The beat of the helicopter blades felt like a physical assault, vibrating through the thin metal roof of the shack. Dust and debris rained down on us as the searchlight from above flooded the room, turning the flickering orange glow of the wood stove into a sickly, artificial white.
"He's here," I whispered, the word tasting like ash in my mouth.
Razack didn't hesitate. He grabbed the laptop and shoved it into a waterproof bag, his movements sharp and calculated. "The back window leads to the shipping containers. If we can get into the maze, the helicopter won't be able to track our heat signatures."
"But Martha... the children..."
"We can't help them if we're dead or back in his needles, Christine!" Razack grabbed my hand, his grip firm and grounding. "Move!"
Just as we reached the w
