Searching for these men in the forest was parallel to rummaging for a lost pine needle in a field of prairie grass. The Harris NVD binoculars Lauren had adopted would help. They magnified diminished light in the darkness well enough on their own short of an infrared illuminator, and she could run them continuously without being detected. The FLIR infrared monocular was the true prize, though. It detected and displayed heat signatures belonging to anything, natural or artificial—human, beast and especially vehicles propelled by internal combustion. In the world she knew now, any heat sig spotted in the forest would serve as evidence. The only drawback was that Lauren didn’t know their effective range.
She went through the motions with the M4. It wasn’t hers, and if her intent was to employ it as such, she needed to know its ins and outs; there could be no surprises. The weapon was the one to which Jade had referred as her carbine’s ‘fraternal twin’, a Heckler and Koch HK416, a nonstandard M4 variant with which she had yet to develop experience. It had a shortened barrel, a suppressor, and a universal set of controls. Nothing appeared out of place or was located anywhere her muscle memory wouldn’t be able to find.
A light drizzle began falling from an increasingly overcast sky, and Lauren decided it best to move out. She scaled down from her vantage point and hiked the spur trail back to where she’d camouflaged her ATV and gear beneath a blanket of brush. She went about readying it for departure, stopping midway when a thought hit her. If her hunch was right, taking the quad anywhere beyond this point would be a mistake. The engine and exhaust would no doubt draw unwanted attention. And that meant the only choice was to go on foot.
After some reassessment, Lauren shouldered her load and started north. Within a few hours, she reached the intersection with the Tuscarora Trail, where the footpath widened considerably. She harkened back to the last time she’d been here, headed in the opposite direction, towing a sprained ankle, accompanied by a recently made acquaintance. The thought of Christian being caught up in this made her heart sink even further into the hole she had dug for herself and into which she was now spelunking headfirst.
Lauren didn’t want to waste any more time concentrating on matters she couldn’t control, but the reverie couldn’t be overcome. While fighting against her musings, she paid close attention to her foot placement as the ragged laurel branches encroached on her ankles. She couldn’t leave clues behind that could be used to track her. A half mile farther in, however, she’d begun noticing a pattern, that something of the same had already been done, though not by her, by something or someone else.
Nearing the intersection of Little Stoney Creek Trail, she continued at a snail’s pace, rifle at low ready, while inspecting each instance of damage, infinitesimal or the converse. Some branches were unnaturally twisted while others were snapped or pulled into the path in adverse patterns. Some shoots clung by threads; some lay in the grass, having been shorn completely. Conceivably, a deer could’ve done this, a clumsy bear or even a grouse. But would an animal have left a pattern in such a way?
Lauren went low and reflected over the footpath, recalling Sugar Knob Cabin was just around the corner. She thought of Christian again and the topics they had spoken of during their first forty-eight hours together. While ascending a mountain trail to escape DHS search dogs and their handlers, he had proven himself skillful and knowledgeable regarding escape and evasion. Could he have done this? Had he been mindful enough to leave a bread trail behind?
There was no way to know for certain, but it was also the only clue on which she had to go and therefore could not be ruled out. With no course other than the one upon which she’d decided, Lauren forged eastward to her next vantage point.
Chapter 34
Mason residence
Trout Run Valley
Monday, March 14th. Early evening
A trio of esteemed servicemen, comprised of Dave Graham, Woo Tang, and unit second-in-command Tim Reese, gathered on the Masons’ front porch to wait for Fred to join them. At fifteen minutes past his anticipated time of arrival, he was concluded a no-show, and the group continued inside deprived of his escort.
Woo Tang led the others a short way through the home and into the basement, where a group of faces mostly unfamiliar to them awaited. The open floor plan there had been rearranged to contain the provisional emergency relocation of the FOL, or forward operating location, the unit’s support center for sustained operations. Some last-minute repositioning had taken place to quarter this evening’s meeting. Furnishings and fixtures had been pushed to the walls, opening the center space, and extra chairs had been brought in along with a folding table, which was set up at the far end near the doorway to Fred’s gun cave. The usual assortment of candles had been lit, and a dozen or so gas lanterns had been brought in and set ablaze to better illuminate the space.
Megan Mason had been sitting next to her mother, and when she saw Dave breach the stairwell, she rose excitedly and ran. “Uncle Dave!” she called to him.
The rock-solid lines and crevices accenting the veteran’s expression went slack, and he opened his arms to her. “Well, look who it is. My favorite niece.”
Megan fell into his embrace and hugged him. “Quit it. I’m your only niece.”
“Making you the favorite by default.” Leaning, he kissed the top of her head. “It’s been too long. How’ve you been getting along? Other than growing like a wildflower.”
Meg shrugged and pulled away slightly to look him over. “Okay, I guess. A lot better now that you’re here.”
Dave expelled a mild grunt, denoting his approval. “We waited for the old man a while outside, but he never showed. Any
