1.4 miles southeast, 7:41 p.m. EST — White Owl Ranch, Signal Mountain, Tennessee
America lay peacefully in a tall patch of wheat, gazing up at the night sky. With only a few lights glowing around the ranch, she enjoyed an unobstructed view of the stars and the swirling gas clouds that formed the galaxy that she called home. Her mind raced with thoughts; the past few days had been a whirlwind of bizarre events, leaving little time to process them all. Yet, her thoughts kept returning to the unsettling revelation of her mother’s plan to turn the ranch into a resort. What would become of her home? Everything would change—more people, more noise, more lights, and fewer quiet moments like this one.
As America wrestled with her thoughts, a distant scream suddenly pierced the night, slicing through her confusion. She rose at the waist and scanned the horizon, the scream echoing with a chilling familiarity. To her left, Africa lay sleeping on her jacket a few feet away, while to her right was an empty blanket where Opera had been just moments ago. A wave of fear washed over her as the realization struck: that scream belonged to her sister.
Jumping to her feet, she shook Africa awake. “Where’s Opera?” she demanded; her voice urgent.
Africa slowly stirred, blinking away sleep. “I don’t know,” she murmured, confusion clouding her eyes. “I thought she was right here with you.”
Overcome with dread, America began to frantically survey the field, but there were no clues, no signs of where her sister might be. Just then, an explosion erupted behind her, a massive tower of fire and smoke rising from the distant cornfield. The ground trembled beneath her feet. Moments later, another fiery blast lit up the night, this time near the soybean field by the horse stables.
Instinct kicked in, and America took off running toward the ranch house. But before she could get far, the blood-curdling scream of her sister echoed from the dark forest behind her. She skidded to a halt, her heart racing, and turned toward the sound. Almost immediately, a third explosion erupted near a tea field in the same direction as the scream.
“Run back home and get our mother!” America shouted to Africa, who still stood bewildered. Without waiting for a response, she sprinted toward the last explosion, her pulse pounding in her ears. As she plunged into the shadows of the trees, adrenaline surged through her veins, propelling her forward as she called out for Opera.
1.4 miles northwest, 7:42 p.m. EST — Prentice Cooper State Forest, Signal Mountain, TN
“Drop your weapons,” Yakota insisted, swiftly pulling an arrow from his quiver and aiming it at Tezz’s unconscious neck. “And I’ll explain the rules of our game.”
“Mane, ain’t nobody lookin’ to play games with you, bruh!” Marquis yelled, stepping forward.”
“As I mentioned earlier, “Yakota chucked, pressing the arrow into Tezz’s neck and drawing a small trickle of blood. “The game has already begun.”
“What are the rules?” Diamonte asked, tossing his gun aside, sending it skidding toward the tree line. “Well play.”
“Are you serious fam?” Marquis asked, scratching his head. “We ain’t got time this, bro.”
“We’ll, what choice do we have?”
Realizing the futility of his argument. Marquis threw his knives to the ground and shouted, “Hurry up and tell us your stupid rules, mane.”
“The rules are straightforward,” Yakota smirked. “If either of you can land a hit on me, you win. But if I hit both of you, you lose.
“And what do we get if we win?”
“I’ll walk away as if I was never here.”
“What if we lose?”
“You might not be aware of this, but there are scores of individuals like me in these woods. We call ourselves the A-sig-na, dedicated to safeguarding the forest and the ranch. One call to my team and this place will be surrounded in seconds.” Yakota lifted a small radio transmitter, grinning confidently. “So, what will it be, boys? Shall we continue?”
“Bet,” echoed Diamonte and Marquis in unison as they regrouped and faced Yakota in their own distinct fighting stances.
“Let’s dance,” he smiled, flinging his arrow over his shoulder and allowing his quiver to hit the ground.
1.4 miles southeast, 7:49 p.m. EST — White Owl Ranch, Signal Mountain, TN
America’s heart pounded as she sprinted across the ranch, her feet pounding against the uneven ground. She darted between rows of corn, the tall stalks rustling ominously in the wind, then leaped over a fence separating the tea field from the rest of the ranch. The air was thick with smoke, and the crackling sound of flames grew louder with each step.
As she neared the tea field, the sight of the fire engulfing the leaves sent a jolt of dread through her. The flames danced hungrily, and the pungent smell of burning vegetation filled her nostrils. She pushed through the last few feet of brush and skidded to a halt, her eyes widening at the scene before her.
A small figure stood in the midst of the chaos, pouring a can of gasoline over the tea plants. The child wore a crude mask fashioned from patches of linen, obscuring their features. America’s breath caught in her throat as recognition struck her.
“Tomith Turnbull!” she shouted, her voice laced with anger and disbelief. “What the heck are you doing?”
The boy turned, the mask shifting slightly, revealing a glimmer of surprise in his wide eyes. Without hesitation, he hurled the gas can at her feet and dashed into the forest. America raced after him, pushing through the underbrush as the shadows of the trees closed in around her.
1.4 miles northwest, 7:51 p.m. EST — Prentice Cooper State Forest, Signal Mountain, TN
Diamonte charged first, his fists flying. He aimed a quick jab toward Yakota’s face, but Yakota ducked low, sidestepping with a fluid grace that seemed almost effortless. Marquis moved in next, trying to catch Yakota off guard. He lunged, but Yakota dodged again, his speed making him a blur. Twisting around, he grabbed a nearby branch and swung it with precision, striking Marquis on the shoulder. Marquis winced but quickly regained his footing, determined not to let the pain show.
“Out already?” Yakota sighed. “We were just getting warmed up.”
“Come on, bruh,” Marquis sneered. “That doesn’t count. That’s a weapon!”
“You’re right,” Yakota replied with a slight bow. “Let’s redefine the rules: a strike only counts if it comes from our extremities.
Diamonte and Marquis exchanged glances, silently agreeing it was time to combine their efforts. They split up briefly, each aiming to flank Yakota. Diamonte feigned a left, drawing Yakota’s attention, while Marquis crept in from the right.
But Yakota was too quick. He spun around, avoiding Diamonte’s punch with a low roll, and came up behind Marquis, swinging the branch again. The blow struck Marquis leg, making him stumble. Diamonte rushed in, desperation fueling his speed, but Yakota was a step ahead.
As the fight continued, Yakota maintained the upper hand, moving with a fluidity that made it seem as though he was reading their minds. Diamonte threw another series of punches, but each one whiffed past Yakota’s head. Marquis, panting heavily, tried to use his knife again, but every attempt was met with an evasive maneuver.
Suddenly, Yakota lunged forward, not with the branch, but with his fists. He aimed a quick jab at Diamonte, who narrowly dodged. The speed and precision were unlike anything he had seen before.
“You’re getting slower!” Yakota mocked, easily sidestepping Diamonte’s next attack.
Diamonte felt his frustration boiling. He glanced at Marquis, who was trying to catch his breath, clearly feeling the weight of the fight. They needed a new plan, something that could finally catch Yakota off guard.
As they circled Yakota, the forest around them felt alive, the tension crackling in the air. They took a moment to gauge his movements, trying to predict his next strike. Yakota, seemingly toying with them, danced just out of reach, mocking their attempts with each dodge and weave.
“Is this really all you’ve got?” he laughed, his voice echoing through the trees.
“Let’s try to trap him.” Diamonte whispered, determination surging through him. “We need to back him into the railcars.”
“Bet,” Marquis nodded, a fierce light in his eyes. They began to steer their movements toward the nearest railcar, trying to draw Yakota with them. Diamonte aimed another punch, hoping to distract him while they moved.
Yakota followed, enjoying the chase, but as they approached the railcars, Diamonte shouted, “Now!”
In a synchronized effort, they both feigned attacks again, attempting to herd Yakota toward the opening of the middle railcar. As Yakota moved to evade, Marquis lunged forward, aiming to grab him. Yakota was quick to twist away, but this time, they had him cornered.
Diamonte and Marquis circled Yakota, their breaths heavy in the still night air. Frustration simmered, but they had to adapt. Diamonte glanced at Marquis, a spark of determination igniting in his eyes.
“Let’s create a diversion,” Diamonte suggested, his mind racing. “I’ll distract him; you find an opening!”
Marquis nodded, and they sprang into action. Diamonte charged at Yakota, throwing a series of feints to draw his attention. He darted left and right, forcing Yakota to respond. Each punch and kick were a calculated move, designed to keep Yakota occupied.
“Come on!” Diamonte shouted, trying to provoke a reaction. “You’re not so tough!”
Yakota’s eyes narrowed, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. “Brave, but foolish.”
Meanwhile, Marquis slipped into the shadows, moving quietly behind Yakota. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through him, focusing on the rhythm of the fight in front of him. Diamonte continued to throw jabs, his movements fast and aggressive, but Yakota effortlessly avoided them, dodging with fluid precision.
In a split second, Yakota shifted his attention back to Diamonte, sensing Marquis’s approach. With a sudden movement, he sidestepped and pivoted, swinging his branch at Diamonte, who barely ducked in time. The branch cracked against the ground where Diamonte had stood just moments before.
Seizing the moment, Marquis lunged forward, pulling a knife from his pants leg pocket, aiming to thrust it into Yakota’s back. But Yakota was faster; he spun around, catching Marquis’s wrist mid-strike and twisting it with surprising strength. With a quick flick, he playfully tapped Marquis’s nose, then released him, sending the knife clattering to the forest floor. Yakota then executed a backward somersault, landing elegantly with a smirk adorning his face.
“Marquis!” Diamonte yelled as he sprinted toward Yakota, swinging wildly. But Yakota slipped past him and lunged for his fallen opponent. Despite Marquis’s struggle to get up, it was already too late. Looking up, he spotted the shadow of Yakota’s right fist descending towards his face, with a left jab following swiftly behind it. Instinctively, he raised his arms, trying to shield himself as best he could. The right punch was certain to connect, but he hoped to fend off the left.
“Too slow,” Yakota remarked, a grave expression now etched on his face—the first trace of seriousness he had displayed all night.
He was correct—both punches struck Marquis directly in the face. Without missing a beat, Yakota pressed on, unleashing a barrage of punches that drove Marquis down to the ground like a hammer driving a nail. As Yakota paused to catch his breath, he was suddenly blindsided by an incoming tree branch aimed directly towards his head. At the end of the branch stood Diamonte, swinging with the fierce determination of a batter at the plate. There was no time to block it, Yakota surmised with a slight grin, just as the branch collided with his face, throwing him backward toward a railcar.
Diamonte stood guard over the barely conscious Marquis, who struggled to rise to his feet. His face was battered, but he still had some fight left in him.
“I guess I’m out,” Marquis murmured, dabbing blood from his lips. “I’ll leave it to you now, fam.” With that, he collapsed to the forest floor, unconscious.
“Bet,” Diamonte said, as he removed his bulletproof vest and walked over to Yakota, who was already rising and beginning to shed his tactical gear.
Diamonte and Yakota squared off, time stretching between them as the air thickened with anticipation, the forest seemingly holding its breath for their inevitable clash. In a slow, synchronized motion, they settled into their stances—Yakota leaning slightly forward, ready to unleash a flurry of strikes, while Diamonte squared his shoulders, prepared to counter.
Yakota took a breath, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry for being so heavy-handed with your friends. But I had a nagging suspicion that they’d try to take my life in desperation.”
Diamonte’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t respond immediately. Yakota continued, “I figured you’d fight me fair, given the hospitality we showed you back at the ranch. But those other two—” he gestured to Diamonte unconscious partners, “they had no reason to play by the rules. I had to neutralize them first.”
Diamonte brushed off the apology with a wave of his hand. “Spare me the sentiments, I’m about to end this little game of yours right now.”
“Ah, the grand finale is upon us.” Yakota chuckled, a flicker of respect in his eyes, “In the eloquent words of you and your unconscious friends, I’ll counter your bold declaration with one simple word… bet.”
1.93 kilometers southeast, 7:55 p.m. EST — Prentice Cooper State Forest
Tomith sprinted through the dark forest, glancing back every few seconds, but America was nowhere in sight. Thinking he was in the clear, he dove into a bush, heart pounding as he tried to catch his breath.
Moments later, he saw America’s feet shuffling past, and he held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t notice him. She paused, scanning the area, but it seemed she couldn’t see him. Just then, a quiet giggle escaped his lips, betraying his hiding spot.
America’s eyes widened as she pulled back the branches. “Fool,” she said, shaking her head with a mix of annoyance and amusement.
Without waiting for a reply, Tomith bolted from the bush, adrenaline surging. He barely got a few steps away before America dropped down from a tree, landing effortlessly in front of him.
“I was born and raised in these woods, Tomith. Once I’ve spotted ya, there ain’t nowhere you can hide.”
He skidded to a halt, trying to catch his breath. “That’s not fair! You can’t just jump out like that!” And with that, he took off running in the opposite direction, his heart pounding in his chest as he sprinted through the underbrush, branches snapping beneath his feet. He felt he had gained some distance when, out of nowhere, America lunged from the shadows and tackled him to the ground. They tumbled across the forest floor, rolling down a steep hill until they landed in a small clearing, breathless and tangled in each other.
America pinned Tomith down, her hands gripping his wrists. “Enough!” she shouted, her voice echoing in the stillness. In one swift motion, she yanked off the mask he had been wearing, revealing his tear-streaked face, eyes wide with fear.
“Tomith…” her tone softened as she registered his expression. “What sort of mess has Tusk pressured you into this time.”
But before he could respond, the unmistakable sound of motorbikes roared through the trees, reverberating in the clearing. America’s resolve hardened. “I got your brother over here!” she yelled, her voice ringing with defiance. “If you want him back, you better bring back my sister unharmed!”
The roar of engines crescendoed as a group of shadows swept through the forest, and the three Turnbull brothers burst from the thicket on their four-wheelers. Tusk led the way on a camo-painted machine, with Opera tied to the rear. Her terrified gaze darted around, betraying her desperation as she sought any chance to break free.
“Opera!” America screamed, as her eyes locked with her sister’s.
Tusks eyes narrowed as he spotted Tomith overpowered by America. “Look at Tommy, brought down by a girl! What a weakling!”
The brothers erupted in laughter while America swiftly twisted Tomith’s arm behind his back, forcing him to his feet.
“Care to make a trade?” she offered; her gaze steady as she glared at Tusk.
“I don’t know,” Tusk replied, as Tex tossed him a loaded crossbow, which he aimed directly at Opera’s head, “The value of the life I got here feels a heap higher than the one you’re offerin’. I reckon, you’re gonna need to sweeten the deal, darlin’.”
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