RAVEN’S FALL

Lewis and Clark National Historic Park

Fort-to-Sea trail corridor

Northern Oregon

The click came first — a hollow, metallic kiss against the sole of his buddy’s boot.

Instant.

Irreversible.

The world kicked. A dull, contained thump punched the air out of Bodie Page’s chest, hurling him backward in a rain of dirt, bark, and shredded fern. He hit hard, vision blurred, a high-pitched whine screaming in his head. Smoke filled his lungs, the bitter taste of blood and cordite thick on his tongue.

He rolled, pushed to his hands and knees, shrapnel peppered like patchwork down his right leg.

Evan Price was gone. Obliterated into fire and earth. Nothing but a smoking boot and his dog tags discernible amidst the carnage of blood and bone.

Wade Stone grunted off to Bodie’s right, hands wrapped around his thigh as bright blood pumped between his fingers. Bodie’s leg lit like a flare, but he crawled toward Wade, ears ringing, his mind narrowed to three irrefutable facts — Evan was dead, Wade was bleeding out, and they were in someone’s kill box.

Bodie grabbed Wade’s collar, dragged him behind an ancient fir, his gaze sweeping the foliage. Branches rustled in the distance, a single twig snapping somewhere behind them.

Buck Landry ghosted out of the smoke and debris, face smeared with blood — soot and mud streaked through his hair. He didn’t talk, just shoved Evan’s tags in Bodie’s pocket, helped Wade out of his medic bag, then cinched a tourniquet around Wade’s leg. Hands steady with the efficiency of a man who’d faced the devil and retained his soul.

Battered. Charred, but intact.

Buck wrote the time on Wade’s skin, then gave Bodie a hard look. They had about two hours before Wade suffered permanent damage from the restricted blood flow. Assuming they lasted that long.

Wade stared at the hole, eyes wide, unfocused. “What the fuck was that?”

Bodie had hemostatic gauze and pressure bandages spread out on Wade’s leg as he cut away the man’s pants below the tourniquet. “IED.”

“In a national park? I thought this was just some lame babysitting assignment? Geologists mapping out landslide risks so they could reopen this section? A cake walk. Now Evan’s…”

Wade’s voice trailed off, the rough edge filling in the rest. How they’d walked into a war they hadn’t known existed, and Evan had paid the ultimate price.

Bodie clenched his jaw, tying the bandages in place. “I…”

The first wave of suppression fire whispered past his head, punching the rough bark with a hollow thud. More rounds stitched through the trees, cutting down branches and leaves as footsteps vibrated up through the ground.

More men.

Moving through the underbrush.

Buck’s mouth twitched at the corner, eyes a bit wild. What Bodie assumed were those demons riding the man hard until Bodie grabbed his arm — held firm. Buck stared at him, breath evening out, hints of red creeping up his neck. He nodded once, shrugged the medic bag over his shoulders, then took point, returning controlled bursts into the surrounding forest. Keeping their enemy at bay until Bodie had Wade’s leg wrapped up — his buddy’s arm looped around his shoulder.

Bodie palmed his radio, static hissing above the next series of shots. “Dalton. Code Black. I repeat, Code Black. Get the civilians out now. South fire road. Don’t engage. Don’t stop. Just go!”

More static, then Dalton’s low rasp. “Copy. Civilians on the move. Hang tight, brother.”

“Negative, Dalton. Just take the crew and go.” The radio went dead. “Dalton. Shit.” Bodie ducked as more gunfire chewed through the underbrush. “Buck, on your three o’clock. Get ready to move. We’ll aim for the spur. See how motivated these guys are.”

Buck glanced at the charred, bloody patch for a moment. “Thinking pretty fucking motivated.”

A lump formed in Bodie’s throat, the tags in his pocket weighing him down. “Get ready to move on my mark.” He steadied Wade, waited for the lull of the bastards reloading, then motioned with his hand. “Now.”

Buck popped out, cutting a swath through the fern-choked undergrowth as Bodie lifted Wade — started hoofing it for the next massive spruce. A few bullets whizzed past, scattering any remaining birds as Bodie dragged Wade behind the trunk, Buck darting in a second later.

Sweat beaded Bodie’s brow, the exertion already taking a toll. Pain throbbed through his leg, a few of the metal fragments catching on his pants.

Buck returned fire, looked at Bodie out of the corner of his eye. “You should dress those wounds.”

“Later. If we’re still alive to worry about it.”

“Fog’s getting thicker, and it smells like rain. Storm’s moving in. But the added concealment goes both ways.”

“We’ll keep moving until we either run out of forest, or…”

They ran out of time.

He didn’t voice it, but Buck’s grim nod confirmed he’d gotten the message. They’d make their stand. Live or die by their code.

Another countdown and another gauntlet run for the next viable cover, boots kicking up needles and dirt — sliding in behind a dense nurse log as bullets cracked through the bark on the other side.

Wade groaned, dots of blood bleeding through the pressure dressing.

Buck added another layer as Bodie scanned the forest. Thick fog rolled across the ridge, deadening the usual echo of surf crashing against the cliffs a mile west. Salt hung heavy in the air, hints of smoke and burnt earth mixed in.

There.

Two men.

Moving in a low crouch just beyond a thicket of bramble. Tactical vests and gear layered over dark camo prints. They made a few hand signals, silently breaking right as two more appeared behind them, both flanking left.

Routine scouting mission his ass.

Sure, he’d expected they’d run into poachers or vandals — maybe an extremist cell building some kind of bunker in the dense blowdown. Nothing his teammates at Raven’s Security couldn’t handle. Not when they’d all spent years humping missions from one hellhole to another. Surviving ambushes and assault ops. Both Evan and Wade had been part of Bodie’s Ranger unit. And Buck, while a bit rattled from the car bomb that had ended his career, had been a Marine Raider, specializing in reconnaissance and ordinance deployments. But this…

This wasn’t a group of weekend warriors. These men were professionals, hunting with the disciplined rhythm of a single unit.

Buck shifted in beside Bodie. “We need to move.”

Bodie glanced over at Wade. “This is killing him.”

“Bullets’ll do it faster.” Buck checked his mag, switched it for another. What looked like his last. “You know who we need? Our resident sniper.”

Bodie snorted as he hiked Wade over his shoulder. “I told Dalton to go.”

“I know.” Buck motioned toward the trail. “You ready?”

He showed the countdown on one hand, then pelted the two flanks with quick, sharp trigger pulls, slashing through wood and dirt as Bodie raced for a branching path ahead on the right, firing off a few rounds to cover Buck’s retreat.

They hit the narrow trail half-dragging, half-carrying Wade, the man’s head lolled to one side. His boots caught on a root — tripped Bodie face-first into the mud, reigniting the fire in his leg as the shrapnel shifted, a few pieces digging in deeper.

Buck had Bodie’s arm a heartbeat later, yanking him to his feet before fisting Wade’s shirt — dragging him clear. Bushes rustled around them, glimpses of camo and black tactical garb moving in and out of the fog as the team closed in around them.

Bodie checked his ammo. “I’ve got one mag left for the carbine. Two for the Sig.”

Buck eyed him. “That’s three more than I’ve got. Down to my last few shots on both.”

“You carry. I’ll cover.”

Buck glanced at Bodie’s leg. “You sure you’re not already seeing double from the blood loss? We really need to patch that.”

“Later. And I’ll hit both targets.”

“Or, I’ll draw them off, and you take Wade and make a run for that spur.”

“Screw that. No…” Bodie handed Buck all but a spare mag for his Sig, nearly dropping one when his vision blurred and he missed Buck’s hand. “Ride or die, brother.”

Buck tucked the mags into his vest. “Where’s a good alien abduction when you need one, huh?” He tracked his next target. “We’ll go on three. One. Two—”

A crack.

Sharp. Clean.

Nothing like the dull whoosh of the enemy’s suppressed SBRs. This was loud. Direct.

A thump sounded nearby. Heavy. Final. A couple branches cracking beneath the weight.

The fog stirred as shadowed silhouettes darted for deeper cover, an eerie silence following the lingering echo.

A hiss across their radios crackled to life. “Quadrant four’s open. Move. I’ll cover your retreat. Meet you farther down the trail.”

Eric Dalton. Former-Green Beret and the man who’d just saved their asses.

They took off, clambering through the deadfall, then onto a narrow track. Two more shots rang out behind them, their first glimmer of hope since the world had exploded in fire and rage.

Buck helped shoulder some of Wade’s weight, picking up the pace until Bodie’s thigh burned white-hot. Needles tingling across his skin.

They reached a tangle of roots when motion stirred off to their right. Dalton materialized out of the forest like a wraith. Rifle in his hands. Mud, sweat, and determination lining his brow. He moved fast, boots barely making a sound before he grabbed Wade’s arm — slung the man across his shoulders fireman-style.

No words, just the quiet confidence of a warrior who’d been to hell and still bore the scars. He pointed to the ridge, getting them clear before the men had regrouped — resumed pursuit.

The light bled into gray, the thick cloud cover obscuring any hint of sunset as they quickstepped along the top of a ravine, mud and stones sloughing off the side with every stride. The group tagged behind, branching out — systematically corralling them toward a sheer cliff face. Dalton maintained lead, pace steady. Strong. Wade’s added weight barely slowing him down. They hit the edge of the ravine and turned left, skirting past a chokehold in the forest — escaping the first trap with only seconds to spare, a few errant bullets pelting the ground in their wake.

Buck metered his response, trading off with Bodie every other round. But even rationing their ammo, Bodie knew they’d run out before they’d gotten clear.

Dalton stopped short as they reached the edge of a ravine cutting through the forest like an open wound. Water raged a good eighty feet down, nothing but a slick, moss-covered log bridging the gap.

Bodie checked their six. The fog swirled on a parallel line, ghostly silhouettes moving amidst the mist. Not close enough to engage, but that would change.

Buck looked over the side, shoulders stiff, back rigid. “I’ll take those bastards on with my bare hands before I cross that death log.”

Dalton nodded. “No cover. No grip. Just a one-way trip into the river. I’d rather just jump if it comes down to it.”

Bodie crowded in close. “Wade would never survive the impact. Not from this height. If we go now, we might outflank the men on the right — sneak through before they fully box us in.”

Dalton’s lips pinched into a tight line. “Worth a shot.”

Bodie snagged Dalton’s elbow. “I can take Wade. Make a run for it while you and Buck jump — get backup.”

Dalton merely chuckled as if he thought Bodie was nuts. “Right. Take point. And use extreme prejudice.”

Bodie tucked into the woods, trying to forge ahead when his radio crackled, a blast of static singing through the air before the line connected, a hollow breath sounding on the other end.

“I can clear a path — guide you out — but you’re going to have to go against all those voices in your head and trust me.” A pause, just a soft breath whispering across the airwaves. “You in, soldier?”