Embrace the wild

Here Goes Nothing

Rayne crouched low in the ditch as the soft halo of headlights pushed through the falling snow. The storm dampened the world into a heavy silence, one so deep that her own heartbeat sounded too loud, too alive, too terrified.

Her breath came in short bursts of fog. Her knees shook. Her fingers twitched.

“Okay, Rayne,” she murmured to herself, sliding a shaking hand down her coat as if smoothing imaginary wrinkles would somehow make her braver. “This is it. Showtime. Don’t screw it up. Just be a deer. An adorable, non-murdered deer.”

She stepped into the road.

The ice crunched softly beneath her boots—almost delicate. The glow from the headlights caught on the falling flakes, turning everything into a blurry, trembling world of silver and shadow. She pushed her mind out, trying to make her thoughts soft, deer-like, harmless. Her illusion shimmered forward, wrapping around her like a second skin.

A doe. Big eyes. Fragile neck. Cute enough to slow down for.

The van didn’t slow down.

It accelerated.

“Oh, perfect,” she muttered under her breath. “Of course. Why brake for Bambi when you can reenact your midlife crisis behind the wheel?”

The realization hit her hard and fast—the driver wasn’t avoiding her. He was aiming for her.

Panic ripped through her chest like claws. The air froze in her lungs. Her muscles locked for half a second too long.

Then instinct exploded.

Rayne leapt sideways just as the van barreled toward her, missing her by inches. The force of it rushing past created a frigid, burning gust of air that slapped her cheek and tore at her coat.

Her boots hit the snow at the wrong angle, and she tumbled, body rolling through a drift. Ice burned her palms, cut into her skin. Her shoulder smacked a buried rock, sending white-hot pain shooting down her arm.

For one horrifying heartbeat, she thought the world had gone silent because she’d died.

Then the van shrieked.

Its tires hit a hidden sheet of ice, causing the whole vehicle to spin. The headlights swirled across the treeline like a demented lighthouse, and Rayne watched—half dazed, half horrified—as the van fishtailed.

It spun once.

Twice.

Then slammed into a cluster of trees with a thundering, bone-shaking crunch.

Branches snapped. Metal groaned and folded. The force of the impact echoed across the woods.

Rayne lay there blinking up at the sky, chest heaving. Snow landed on her face, melting immediately from the heat of her adrenaline.

“Well,” she gasped, breath hitching, “that… kind of worked? In the ‘I definitely didn’t plan it like that’ way.”

She pushed herself to her feet, legs trembling like wet paper. Every muscle felt wired—like she’d been plugged straight into a lightning storm.

She ran to the steaming, crumpled van.

The headlights flickered weakly. Steam curled from the ruined hood. The smell of gasoline and hot metal stung her nose, making her blink through the sting.

Rayne grabbed the back handle, hands trembling violently. Her brain kept screaming at her: What if the whole team is inside? What if Cain is inside? What if you find bodies—what if YOU killed them?

“Stop, stop, stop,” she whispered to herself. “No catastrophizing unless necessary.”

She yanked the door open.

And froze.

Two figures lay crumpled in the back—an older couple, bruised, cuffed, breathing.

Just them.

No soldiers. No backup team. No Cain.

Relief flooded her so hard her legs nearly buckled. She swallowed it down with a shuddery breath.

“Okay. Okay. Nobody’s dead. Great job, Rayne. Heroic ending unlocked. Let’s not ruin it.”

She climbed inside, knees sliding on the metal floor. She checked their pulses—both strong—and fumbled the cuff keys into the lock with fingers that kept slipping.

“Hi,” she whispered urgently as the man’s eyes fluttered open. “I’m Rayne. No time for questions or emotional breakdowns. You need to run. Right now. North. Keep going until your legs hate you. Did they capture your daughters?”

Ian blinked, dazed but wary. “They… weren’t there.”

Lie. A gentle one. He was trying to protect them from her. She didn’t blame him.

“There’s another van not far behind,” she said quickly. “Full team. If they get here before we disappear, they’ll kill all three of us. So, unless you two are in the mood to die tonight—which I’m definitely not—move.”

Ian helped his wife stand. She wobbled, clutching his arm.

Annie turned back, eyes shining with raw gratitude. “We should wait for Rayne. She saved us.”

Rayne’s throat tightened unexpectedly. Something warm hit her chest—sharp enough to sting.

Ian shook his head, pulling Annie along. “She’ll find us again.”

Rayne swallowed the ache. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I will.”

She cleared their tracks as best she could, sweeping away footprints until her fingers were numb and her palms burned. Then she grabbed a pistol and a knife from the unconscious driver.

“Sorry, dude. Really hope you stay asleep long enough for me to get a head start.”

Then she ran in the opposite direction, boots slapping the snow.

Each step sent pain rushing up her legs.

Her lungs burned with every breath.

The cold cut her face like glass.

Fear stalked her like a shadow—always at her heels, always ready to jump on her back.

She muttered to herself because silence made her thoughts too loud.

“Alone in the woods,” she said breathlessly. “Again. I'm barely familiar with using weapons. Again. Running from assassins. Again. Honestly, is this personal growth or just psychological warfare?”

The terrain thickened. Snow deepened to mid-shin. She stumbled more than once, catching herself on tree trunks, bark rough under her fingers.

Minutes became miles.

Her adrenaline drained out, leaving her shaky—like her bones were vibrating inside her skin. Her legs finally buckled beside a tall pine, and she slid down its trunk, chest heaving violently.

The woods were silent. Too silent.

Rayne hated silence. Silence meant danger. Silence meant thinking. And she thought too much.

“Well,” she whispered, voice cracking, “I didn’t expect confetti or a cheering crowd. But maybe a nice breeze whispering ‘good job not dying’ would’ve been appreciated.”

Then, as soft as a breath, something whispered in her ear.

Rayne jerked so hard she scraped her shoulder on the tree. Pain sparked down her arm.

“Nope. No. Absolutely not. I'm not able to do ghosts right now. Pick one nightmare at a time, universe!”

Then the whisper came again closer.

Then louder:

GET UP.

Rayne froze. Her breath misted in front of her.

Move north. Alaska. You have to make it to Alaska. It’s the only safe place.

Her heart stuttered. The voice was familiar. Ache-in-the-bone familiar. Like someone she’d lost, someone she still missed, someone she wasn’t ready to think about.

Tears burned behind her eyes.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Not terrifying at all. Mysterious voice, GPS activated. Sure. Let’s trust the disembodied emotional support ghost.”

But she trusted it. With every frayed wire left in her.

Rayne forced herself upright. Her knees screamed. Her muscles trembled so violently she thought she might collapse again. Her vision blurred at the edges.

A single tear slid down her cheek and froze halfway.

“Alaska,” she breathed. “Right. Sure. Just… several thousand miles of freezing wilderness. No big deal.”

Despite everything, the pain, the fear, the loneliness, she smiled.

A small, stubborn, defiant smile.

“I escaped,” she whispered. “I’m free. I get to choose where I go. And apparently, where I go is, of all places, Alaska.”

She adjusted her pack, squared her shoulders, and stepped into the dark.

“Okay, Rayne,” she said. “Let’s go not die.”

Snow swallowed her footsteps.

And she kept walking north.