Page 35 of The One that Got Away

Then, they set off the signals. Red light blasted up in the sky, and they could hear yelling as the pursuers took up the chase.

Leaves crunched underfoot as Lisa and Oliver plunged deeper into the wilderness, an expanse of shadows and whispers. Their breaths frosted the air, mingling with the night’s mist that curled around them like wraiths. They moved with purpose, each step propelling them further from their children, each stride a silent declaration of war against the unseen enemy.

"Head to the ridge," Oliver murmured, his voice barely louder than the rustle of the underbrush.

Lisa could feel the thrum of the earth beneath her boots, the heartbeat of the wild that had become their temporary ally.

Oliver's hand brushed hers, an anchor in the surge of uncertainty. "We can lose them there," he added, his eyes scanning the dense thicket for signs of pursuit.

They reached a clearing, moonlight piercing the canopy in silver shafts, casting ghostly patterns on the forest floor. Lisa's heart raced as she glanced back, half-expecting to see the shadow of their pursuers looming over them. But there was only the forest—silent, watchful, and vast.

"Keep moving," Oliver urged, his voice laced with the strain of their flight.

With the precision of a woodworker carving his path, Oliver led them along a barely discernible trail marked only by the subtle signs he had come to recognize. Every so often, he would pause, tilting his head to catch the faintest sound, the distant snap of a twig, or the soft tread of danger. Lisa stayed close, her senses heightened to every nuance of the night.

A sudden crack echoed through the trees, sharp and ominous, fracturing the stillness. Lisa's pulse spiked, and she tightened her grip on the makeshift weapon clutched in her hand—a sturdy branch she'd picked up along the way, its weight reassuring against her palm.

"Here," Oliver said, pointing to a cluster of rocks draped in moss. They crouched behind it, their bodies taut with anticipation, ready to spring. Oliver's dark hair fell across his forehead, a stark contrast against the paleness of his face. His eyes met Lisa's in the moonlight, an unspoken message passing between them—they were in this together, whatever the end might be.

"Remember the plan," Lisa whispered, her thoughts drifting to the kids, Ava, and the life they were fighting to reclaim. Her love for them burned fierce and bright, fueling her resolve. "If we split up?—"

"Shh." Oliver's hand on her arm stilled her words. Movement flickered at the edge of her vision, a shadow detaching itself from the darkness.

"Go!" It was a shout and a whisper all at once, and they broke cover, sprinting away from the rocks, drawing the danger with them.

Their lungs screamed, muscles burning as they pushed their bodies beyond limits, every footfall a defiance of fear. The ground blurred beneath them, the forest a maze of adrenaline and will.

"Lisa!" Oliver's voice cut through the clamor of their escape. She turned just in time to see him stumble, a root catching his ankle. She was at his side in an instant, pulling him to his feet, their partnership unyielding even as chaos unfurled around them.

"Keep going!" he urged, the pain etched onto his face overshadowed by the determination in his eyes.

Together, they ran, their love a silent chant in the rhythm of their steps, their sacrifice a testament to the depth of their bond. They charged into the heart of peril, unwavering and brave for their family and each other.

They took a turn minutes later, and Oliver believed it seemed familiar. “We’re on track for the cabin again,” he said. “I used to play here as a child.”

Oliver sighed with relief as he saw the cabin once they ran through a row of trees. This could provide them with shelter. For now.

Chapter Twelve

The rugged door of the cabin slammed shut with a resounding thud, its aged wood groaning under the weight of desperation. Oliver's chest heaved as he slid the deadbolt into place, his broad shoulders rising and falling in tandem with Lisa's frantic breaths. Shadows enveloped them. The only light was the moonlight seeping through the cracks in the timbered walls. The air was electric with anxiety, their shared pulse thundering loud enough to drown out the encroaching footsteps from outside.

"Oliver," Lisa whispered, her voice barely audible over the cacophony of their heartbeats. She clutched at his flannel shirt, seeking solace in the solid warmth of his presence. Her eyes darted around the dimly lit interior, looking for any sign of reassurance in this maelstrom of fear.

"Shh, it's going to be okay," he mouthed back, though his uncertainty gnawed at him. The familiar scent of sawdust clinging to his skin reminded him of his workshop, a sanctuary that now felt worlds away.

Their bodies pressed against the rough logs, and the couple crouched low beneath a dust-covered window. Outside, the rustling of leaves and snapping twigs intensified, signaling their pursuers' unwavering proximity. Oliver’s hand moved to the gun, its weight a grim comfort. His fingers traced the handle, each movement a silent testament to his determination to protect their sanctuary, their life together.

As if on cue, gunshots shattered the silence, bullets piercing the night and embedding themselves into the cabin’s exterior. Splinters flew like deadly confetti, a stark reminder of how fragile their shelter was.

"Down!" Oliver commanded, pulling Lisa closer to the ground and shielding her with his body. His heart throbbed in his ears, a relentless drum pushing him past the edge of fear into action. He rose just enough to peek through the window, the gun now cradled in his trembling hands.

Lisa's breath hitched, her chest tightening with every shot Oliver fired into the dark abyss beyond their refuge. Each blast was a defiant cry, an echo of the small-town resilience that had bound them to this place and each other.

The moonlight cast a pale glow over the chamber, illuminating Oliver's determined face. It was a countenance carved from the same wood he lovingly shaped by day, now hardened by the resolve to keep the danger at bay. His jaw clenched with each recoil, and his normally kind eyes narrowed into steely slits of focus.

A shiver of terror raced down Lisa's spine, her mind reeling with images of her children—Ethan's wide, frightened eyes, Abigail's trembling hands, Julia's silent cries. The thought of them lost and alone in the woods was almost too much to bear. But then she clung to the lifeline of hope: Ava had taken them to safety. She would have led them away from danger by now, toward the shadowy embrace of the forest where threats were hidden but so was refuge.

"Oliver," she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the pounding in her chest, "the kids…."

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