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The van's headlights carved through the dark as the town's lights faded behind them, swallowed by the night.
Inside the cab, the mood was tense and awkward. Carrie sat huddled in the corner, gripping the hem of her shirt like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Lionel kept opening his mouth to say sothing, anything, to break the silence, but nothing ca out.
Luke finally spoke up.
"Brando, how the hell did you guys find this place? We're way past Texas."
Brando grinned and slapped the steering wheel with pride.
"Science, my friend. And a little help from so very interesting colors."
He glanced at the rearview mirror.
"Rember that box the deford guy pulled out? That weird radiation-like shit almost killed , but it also supercharged my brain."
Brando tapped his temple.
"Feels like every cell in my head is throwing a party. All those experints I could never crack before? One look and I see the answer. I could replace five PhDs right now."
Carrie stared at him from the back seat, clearly lost.
Luke cut in dryly.
"Get to the point."
Brando didn't miss a beat. He was too wired.
"The point is my predictive modeling got a massive upgrade. After that giant moth carried you off, I calculated its max flight speed, factored in wind direction and the local terrain maps, then narrowed it down to a fifteen-mile search radius."
He grabbed a notebook, balanced it on the steering wheel with his knee, and started scribbling like a madman while still driving.
"Hey! Eyes on the road!" Lionel yelped from the back, clutching the seat.
The van stayed perfectly straight.
"Based on its last known direction I ruled out the mountains and swamps. Only three settlents fit the profile once I accounted for wind drift. So I drove straight to the wreckage of the school bus you smashed into. Easy."
Luke watched him with genuine respect. The guy had changed.
That kind of computer-level deduction was more valuable than any gun.
In the back seat, Carrie hugged her knees and glanced between the three n. She felt like she'd stumbled into a club for certified weirdos. But for the first ti in eighteen years, her body wasn't locked in permanent tension.
The van rolled on through endless fields and dark woods.
Luke leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to sort everything out.
Carrie's father—the so-called missionary—was clearly part of sothing bigger. An organization that had spent eighteen years engineering her into a weapon. Now Luke had taken her away and wrecked their plan.
They weren't going to let that slide.
Brando suddenly slamd the brakes.
The tires shrieked. The van jerked to a stop in the middle of the empty highway.
Lionel and Carrie lurched forward.
"What the hell?" Luke snapped his eyes open.
In the glare of the headlights stood a single figure. A black hooded cloak hid everything except a pale chin. The figure didn't move.
Brando leaned on the horn.
"Is this guy serious? Middle of nowhere and he's playing performance art?"
Lionel leaned between the seats, frowning.
"Sothing's off about him. No living aura at all."
Carrie took one look and went rigid. Ice flooded her veins. She shrank into the farthest corner of the van, shaking uncontrollably.
Brando unbuckled his seatbelt.
"I'm going to check it out. If he's trying to scam us, I'll introduce him to the holy sword of physics."
"Don't move," Luke said, voice cold and sharp.
Brando froze, hand on the door handle.
Luke stared at the hooded shape. At this hour, on this road, this wasn't random.
"Brando."
"Yeah?"
"Run him over."
The van went dead silent. Even Brando turned to stare.
Luke's expression didn't waver.
"Floor it. Hit him."
Brando's mouth split into a wild grin. He gripped the wheel again.
"I like simple plans."
He stomped the gas. The van surged forward.
Lionel shouted from the back.
"Brando, careful!"
Carrie squeezed her eyes shut.
The hooded figure raised a hand, but the van was already on top of him.
A sickening crunch. The front end dipped hard. Red splattered across the windshield.
Brando kept the wheel steady and never slowed down. They rolled right over the body and kept going.
"Don't stop," Luke said calmly, watching the rearview mirror. "Keep driving."
"Got it!" Brando whooped, flooring it again. The van roared into the night.
In the back, Carrie stared at Luke with wide eyes.
"What… what just happened? Why did we hit him?"
Luke was quiet for a second, then spoke in a flat, practical tone.
"First rule of the road, kid. If you're driving through the middle of nowhere and so creep steps out to block you, don't get out and fight. Just hit the gas and run them over."
Carrie nodded slowly, like she was morizing a sacred lesson.
Miles behind them, the hooded figure lay twisted and broken in the road. Bones jutted at wrong angles. Blood pooled beneath him.
A finger twitched.
Then ca the wet, grinding sound of bone and cartilage forcing itself back into place. His shattered limbs straightened with sickening pops. He pushed himself up, cloak swaying.
The hood slipped. A bloodless face stared out—eyes completely black, no pupils, no whites.
He looked toward the vanishing taillights, lips barely moving.
"The experint has left the designated zone. Failure is imminent."
"I must retrieve the witch. At any cost."
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