They ran.
Well, Anaya ran. Evan stumbled forward, his vision starting to blur, his shoulder leaving a blood trail that a blind person could follow.
After what felt like miles but was probably only a few hundred yards, they stopped in a small clearing. Evan collapsed against a tree, breathing hard.
Anaya was crying now, her small hands hovering over his wound, afraid to touch it. "Papa, you're hurt! You're hurt so bad!"
"I've had worse." A lie. This was pretty bad. "But kid—" He managed a smile despite the pain. "Did you see Morrison's face? When he realized the camera was fake?"
"Papa, this isn't funny!"
"It's a little funny." Evan reached into his jacket with his good hand and pulled out the real camera bag—smaller, more compact, hidden under his shirt the whole time. "Tell me—who's an idiot now, Morrison?"
Anaya's eyes went huge. "You—you had the real one the whole time?"
"Yusuf packs two camera bags. One for field work, one for backup. The backup bag had the toy camera and some blank drives." Evan's grin widened despite his pain. "I swapped them before we left the vehicle. Just in case. But how foolish Yusuf is to put something that precious here. "
"You FOOLED him!"
"Completely." Evan tucked the real camera bag back inside his jacket. "Now he's got nothing. No intel. No footage. No—"
"SPREAD OUT!" Morrison's voice, distant but getting closer. "They can't have gone far! Look for blood! Cross is wounded!"
Evan's smile faded. "Okay. Fun's over. We need to move."
"But you're bleeding!"
"Then we move and bleed." He pushed himself up with his good arm, swaying slightly.
Anaya moved to his right side immediately, her small body supporting as much of his weight as she could.
They walked deeper into the forest.
Behind them, Morrison's voice continued to echo:
"FIND THEM! I don't care if it takes all day! I don't care if you have to track them to the barrier and back! FIND THEM!"
But the forest was vast. And he didn't even know where barrier was.
And Evan had learned from a person—from Morrison himself —how to disappear when you needed to.
How to survive when someone was after you.
"Papa?" Anaya whispered as they walked. "Are we going to make it?"
Evan looked down at her small, scared face. At the trust still shining in those amber eyes despite everything.
"Yeah, little light," he said. And meant it. "We're going to make it."
Even if he had to bleed every step of the way.
Even if Morrison hunted them to the ends of the earth.
They were going to make it.
Because failure wasn't an option.
Not when this small, brave, impossible child was counting on him.
Not when they were so close to getting her home.
They disappeared deeper into the forest.
And behind them, Morrison stood in the creek bed, holding a toy camera, his face twisted with rage.
"Cross," he whispered to the darkness. "You can't run forever."
But for now—for this moment—Evan could run far enough.
And that would have to be enough.
The sun was beginning to rise, painting the forest in shades of gold and amber. Beautiful. Peaceful.
Completely at odds with the blood soaking through Evan's jacket.
They'd been walking for maybe twenty minutes since escaping Morrison, putting as much distance as possible between them and their pursuers. But Evan's shoulder was still bleeding, leaving a trail that anyone with basic tracking skills could follow.
He needed to stop it. Now.
"Anaya," he said, his voice tight. "We need to stop for a minute."
"Is your shoulder worse?"
"It's fine. Just need to... take care of something." Evan lowered himself carefully against a large oak tree, his vision swimming slightly. Blood loss. Not critical yet, but getting there.
Anaya knelt beside him, her small face creased with worry. "What are you going to do?"
"Old field medicine trick. Not pleasant, but effective." Evan pulled out the hunting knife from his boot—the one he'd grabbed from Haven's supply room before they left. He held it over a small pile of dry leaves and twigs. "Can you make a fire, baby? Just a small one? My one hand isn't working much."
"But fire makes smoke! The bad people will see—"
"The sun's up now. The smoke will dissipate in the canopy. And we can't keep bleeding all over the forest. Morrison will track us in minutes." Evan handed her the emergency matches from his pocket. "Just a small fire. Please."
Anaya's hands shook as she struck the match. It took three tries before the leaves caught. The flames were tiny, barely there, but enough.
Evan held the knife blade in the fire, watching it heat. Watching it start to glow.
"Papa," Anaya whispered, understanding dawning on her face. "Papa, what are you—"
"It's the only way to cauterize the wound, stop the bleeding." He kept his voice calm despite the dread building in his chest. "I've done this before. Well, seen it done. Same thing."
"It's NOT the same thing!" Tears spilled down her cheeks. "It's going to hurt! Really bad!"
"Yeah. It is." Evan pulled off his jacket with his good arm, then his shirt, exposing the wound. Entry hole in the front of his shoulder, exit wound in the back. Both still oozing blood. "But I need you to be brave for me, okay? I'm going to make some noise when I do this. Probably say some bad words. You're going to cover your ears and hum. Can you do that?"
"Papa—"
"Anaya. Please."
She covered her ears with her small hands, tears streaming down her face. Started humming—the lullaby he'd sung to her that one night. Shaky and off-key but there.
Evan pulled the knife from the fire. The blade glowed red-hot.
He took a breath.
Then pressed the flat of the blade against the entry wound.
The world went white with pain.
He heard himself scream—tried to muffle it, tried to keep quiet, but the agony was beyond anything he'd prepared for. He couldn't scream.
When he pulled it away, the entry wound was cauterized. Sealed. No more bleeding.
One down.
Evan's hands shook as he heated the knife again. His shoulder was screaming. His whole left side felt like it was on fire.
But the exit wound was still bleeding.
He had to do it again.
"Papa, please," Anaya sobbed, her hands still over her ears. "Please don't—"
"Almost done, little light. Almost—"
He pressed the hot blade to the exit wound on the back of his shoulder.
This time he couldn't hold back the scream. It tore from his throat, raw and animal. His body arched against the tree. Black spots danced in his vision.
Three seconds.
Had to hold it for three seconds. His whole body shaking. Sweat pouring down his face despite the cool morning air.
But the bleeding had stopped.
Both wounds cauterized. Ugly. Painful. But sealed.
"Papa!" Anaya threw herself at him, careful to avoid his shoulder. "Papa, are you okay? Please say you're okay!"
"I'm... okay." His voice was hoarse from screaming. "Just... give me a minute."
She pulled back, looking at his shoulder. The wounds were horrible—burned flesh, angry red, already starting to blister around the edges. But no more bleeding.
"Does it hurt?"
"Like you wouldn't believe." Evan managed a weak smile. "But it worked. No more blood trail. Morrison can't track us now."
"But your shoulder—"
"Will heal. Slowly. Painfully. But it'll heal." He pulled his shirt back on carefully, wincing at every movement. The fabric stuck to the burned wounds. He'd have to deal with infection risk later. Right now, they needed to move.
Anaya kicked dirt over the small fire, extinguishing it completely just as evan had said. Then she helped Evan stand, her small body supporting his right side.
"Map," he said. "Where's the map?"
She pulled it from the emergency pack. Evan unfolded it with his good hand, studying their position.
Or trying to.
The problem was, he had no idea where they actually were.
The landmarks were unfamiliar.
"We're lost," he said quietly.
"But the barrier—"
"Should be... southwest. Roughly." Evan folded the map back up. "We'll have to follow gut instinct now. And hope we get lucky."
"Papa, what if we don't make it in time? What if the barrier shifts before—"
"It won't." He squeezed her hand. "We have until sunset. That's... maybe twelve hours. We can cover a lot of ground in twelve hours."
"But you're hurt."
"I've been worse." Another lie.
They walked.
Evan tried to keep their heading southwest by watching the sun's position, by reading the moss on trees, by using every wilderness navigation trick he'd ever learned. But without landmarks, without the map being useful, it was mostly guesswork.
And every step sent fresh waves of pain through his shoulder.
After an hour, Anaya said: "Papa, do you feel anything? Like... a pull?"
"A pull?"
"The barrier. I should be able to feel it when we get close. Like something calling me home." Her small face scrunched up in concentration. "But I don't feel anything yet."
"We're probably still too far away." Evan pushed through a thicket of bushes. "Keep trying. Let me know the second you feel something."
They walked in silence for a while. The forest was beautiful in the morning light—birds singing, small animals rustling in the undergrowth, the gentle whisper of wind through leaves.
"Papa?" Anaya's voice was small. "Tell me a story? To help us not think about the scary parts?"
Evan almost said no. He was exhausted, in pain, focused on not passing out.
But then he looked down at her small, hopeful face and couldn't refuse.
"Okay. Story time. Let's see..." He thought for a moment. "Once upon a time, there was a cloud named Bob."
"A CLOUD?"
"Yes. A cloud. Named Bob. He was very fluffy and white and happy. But Bob had a problem—he was afraid of heights."
"Papa, clouds LIVE in the sky! They're MADE of heights!"
"I know! That's why it was a problem!" Evan grinned despite his pain. "All the other clouds would float way up high, enjoying the view, and Bob would be down low, practically touching the treetops, too scared to go higher."
"That's the silliest thing ever."
"Excuse me, I'm telling a story here. Show some respect for Bob's struggles." Evan stepped over a fallen log, wincing. "So one day, a bird flew through Bob. Just—whoosh—right through his middle. And the bird said, 'Hey, why are you down here? Clouds belong up high!' And Bob said, 'But I'm scared of heights!' And the bird said, 'Buddy, you ARE height. You're literally made of air and water vapor suspended in the atmosphere. You can't be scared of yourself!'"
Anaya giggled. "What did Bob say?"
"Bob said, 'That's a very good point. I never thought of it that way.' So he took a deep breath—which was hard because he didn't have lungs—and floated up. Higher and higher. And you know what? He loved it. Turned out he was only scared because he'd never tried. The end."
"That's actually a good story!"
"Don't sound so surprised."
"All your other stories are terrible! This one actually makes sense!"
"Well, don't get used to it. My next story will definitely be about a sentient potato or something equally ridiculous."
She laughed, and the sound was like sunlight breaking through clouds.
They walked for another hour, Evan's legs growing heavier with each step. His shoulder throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He was pretty sure he had a low-grade fever starting.
But they kept moving.
"Papa, I'm thirsty," Anaya said eventually.
"Yeah. Me too." Evan listened carefully. "I hear water. This way."
They found a small stream about fifty yards through the trees. Clear, cold, flowing over smooth rocks. Perfect.
Anaya knelt at the edge, cupping her small hands to drink. Then she paused.
"Thank you, river," she said softly. "For the water. For being here when we needed you."
The water—it moved.
Waves moving upstream for just a second, forming what almost looked like... a hand? A wave? An acknowledgment?
Then it was gone. Just normal water flowing over normal rocks.
"Did you see that?" Anaya breathed, her eyes huge.