Chapter 30
We waited another ten minutes in the freezing darkness of the stone crevice before James finally signaled that it was safe to move.
My limbs were stiff from the cold, and a shiver ran through Claire's frame as I helped her stand up from the damp earth.
We pushed deeper into the high country, the terrain gradually flattening out as we approached an old, overgrown logging trail.
This trail was ancient, forgotten by modern maps, which was precisely why my father had noted it in his personal journals years ago.
James stopped near a massive, lightning-struck oak tree that looked like a skeletal guardian marking the entrance to a clearing.
He stepped toward a pile of rusted metal sheets and rotting logs that looked like an abandoned hunter's blind from a distance.
With a hard pull, he dragged away the debris, revealing the dusty, dark green shape of an old, modified military transport vehicle.
It was a classic, fully analog truck with no computer chips, no GPS trackers, and absolutely no modern digital footprint for Apex to hack.
"Your father parked this here twelve years ago as a final contingency," James said, a faint, rare smile breaking through his grim exterior.
"He maintained the mechanical systems every single spring, ensuring it would be ready if the worst day ever arrived."
James climbed into the driver's seat, pulled a hidden key from beneath the dashboard frame, and turned the heavy ignition cylinder.
The engine sputtered, coughed a cloud of grey smoke, and then roared to life with a deep, mechanical growl that felt like music to my ears.
Collins quickly hopped into the passenger seat, immediately opening her tactical map to plot a route that avoided the major state highways.
Claire and I climbed into the back, settling onto the canvas-covered benches and securing Ethan into a makeshift travel harness we had packed.
The interior of the truck smelled strongly of motor oil, old leather, and stale tobacco, a nostalgic scent that reminded me instantly of my childhood on the run.
As James shifted the heavy gear lever into drive, the vehicle surged forward, its massive tires gripping the muddy logging trail with ease.
We bounced violently over the deep ruts and fallen rocks, but every mile we traveled put crucial distance between us and the burning ruins of the bunker.
I pulled the silver drive out of my pocket, staring at its reflective surface and wondering what kind of monsters were encoded within its encrypted partitions.
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Charles Brooks had built an entire billion-dollar empire on the secrets stolen from my grandfather, using blackmail and assassinations to control global policy.
But as the old truck tore through the wilderness toward freedom, I knew that his reign of terror was finally reaching its absolute expiration date.
