Tasha nodded quickly, fear keeping her silent. She could see the focus in Tom's eyes, and for now, she trusted him to get them out.
Tom had planned this carefully. He had parachuted into the area from a plane, knowing that driving through the militia's territory would have been suicide. Before going into the warehouse to save Tasha, he had scouted the camp and spotted a jeep he could use to escape.
Without a word, he lifted Tasha into his arms again and began moving quietly through the shadows of the buildings. His steps were careful, avoiding the attention of the armed men patrolling the area.
Tasha clung to him, her heart pounding in her chest. The camp was alive with the low hum of voices, clanking metal, and the occasional barked orders.
She dared not speak, terrified of being discovered.
Tom's grip was steady, his breathing calm, as if this was just another routine mission for him. But his eyes stayed sharp, scanning every corner for threats.
After what felt like an eternity, they reached the outskirts of the camp.
There it was—the jeep, parked just where Tom had left it earlier. He crouched low, setting Tasha down next to him as he peered around for guards.
The area was clear. For now.
Tom moved quickly, helping Tasha into the passenger seat. "Stay down," he ordered in a whisper, his voice firm but calm.
Tasha nodded and ducked low, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of the seat.
Tom slipped into the driver's side, pulling a knife from his pocket to hotwire the car. The jeep sputtered for a moment before the engine roared to life.
The sound was like an alarm bell in the silent night.
"Someone check that out!" a voice shouted from nearby.
Tasha's breath caught in her throat. She turned to Tom, her wide eyes full of panic.
"Stay calm," Tom said, his tone as steady as ever.