Fox shot Zak the finger with a hint of a smile before switching his attention to the gray-white landscape looming under the belly of the helicopter.
Pav checked his rifle. Loaded, chambered, safety on. The helicopter banked, descending. They lost altitude fast, the pilot staying low to avoid radar detection. “One minute.”
Pav ran through everything in his head. Gloves. Rope. Weapon tight. Drop clean. The helicopter flared thirty feet above the snow.
“Go, go, go!”
Pav went first, boots locking around the rope, gloves taking the burn as he slid into darkness.
Zak followed, then Fox.
Pav’s boots hit snow, knees bending to absorb the impact. He released the rope, weapon up, scanning the perimeter. Fox moved left, Zak right, establishing a defensive triangle.
The helicopter’s rotors beat louder, pulling altitude. Then it was gone, swallowed by darkness and distance.
Silence.
Just wind through branches and the creak of snow settling. Pav breathed out, slowing his heart rate. This—empty wilderness, frozen ground, stars overhead—this he understood. The simple math of survival.
“Christ, it’s cold.” Fox’s voice was low but clear. “At least it’s not raining.”
Zak pulled out a tablet, screen brightness dimmed nearly black.
“Screen,” Pav said.
“Copy.” Zak killed it immediately and stowed the tablet.
Fox pulled out a map, studying it with a red-filtered penlight that wouldn’t ruin their night vision. Zak unwrapped an energy bar, offered one to Pav. Pav shook his head.
“You always this chatty?” Fox asked, not looking up from his map.
“Yes.”
Zak’s laugh was soft. “He’s perfect.”
Pav took point. Wind from the north, temperatures dropping, moon waning. Snow conditions told him everything—when the last storm hit, how much melt occurred during the day, what had moved through here and when.
Vehicle tracks cut through virgin snow fifty meters east. Deep treads, multiple axles. Two days old, maybe three. Wind had softened the edges, but the compressed base still held. Same pattern he’d followed from the road.
He started walking. Fox and Zak fell in behind him without question. The route led south, following the natural contoursof the landscape—avoiding ridgelines, skirting gullies, anywhere that headlights would show for kilometers.
Local knowledge.
“How far?” Zak’s question was quiet, barely above a whisper.
“Ten kilometers. Maybe less.”
Fox grunted acknowledgment. “Two hours. If we don’t stop.”
Two hours. The cold seeped deeper, working through layers of advanced fabric and insulation. Pav ignored it. Cold was information—about visibility, weather fronts, and how long the tracks would last. He adjusted their pace accordingly.
Almost two hours in, the tracks converged. Multiple vehicles, all heading to the same location.
They reached the treeline. Pav went prone and low-crawled the last twenty meters to a ridge that overlooked the valley below.
The compound lay in a shallow basin, half-hidden by scrub and wind-stunted pines. From a distance it looked abandoned—corrugated sheds, a low concrete block building, a rusted perimeter fence.
From a distance.
