He plunged though the last of the vines, exposing himself, but there was no other option. He had the Russian rifle at the ready.

He reached the box and was relieved to see carabiner clips hooked through two padlock hasps, securing the lid to the box, but not locking it.

He very quietly tapped once, twice, then once again. If Audrey was in there, she wouldn’t freak out when he opened the lid, but no one in the cabin would hear the soft knocks over the wind and rain.

The lid rose as far as the carabiners would allow, and again, a finger poked through. Once, again, then two times in quick succession. Her reply.

The lid closed, and he suppressed an audible whoosh of relief as he unclipped the carabiners and raised it again, opening it completely.

Audrey popped up like a jack-in-the-box and scrambled out of the thigh-high box as quietly as possible. That she uttered not a word told him how close the tangos were.

She pulled on her backpack as he relatched the box. If they were lucky, no one would guess they were ever in the cabin. Footprints around the box and broken vines would give them away, but he didn’t have time to erase their prints. He would just hope no one would look in this area before the rain washed them away.

He took her hand and led her silently back into the woods. She followed without a word. But then, none were necessary at this point. They needed distance before they could debrief.

He was out of plans at this point. All he knew was no matter what, he wouldn’t leave her side again.

Xavier was sure-footed and fast as he pulled Audrey into the woods. She’d caught a glimpse of the NVGs and rifle before they left the faint light of the open yard and entered the forest. He must’ve had a run-in with a tango and won. He could see, at least. That was all she needed to know for now. She would hold on to his vest and follow him into the dark.

Lake Olympus was shaped like an irregular and blobby knee-high thick-heeled boot, with the lodge situated on the shin and the cliff and waterfall on a swollen knee. The Jamison cabin was on a finger of the lake—or rather, the toe of the boot—that jutted to the east. A stream ran along the north side of the cabin, meeting the lake at the vamp of the boot. They crossed under the road on hands and knees, the stream soaking the sweatpants Audrey had borrowed from Harriet’s granddaughter.

She didn’t think of the frigid water as her hands found purchase on slippery rocks. Cold was nothing but a minor discomfort when compared to the terror she’d felt in the woodbox. She was alive. She would do anything she had to do to stay that way.