Chapter Eleven: The North Road

Elias had been driving for a couple of hours. Naomi slept in the passenger seat, her head resting against the window. The road was a frayed grey ribbon unspooling through autumn country. Trees stood bare, their skeletal branches clutching the low fog that burned off the asphalt.

The air smelled of woodsmoke and cold, damp earth. Fields blurred into thickets of pine and granite, the landscape growing wilder with every mile. The fatigue was catching up to him, a dull weight behind his eyes. He glanced over. In the pale morning light, Naomi’s face was gentler, all the guarded tension she carried while awake finally relinquished in peace.

After a few minutes, she stirred, stretching. “Morning,” she murmured.

“Get any rest?” Elias asked.

“Yes, a little,” she said, her voice still soft with sleep. “Do you want me to take over?”

“No, I’m good for now,” he replied. A faint smile touched his lips. “I wish we had some coffee, though.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, settling back into her seat. “Me too.”

“We should find a place to stop,” he said, his voice gravelly with exhaustion. “Even a few hours.”

“Agreed,” she said, already scanning the roadside. “Watch for a motel.off the main road—somewhere discreet.”

As a few miles passed, Elias felt the heavy silence pulling him under. To fight it, he grasped for a question. “So, how did you become an archaeologist?”

Naomi was quiet for a moment, watching the trees blur past. “My father was an archaeologist,” she said finally, her voice thoughtful. “I didn’t have many friends growing up, so I spent most of my time in his study, reading his books. As a child, I fell in love with it—unearthing the past, listening to stories the stones whispered, resolving its mysteries.”

“Your dad must be proud,” he said.

A faint, sorrowful smile touched her lips. “He died when I was little.”

Elias’s stomach dropped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

“It’s all right,” she interrupted, her voice quiet but firm. “It was a long time ago.”

“I lost my parents when I was a boy,” he replied. “I know some wounds never heal entirely, no matter how much time passes.”

Naomi studied him for a long moment, her gaze softening. “No, they don’t,” she said quietly. “But at least I have my mother,” she continued, a faint, wistful smile touching her lips.

“How about siblings, do you have any?” he asked.

“No, I am the only child,” she replied. “Just like you.”

“I was an only child, that’s true—but I had brothers.”

“Foster care?” she asked.

“No, I was an outcast. I didn’t have a single friend as a child.” He paused, lost in the past. “I found my brothers after I enlisted.”

“Where are they now?”

“Dead—like everyone I ever cared about.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“That’s how it goes,” he said, the words empty of everything but fact. “At a certain point, you just get used to it.”

“Why did you join the Marines?” Naomi asked.

“I had nowhere else to go,” he said. “And I think I was looking for a purpose. I thought maybe I could make the world a better place.”

“And why did you become a security expert?” Naomi asked, trying to change the subject.

“I don’t know. I wanted to be a carpenter, or maybe a mason,” he said with a short laugh, as if the thought itself were a joke. Then he continued, “But when I met Clara, she encouraged me to go to college. So I took the first path that opened up.”

“What did your parents do?”

“My dad was a doctor, and my mom was a teacher.”

“What did she teach?”

“Mathematics.”

Naomi absorbed this, the quiet in the car holding for a few heartbeats. “It fits,” she said softly. Then, as if piecing together a puzzle, she asked, “How did you learn to speak Arabic so well? Were your family...?”

“No, they did not speak Arabic,” he replied. “They were from Iran; they spoke Persian.”

“So you can speak Persian as well?” she asked with amusement.

“Of course I can; it is my mother tongue. And I love Persian literature and poetry, specifically Hafez.”

A faint smile touched her lips. “Is that the full list, or are there more?”

“There are French and Spanish as well,” he laughed. “I’ve always been good with languages.”

Naomi’s smile widened, a genuine spark of appreciation in her eyes. “A man of many tongues. I must admit, I am impressed.”

Before she could say more, Elias nodded toward the side of the road. “Look.”

Naomi followed his gaze. A sign stood against the pines: Maple Haven Motel – 2 Miles Ahead. The kind of place no one would remember.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the motel. The parking lot was mostly empty. A neon vacancy sign blinked lazily against the daylight. Elias parked near the end, where the shadow of a pine tree fell across the hood.

Inside, the clerk barely looked up. Elias paid cash for two rooms. Naomi took the keys, handed him one, and nodded toward the stairs. “Get some sleep. I’ll do the same.”

He didn’t argue. His body felt heavy, his thoughts slower. The room was plain—faded curtains, the hum of an old air conditioner, sheets that smelled faintly of detergent. He dropped onto the bed and was asleep before his mind could finish the thought of closing his eyes.

Time collapsed into the dark weight of exhaustion. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been under when a soft knock pulled him back. For a moment, he felt weightless, unsure of the surface beneath him. He forced his eyelids apart. Light filtered through the blinds—the muted gold of afternoon. Then the knock came again.

He swung his legs off the bed and opened the door. Naomi stood there holding a paper bag. The smell of coffee and bread filled the hallway.

“Lunch,” she said.

He stepped aside to let her in. She set the bag on the small table, unpacking two sandwiches and bottled water.

“You didn’t have to—”

“You needed it,” she said simply. “Eat. Then we’ll keep moving.”

He didn’t realize how hungry he was until he took the first bite. “This is really good.”

Naomi nodded, unwrapping her own. She took a thoughtful bite. “My father used to say that everything is better with a full stomach.”

“He was a wise man,” Elias said.

“Yes, he was,” Naomi said with a smile.

“Thank you,” Elias said, his voice deep.

“It’s just a sandwich,” Naomi replied, teasing.

“Thank you for coming with me,” he said, the lightness fading. “It means a lot.”

“I know how it feels,” she said, her expression softening. “Not to be able to say goodbye.”

“I still can’t believe I’m doing this—moving on.” He paused, the words thick. “I couldn’t have done it without you. Whatever happens… I’m grateful.”

Naomi looked him in the eyes. “When I said you have more ahead of you than behind, I really meant it. You deserve another chance, Elias.”

“I’m not sure I deserve it,” he said, a faint smile touching his lips. “But I’ll do everything I can to make it count.”

“Good.” She nodded once, her expression warm but resolved. “Now eat. We have a long road ahead.”

They finished their meal in comfortable silence. Naomi brushed the crumbs from her lap and stood up. “I’ll drive the next stretch. You rest if you need to.”

He nodded. The rest had steadied him; the dull heaviness in his chest had turned to calm resolve.

As they settled back into the car, Naomi adjusted the mirrors and said, “Open the dashboard, would you?”

Elias reached over. Inside, wrapped in cloth, lay a small black pistol.

“Take it, it's yours.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Expecting company?”

“Expecting al-Rashid to be persistent,” she said. “He won’t let this go easily.”

Elias took the gun and closed the compartment. “You always plan for war?”

Her hands stayed steady on the wheel. “Only when peace isn’t an option.”

He leaned back, watching the road unfold. The sun was lowering, gilding the trees in fire. Naomi’s reflection shimmered faintly in the window—focused, unflinching.

They drove in silence for a while, engine droning steadily against the quiet highway. A few miles later, Naomi blinked against the glare of the low sun and sighed. “Your turn,” she said, pulling over by the shoulder. “Before I start seeing double.”

Elias nodded and circled around the hood, the cold air biting through his sleeves. When he slid into the driver’s seat, Naomi was already leaning her head against the window, eyes half-closed. The car rolled back onto the road, the forest swallowing them in its long, quiet tunnel of dusk.

The highway narrowed as they left the main route, the lanes tapering into cracked asphalt framed by trees gone bare with the season. The light was changing—afternoon tilting into gold, the kind that made everything look fragile and final.

Naomi had been quiet for miles. The radio stayed off; only the sound of the tires and the occasional wind against the windshield filled the silence. Elias glanced at her once, noting how pale she looked under the fading light.

“Still good?” he asked. She nodded, eyes fixed ahead. “Another two hours to Clayton, maybe less if the roads stay clear.”

He checked the rearview mirror, out of habit. Empty road. For a moment, relief. Then—headlights. Far back, distant but steady.

Elias frowned. “You see that?”

Naomi didn’t turn. “How long?”

“Five minutes, maybe. Same distance, same lane.”

“Could be nothing.”

“Could be.”

They said nothing more. The car ate the miles. The sky dimmed to a bruised purple; the first stars trembled through the haze. But when Elias looked again, the lights were still there—closer now, matching their speed.

He felt the old current return, the one he’d thought he’d left behind in another life—the thrill of anticipation before danger.

Naomi exhaled slowly. “Don’t slow down.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

The road ahead curved through a stretch of open farmland, fields silvered with frost. Elias downshifted as they took the bend. In the mirror, the headlights mirrored the motion perfectly.

Then the distance vanished. The SUV came up fast behind them, black and featureless under the twilight.

“Hold on,” Elias muttered. He pressed the accelerator. The tires screamed briefly on the cold road.

Naomi’s hand went to the gun beside her seat.

“Al-Rashid’s?”

“Who else?”

The SUV surged closer, flashing its high beams once—like a warning. Then it hit them.

The impact jolted through Elias’s arm and shoulder. The steering wheel kicked. The car fishtailed; he fought it, boots slamming the pedals.

Naomi turned, her voice sharp. “Keep it steady!”

“Working on it!”

The SUV rammed them again. Metal shrieked. Glass cracked at the corner of the rear window.

Naomi leaned out the passenger window, the pistol steady in her hands. The wind bit at her face. She fired twice. The muzzle flashes lit her profile in quick bursts—composed, fearless.

The SUV swerved, then recovered. Its front lights stayed fixed on them like eyes.

Elias’s pulse pounded in his temples. “We can’t outrun them forever!”

“Then we don’t.” Naomi twisted back inside. “Turn off ahead—the service road. Less open ground.”

He spotted the junction—a narrow gravel lane cutting between two farms. He turned hard, the tires spitting dust. The SUV followed, roaring through the turn a second later.

The road wound through old barns and fences, the ground uneven. Elias’s arm throbbed from gripping the wheel.

Naomi’s gaze flicked to him. “You still carry?”

He shook his head. “Left it in the case back there. Thought this was supposed to be quiet.”

She gave him a look that was almost a smile. “Quiet never lasts.”

The SUV’s engine grew louder again.

She leaned out once more and fired. One of the SUV’s headlights burst; sparks scattered across the road.

The next shot came from behind. A bullet punched through the rear window, shattering glass across the seats.

Naomi flinched, ducking down. “They’re shooting now!”

Elias grit his teeth, swerving as another round hit the side mirror. “They’ll pin us if we stop.”

“Then don’t stop.”

But the road was ending—a bridge up ahead, narrow, bordered by rusted guardrails and a creek below, its surface glinting faintly with light.

Elias slowed just enough to keep control.

The SUV rammed them a third time. The sound tore through the car. Naomi turned to fire again—and that’s when it happened.

A single shot cracked through the air.

Naomi jerked back, the gun slipping from her hand. For a second, Elias didn’t understand what he’d seen—just the shock in her eyes, the red blooming across her chest.

“Naomi!”

Her breath caught in her throat, a sound halfway between gasp and silence. Her hand pressed instinctively to the wound; blood darkened her shirt almost instantly.

Elias’s mind went white. He reached for her, steering one-handed. “Stay with me—hey, hey, look at me!”

She tried to speak but only managed a broken whisper.

The SUV was closing in.

He slammed the brakes, spun the wheel hard, sending the car skidding sideways in a storm of gravel and smoke. The SUV overshot, trying to correct. Elias saw the angle, the gap, and floored the accelerator.

They shot past the other vehicle, brushing its side with a scream of metal. The SUV’s front tires caught the ditch. It spun, then rolled, the crash echoing through the valley.

Elias didn’t look back.

He drove. Fast, reckless, eyes burning. The road blurred into streaks of light and shadow. Naomi slumped against the door, pale and trembling, blood pooling at her side.

“Naomi—stay awake. You hear me?”

She didn’t answer. Her breathing was shallow, erratic. Elias tore off his jacket, pressed it against the wound. “You’re okay. You’re okay, just hold on.”

The smell of iron filled the car. His own arm burned; only now did he notice the pain—a bullet had grazed through his forearm, blood running down to his wrist. He ignored it.

Clayton wasn’t far. Fifteen minutes, maybe less.

He kept repeating it under his breath, like prayer or code.

The world outside dimmed further; dusk was falling fast. The horizon had turned to copper and violet. The first mists were rising off the river.

Naomi’s head tilted toward him. Her lips moved, faintly. “Elias…”

“I’m here,” he said.

Her eyes fluttered. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. The wheel shook in his grip. His vision blurred, every heartbeat echoing through his wounded arm.

By the time they hit the outskirts of Clayton, night had fallen completely. The town was quiet—just shuttered shops and distant harbor lights.

A faint sound broke through the chaos—the muffled buzz of a phone.

Elias looked down; Naomi’s jacket pocket was glowing. The screen lit up with REINA.

He fumbled it free with one blood-slick hand and hit the answer icon.

“Naomi?” Reina’s voice burst through the car’s speakers, jagged with static.

Elias shouted over the roar of the engine, “It’s Elias! Naomi’s hit!”

“What—where are you?”

“Close to Clayton!” he yelled, the words tearing out of his throat. “We’re coming in hot!”

“We’re at the dock,” Reina’s voice came again, urgent, the connection breaking in bursts. “Get here—now!”

The line went dead, leaving only the echo of her voice through the car’s speakers and the sound of Naomi’s shallow breathing beside him.

The last stretch of road blurred into instinct. He barely remembered parking, or the sound of the car door slamming. He only remembered carrying Naomi—her weight against him, the heat of her blood—toward the faint shapes of Marcus and Valerie running to meet them.

“Jesus,” Marcus hissed, grabbing her other arm. “What happened?”

“Ambush,” Elias managed. His legs were shaking. “She’s bleeding bad.”

“Boat’s ready,” Valerie said. “We move now.”

They hauled Naomi aboard. The engine coughed, then roared to life. Elias followed, half-falling into a seat as the dock began to slide away.

Reina was beside Naomi, pressing cloth against the wound, eyes sharp and steady. “Stay with me. You hear me?”

Naomi didn’t respond. Her breathing came shallow, wet. Elias sat across from her, holding his wounded arm against his chest, barely aware of the pain.

The lights of Clayton receded into fog. The water turned dark and endless around them.

Reina looked up once, meeting Elias’s eyes. “She’s losing a lot of blood.”

Elias’s voice cracked. “Do something—please.”

“We’re trying,” she said. “But she needs time.”

Time. The one thing they didn’t have.

He reached across the small cabin, his hand trembling as he brushed her fingers. They were cold, slick with blood. He whispered her name again and again, as if saying it might tether her here.

The fog thickened until even the shoreline disappeared. The engine’s throb became the only sound.

Naomi’s eyelids fluttered. She drew a shallow breath, almost a sigh. “Elias…”

“I’m here,” he said.

Her lips curved faintly, almost a smile. “You did good.”

Then her hand slipped from his.

Elias froze. “Naomi?”

Reina’s voice came from far away. “She’s unconscious. Don’t—don’t move her.”

The words blurred. The edges of Elias’s vision dimmed. His own wound throbbed in dull rhythm with the boat’s vibration.

He looked once more at Naomi—her stillness, the faint reflection of light across her face. The fog pressed in like a curtain, swallowing sound, swallowing thought.

His last clear image before the darkness took him was her face against the cold light, pale but peaceful—too peaceful.

Then everything went black.