That night, my husband cooked dinner—something he hadn’t done in weeks. It already felt unusual. But just minutes after we finished eating, both my son and I suddenly collapsed.

The chill of the autumn night hit us like a wall of ice as we burst out of the garage into our backyard. Above us, a crescent moon hung in a starless sky, casting a dim, silvery glow over the lawn.

“Keep moving! Don’t stop!” I urged Noah, pulling him toward the rear property line where a thick, dense line of pine woods bordered our neighborhood.

Behind us, the heavy slam of the service door echoed through the yard.

“Elena! You can’t outrun me! You’ll freeze out there!” Caleb’s voice boomed, close—too close.

We dove into the cover of the woods, the sharp pine needles crunching beneath our sneakers. The canopy of tall trees blocked out most of the moonlight, plunging us into near-total darkness. Branches whipped against our faces, tearing at our clothes, but fear kept our legs moving.

We scrambled down a steep, muddy embankment, sliding the last few feet into a dry creek bed at the bottom. We huddled against the damp earthen wall beneath a thick overhang of roots and ferns, panting heavily, trying to muffle the sound of our breathing.

Above us, the crunch of footsteps echoed along the ridge of the embankment.

Caleb’s flashlight beam cut through the dark canopy above, sweeping back and forth like a searchlight. The bright white light scanned the trees just yards away from where we hid.

I wrapped my arms tightly around Noah, pressing his face into my chest so he wouldn't make a sound. My own heart was hammering so loudly I was terrified Caleb would hear it over the rustling wind.

“I know you’re down there, Elena,” Caleb’s voice whispered through the ravine, amplified by the natural acoustics of the gully in a way that made it sound like it was coming from right beside us. “You can’t survive out here without a jacket, without a map, without anything. Come out now, and make this quick for Noah.”

A cold sweat broke out across my back. He was trying to break us psychologically.

I reached into my pocket and felt the hard edges of the microSD card and the hard drive. If we were going to survive this, we needed more than just a hiding spot. We needed to get those files into the hands of someone who could use them. But who? My phone had no signal down in this deep ravine.

Wait. The microSD card.

I pulled it out carefully, squinting in the pitch black. Could I put it into an old burner phone I kept in my emergency kit in the car? No, the car was back at the house.

Suddenly, a twig snapped directly above our hiding spot.

Heavy boots stepped onto the edge of the creek bed, just feet away.