posts and wet gravel. Beyond the barn, the world was all blurred lines and swaying pines, the sanctuary disappearing behind a veil of rain.

“Are you sure about this?” came a voice behind her.

She turned. A volunteer, Asha, stood near the trail’s edge, already wrapped in rain gear, her blonde braid soaked dark at the ends, her face pale but composed. She was one of their newest interns. Eager. Tender-hearted. Brave.

“I can come with you,” Asha added, pulling her jacket tighter. “You shouldn’t go alone.”

Olivia nodded once, slinging the pack onto her shoulder. “Good. I could use an extra set of eyes.”

She didn’t say I’m scared. She didn’t say I don’t want to be alone tonight. Olivia didn’t have that kind of language anymore. What she had was movement. Duty. A call in her blood that could not be silenced, not even on a night like this.

Asha grabbed the secondary pack, lighter but still heavy with supplies, and fell in beside her. Together, they turned toward the mountain trail, their boots splashing through puddles as they crossed the clearing, their headlamps cutting narrow beams into the night.

Behind them, the lodge windows glowed faintly through the curtain of rain.

Ahead, only trees, fog, and the path. They started the climb.

The trail was slick, the pine needles turning the slope into something treacherous.

Olivia moved steadily, relying more on her memory of the land than the limited glow of her headlamp.

Asha followed closely, not complaining, not slowing down.

They passed the creek, now swollen and churning, the steppingstones submerged and turned up toward the ridgeline. The trees here were older. Taller. The canopy denser. The sound of the rain softened beneath the fir branches. Somewhere above them, an animal was waiting. Trapped. Wounded. Alone.

Olivia pushed forward, her breathing shallow but even. Every movement required focus, every step placed with care. Behind her, Asha slipped once but caught herself.

“You okay?” Olivia asked without turning.

“Still here,” the girl panted. “We’re close, right?”

Olivia didn’t answer. Not because she didn’t know, but because close didn’t mean safe.

In the truck, Natalie closed her eyes between contractions, trying to breathe with the rhythm of the windshield wipers. Mason’s hand gripped hers tightly, and Davey’s shoulders were taut, locked on the wheel.

The headlights carved a narrow, trembling tunnel through the mist. Her back ached. Her legs tingled. The pressure was mounting. She pictured Olivia’s face as she’d turned toward the trees, strong, certain, unshakable. And still… something in her heart fluttered with dread.

The contractions were sharp now, low, insistent, and closer together.

Natalie gritted her teeth through another, biting back a cry.

Her hand dug into Mason’s palm, and he murmured words she couldn’t quite hear, only feel.

They passed the marker that told them they were minutes from the hospital. Mason’s jaw clenched tighter.

“I can see the lights,” Davey said. “We’re almost there.”

Natalie opened her eyes and stared through the windshield.

Hold on, she told herself. Just a little longer.

The truck jerked to a halt under the hospital’s emergency bay awning. Davey threw the door open, shouting for help before the engine had stopped. Mason leapt out, circling the truck, opening the passenger side.

Natalie was pale now, her forehead damp, her breaths shallow.

“I’ve got you,” Mason said. “It’s okay.”

A nurse appeared with a wheelchair, and Natalie was gently eased into it. She gripped Mason’s coat as he crouched beside her.

“Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.”

Behind them, Davey hovered, wide-eyed and pale, trying to stay out of the way but needing to be close. Then they were moving, down the hall, through double doors, voices rising around them. And somewhere, far away, the forest held its breath.