Page 51 of In the Dark of the Past

My breath stuttered. The picture was angled, taken from the mini hallway inside. My placard was visible and had a sunflower next to it, meaning it had been taken recently. Libby had just given me that.

Someone had been watching. Was still watching? Waiting.

Finn’s jaw hardened. “They’re not even pretending anymore.”

I opened my mouth to agree⁠—

A twig snapped behind us. Not wind. Not an animal. A footstep.

We spun together, and three figures melted out of the trees. Just like in the video, their faces were hidden behind cheap plastic masks—white with red eyes painted in streaky strokes. Not Halloween masks. More like symbols. Or uniforms.

Their rain gear was dark and heavy, the hoods pulled low. Water sheeted off them as they stepped into our meager circle of light. The one in the middle held a knife—long and serrated, catching the lightning when it flashed, as if begging to be used.

Finn stepped in front of me instantly and raised his gun in a steady two-handed grip, a single motion that was instinct more than thought.

“Maple Ridge Sheriff’s Department,” he barked. “Drop the weapon.”

They didn’t. The middle one cocked his head, voice distorted through the mask. “I don’t think so.”

Then, they charged.

Everything happened at once.

Finn fired a shot to incapacitate, but just as he did, one of them threw a fistful of dirt at him. The shot went wild, and they scattered—fast and trained, not the panicked flailing of amateurs.

The knife man lunged left, straight for Finn, while another came at him from the other side. He fired another shot, and I heard a scream of pain, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Finn and the guy with the hunting blade.

“Finn!” I shouted.

He pivoted, blocking with his right arm. The blade caught him high on the forearm and his gun fell and skittered off. I heard him grunt in pain and saw a wet, red line instantly blossom on his jacket sleeve, the rain turning it pink before washing it down his hand.

He didn’t flinch. At all. Instead, he grabbed the attacker, turned his weight, and slammed him into the ground so hard the man’s mask skittered off into the mud.

A scream tore through the storm, but I couldn’t tell whose it was. It could have been mine for all I knew. I was too shocked to fully be in the moment.

The second masked figure lunged at me. I didn’t think. I didn’t freeze. I acted.

Bear spray hissed as I unloaded it directly into his face. The man shrieked, clawing at his burning eyes, stumbling backward into a tree trunk. I swung my flashlight at his head, but my boot slipped in the mud, and I missed.

The third person bolted into the brush, crashing through branches like a frightened animal. It had to be the wounded one. The half-blind one followed close after and I let him go.

Finn was already on his feet, blood pouring down his arm, turning rainwater into a pink stream running off his fingertips.

“River, go!” he shouted.

“Not without you!”

He whipped toward me, his expression fierce and desperate. Rain streaked down his cheeks, mixing with mud and blood from another injury somewhere. His eyes were the only bright thing in the dark.

“Damn it, River⁠—”

The knife attacker groaned and tried to crawl away, but Finn dropped onto him, knee in his spine, quickly zip-tying his wrists with one hand with the speed of someone who had done it a thousand times.

One hand.

The guy on the ground struggled.

“Stop resisting arrest, you piece of shit,” Finn growled. The guy didn’t listen. He redoubled his efforts, bucking and kicking. Finn finally just clocked the guy a good one until his head bounced off the ground and he went limp. I heard him sigh, before he repositioned his head and checked his pulse.