If the PZs caught her, it would be worse than that.

Heart pounding hard, she powered on the drone, hovered it, and sent it off the cliff down to the target zone. A quick check ensured everything was being recorded to her phone.

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

She watched the screen and kept the drone high up. Wasn’t it nice the PZs had all that cleared land and those big plastic greenhouses? It was easy to find the compound in the forest.

Iron Boy flew past the southern fence toward the rooftops.

Now, which building will have the children?

“Down, boy.” She worked the controls to decrease the elevation.

Iron Boy dropped low enough she could see people. Men with rifles. Women. A couple of big dogs. Right, mustn’t forget the guard dogs when planning.

There—there were the children. Kids were playing games between two houses near the east fence. One building had two ugly shrubs in front, the other one a flagpole.

Score! The children’s barracks must be one of those two houses.

The kids started pointing at the sky. At the drone. Uh-oh. The adults noticed. Suddenly, fireworks sounded. The snapping and crackling echoed off the mountains.

Her screen went blank.

She stared at her phone and shook it. The drone display was gone. That hadn’t been fireworks. Merda, it’d been gunfire.

They’d shot Iron Boy. Killed her little drone. Her hands went cold. Numb.

They’d come searching for the drone operator—for her.

Run.

She shoved her gear into the bag and sprinted through the thick underbrush. A branch scraped across her face in a flare of pain. Eyes tearing, she bounced off a tree.

Faster.

She leaped over a dead log and tripped on the uneven ground. A rock tore her palm open, and her ankle twisted with a blast of pain. She scrambled up and forward, shoving her way through the dense growth, collecting more stinging scratches and scrapes. Her arm bumped into the spine-covered stem of a tall, ugly plant. Ow, ow, ow.

Panting, heart trying to burst from her chest, she staggered into the open area around the cabin.

No one was there. Not yet. Move.

She jumped into her car and sped down the narrow dirt road. Branches lashed the sides of the vehicle. The bottom of the car scraped as the wheels dipped into the ruts.

Don’t get stuck, don’t get stuck.

At Dall Road, she started to turn north toward town. To go home. To hide.

No, no, she couldn’t. She’d have to drive past the turnoff to the PZ compound to get back to Rescue and her cabin. What if someone was watching the road?

She turned to the right and headed up the mountain. There was a bar at the ski resort…with alcohol. Maybe she’d even buy a bottle to bring home with her.