Page 34 of Love for Thea

Grizzly didn’t hesitate. He looked at Picasso and gave a single, firm nod. He’d seen Wyatt hot-wire a tractor at ten and navigate a C-130 through a monsoon at twenty-five. If Wyatt said he could make the machine breathe, Grizzly would bet the farm on it.

Wyatt countered with a shrug, a warrior’s math. He signaled toward the tilting ridge and then back to the team: No other choice. We take the risk.

Grizzly made a circling motion with his hand: Time to split. He tapped his palm twice: Two teams.

They moved like a single organism. Wyatt and Falcon dropped into the lee of the chopper. Up the ramp, Ben took point as the shield, keeping protective space around Thea who moved steadily beside him. Reef ghosted ahead, scanning the flanks, while Picasso took the high ground.

They reached the aft console crate. Grizzly didn’t use a weapon when the Vanguard technician turned around. He simply clamped a massive hand over the man’s mouth and drove him into the metal side of the crate. The tech’s eyes went wide with terror, but the silence remained absolute.

With the man restrained, Thea stayed just behind Ben, and her eyes flicked to his for the signal. When he gave a slight nod, she slipped past him to the console. Her fingers moved over the keys with a steady economy. Every second became tactile, the silent clack of a key and the yellow blink of the uplink LED on the tablet Reef held for her.

A shadow from the roof of the main hangar shifted. Picasso’s hand snapped up in a silent Hold. He tilted his thumb, signaling One minute.

Reef gripped the tablet, his knuckles bone-white against the frame, while Thea fed the cipher into the handshake.

Ben watched her, marveling at the way she had completely checked out of the firefight. She didn't so much as blink when a muzzle flashed on the hangar roof, and she seemed totally unaware of the way he was shifting his weight to put his own torso between her and the sniper's line of sight.

To her, the screaming mountain and the armed contractors were just background noise; the only thing that existed for her was that scrolling green code. Ben was struck by a sudden, jarring truth: the girl who could hear the mountain’s pulse was the only person in the entire valley who didn't look terrified.

The uplink LED blinked from amber to green.

Thea’s screen flashed green, followed by a shuddering banner: UPLINK ESTABLISHED.

For a heartbeat, the silence of the pad was absolute, broken only by the high-frequency whirr of the satellite link. Grizzly reached up, clicking his headset back to life.

“Ranch Lead, this is Atlantic One,” he rasped. “We have the link. Give us the curtain!”

“Copy that, Atlantic One!” Mace’s voice roared in his ear. “Tex is hitting the switch. Go! Go! Go!”

Grizzly didn’t wait for a second invitation. He grabbed Thea’s upper arm, providing the forward momentum she needed to clear the service crate. “Now! Sprint!”

They broke cover, their boots hammering against the ash-slicked concrete toward the idling AgustaWestland. Reef and Picasso stayed a half-step behind, rifles raised, scanning the dark silhouette of the main hangar roof.

A shadow on the roofline shifted. A muzzle flashed, a silent, suppressed puff of dust hitting the pavement inches from Thea’s heel.

“Sniper!” Reef roared, dropping to one knee and returning fire. The suppressed cough-cough-cough of his rifle was the only answer as he forced the shooter to duck behind a vent stack.

“Mace, where’s my curtain?” Grizzly yelled into the Net.

Above them, on the roof of the hangar, the night was suddenly lit by a series of muffled thumps. The silo’s automated fire-suppression system, conveniently re-programmed by Tex’s digital wizardry, exploded into life. A massive, churning wave of high-expansion white foam erupted from the vents, burying the roof and the sniper beneath three feet of thick, chemical suds.

“Foam is down!” Mace yelled, laughing. “He’s blind and sticky, Grizz! Move!”

With the sniper neutralized, the team hit the side of the helicopter like a tidal wave. Reef provided one last burst of suppressive fire against the contractor clusters near the hangar before diving into the bay. Ben hauled Thea inside, slamming his back against the bulkhead and shielding her with his massive frame.

Wyatt didn’t wait for them to strap in before he slammed the throttles forward. The turbines screamed to life, a high-pitched howl that drowned out the mountain and sirens alike. Rotors bit into thick, ash-laden air, and for the briefest miracle, the machine took the strain.

The helicopter rose, not graceful, but violently alive, a jarring sequence of piston-shudder and hot wind.

For a breath, they had sky between them and the mountain’s mouth.

“Pacific One to Atlantic One,” Wolf’s voice cut through the static, long and thin like a whip crack of reality. “We have you on visual. Vector locked. We’re providing high-cover for your transit to the south pasture. Welcome back to the world, boys.”

Ben leaned his head back against the vibrating metal, his hand still locked around Thea’s. He looked out at the Stone Ribs as they receded into the haze. They had Thorne’s ride, they had his data, and they had a Pacific escort home.

“Wyatt, get us to the ranch,” Grizzly hissed into the Net. “Ma’s already started the coffee, and I think I’ve had enough of this mountain for one night.”

TWENTY