Hector looked up and down the narrow ravine.

The ravine and the stream sloped gently downward to his right. Up the other way, it curved forwards out of his sight. Scrawny, weathered pines overhung the ravine on both sides and gave it a sheltered feel, but Hector didn’t want to have the disadvantage of being on lower ground if he ran into the hunters again. After some thought, he decided to climb the opposite slope of the ravine to where he had come from. Using a small compass he had stored in his emergency bag, he found that the stream ran downhill to the southeast.

Which way should I go? The stream would be a handy water source… Upstream or downstream? That is the question…

A sudden noise startled Hector and he dropped into a crouch. A rush of wings and a large bird, maybe an eagle, shot overhead to the northeast.

Hector didn’t know what, if anything at all, had startled the bird, but he didn’t want to stick around to find out. Northeast. Upstream it is. Once Hector had made his way out of the ravine, he walked silently along the far edge from the direction that he thought the hunters were in. If they wanted to capture him, they’d have to cross the ravine.

The only problem- Hector didn’t think they wanted to capture him. Flores would have no need of another prisoner once he had gotten the fern.

Hector hiked upstream for about thirteen miles. The creek slowly curved to the right and Hector noticed it slowly proceeded uphill- but up a different hill then the one he had been chased down earlier. As long as he was going away from the compound, Hector would be satisfied.

The sun was sinking low behind the mountains when Hector found a suitable spot to rest. A huge rock jutted out of the mountain. Underneath it was a flat, cave-like space about ten feet wide and seven feet deep. The surrounding slopes were steep and tree-covered, making it difficult to approach from below. Hector clambered under the outcrop and unslung his heavy, green, military-style backpack. His small rifle he plunked onto the dry dirt to his side. Hector wished he had his AK with him, but it was too heavy to carry. The Arctic Warfare sniper rifle was light, compact, and accurate, and Hector guessed it was one of the most costly weapons in the compound’s arsenal. After unrolling a thick blanket and retreating as far into the growing shadow of the rock as he could, Hector lay silent and listened to the sound of the stream and a faint breeze that stirred the surrounding conifers. For two hours he lay, hardly moving, searching with his ears for any sign of life nearby. When he finally slipped into an uneasy sleep, it was pitch-black outside and he had heard nothing of importance.

A snuffling noise, very close to him, roused Hector from his rest. His eyes fluttered open groggily.

Then they snapped fully open and Hector jolted to a sitting position. A curious coyote stuck its nose in his face and sniffed amiably. With both hands, Hector shoved the animal and sent it running with a kick. That was odd. After a minute or two, the coyote’s steps died away. By Hector’s reckoning, it was still quite early- maybe five in the morning, possibly even earlier. After making a tiny fire (he wanted as little smoke as possible) and preparing some trail rations from his backpack, Hector climbed on top of the outcropping rock and enjoyed a simple breakfast in the cool mountain air. Gray-blue clouds cluttered the overcast sky, blotting out any view of the predawn twilight.

It’s almost like a camping trip. If it wasn’t for the fact that I’m being chased by an enraged drug lord, I could stay here for a week. I do hope the weather clears up, though.

Hector’s shelter was about thirty yards up a steep hill from the brook. The running stream provided a good source of fairly clean water, and after eating, Hector filled his canteen to the brim with the stream’s crisp, cool, clear water (filtered, of course).

Suddenly, he froze. What was that?

Hector’s ears strained and he listened fearfully, holding perfectly still. The noise came again. Far downstream, on the opposite side of the ravine, he heard a crashing sound, as if a large creature was struggling through thick brush. The walls of the ravine curved away from him and obstructed his view southeast, but Hector knew one thing- something, or someone, was very close.

The surrounding forest lay in cold, deadening silence. Even the wind from the night before had long since forsaken the woods, now thick with a heavy fog.

His breathing was heavy and anxious as Hector ascended the ravine wall, attempting a mix of stealth and haste that would have been impossible if not for the absence of underbrush in his section of the ravine. Painstakingly, he crept through the trees until he reached the rock outcrop. The crashing had stopped, but that just made Hector even more nervous. Now I don’t know where they are- or whatever it is that made the noise. He repeatedly told himself that it was probably just some animal, maybe the same coyote that had startled him out of sleep, but in his mind there was no doubt about what the source of the sound was.

They’re onto me. I don’t know how, but Flores and his men know I’m nearby. They’ve caught up.