Chapter 10 - The Guernsey County Ridge
-10-
The logging roads through the Guernsey County hills were a bone-jarring maze of mud, exposed tree roots, and steep inclines that tested the suspension of the old Ford pickup to its absolute limits. The truck bounced and slid across the wet clay, its tires throwing up great clods of red mud as Mae navigated the treacherous terrain with the fierce concentration of a rally driver.
In the passenger seat, Leah cradled her son tightly against her chest, using her own body as a shock absorber every time the truck hit a deep rut. The baby slept through the violent shaking, lulled by the steady hum of the engine and the warmth of his mother’s arms.
“How much further to the state line?” Mae shouted over the roar of the straining transmission.
“About thirty miles through the ridge,” Leah called back, squinting through the mud-spattered windshield at the dense forest canopy overhead. “Once we hit the old interstate bypass near Wheeling, we can ditch this truck at a rest stop and rent a car under your maiden name.”
“Assuming my credit cards aren't already flagged by the hospital administration,” Mae muttered, gripping the steering wheel as the truck slid sideways on a patch of wet shale before catching traction.
Suddenly, a low, thrumming sound vibrated through the air above them—a heavy, mechanical beating that grew louder with every second.
Leah looked up through the glass sunroof of the cab. A dark blue helicopter bearing the private crest of the Carver Foundation rose above the tree line half a mile ahead, its powerful searchlight sweeping methodically across the logging trail.
“They found us,” Mae gasped, slamming on the brakes. The truck skidded to a halt beneath the thick canopy of an ancient oak tree just as the chopper hovered overhead, its rotor wash whipping the branches into a frantic dance.
“They don't have a clear line of sight through the leaves,” Leah said quickly, pulling her dark wool coat tighter around the baby’s head. “Kill the engine. Now.”
Mae twisted the key, plunging the truck into sudden, eerie silence save for the heavy thumping of the helicopter blades overhead.
For three agonizing minutes, the chopper hovered directly above them, its searchlight cutting through the dense foliage in bright, blinding arcs of white light. One beam swept across the hood of the truck, illuminating the faded green paint and the mud-caked tires.
Leah held her breath, pressing her face against the baby’s soft hair, whispering silent prayers to a God she hadn't prayed to in years. Not now. Please, not now.
Above them, the helicopter’s radio crackled through the open window of the truck, the pilot’s voice distorted by static.
“Negative sighting on Route 40 bypass... sweeping sector four ridge line... thermal imaging showing nothing definitive through the heavy canopy... returning to base for fuel.”
The heavy thrumming of the rotors slowly faded as the aircraft banked away toward the west, its sound diminishing until nothing was left except the dripping of dew from the oak leaves and the pounding of Leah’s heart.
May you like
Mae let out a long, shuddering breath, her head dropping against the steering wheel. “That was entirely too close.”
“They’ll check the highway checkpoints next,” Leah said, opening the truck door and stepping out into the damp forest air. “We need to move before they realize the thermal imaging can’t penetrate the heavy rock formations near the creek.”
