Chapter 115: The Chalet

Fuck! Makun cursed.

He had been running at a full speed of 60 km/h for forty minutes, following Mr. and Mrs. Jones while keeping enough distance to not get caught by them.

Right now, he was burning through his Ashe reserve, It would not be long before he had to give up, He would not be able to keep up, He was lagging behind.

Luckily, It seemed they had reached their destination, a forest, Sam Houston National Forest.

He could not keep up, but their destination would not change.

By now, Makun was sure of his earlier deductions, this was not just intuition or speculation, they had something to do with the disappearances.

Else why would they drive here, late at night.

He scrunched his brain remembering who disappeared, 3 adults, 2 teenagers, 3 children.

Could it be that they were here, I need to be careful.

Instead of directly following after them, Makun searched for a nearby place, He had to meditate, get back some of his lost Ashe before going into the woods, and following the car traces.

He found a spot behind a cluster of oak trees, the bark rough against his back as he sat. The night air was cool, carrying the faint smell of pine and damp earth.

Mrs. Jones and Mr. Jones were normal humans, they had no trace of Ashe in them, Makun had already checked with his sight, but for someone as paranoid as him, preparation was key.

Even then, his luck made everything stand against him, Since that was the case, it was better to be prepared than caught off guard.

He closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, and let his Ashe circulate. The forest hummed around him, crickets chirping, leaves rustling, somewhere far off an owl called into the dark, It felt like he was listening to a 432 HZ video on Youtube.

He could feel his Ashe recovery speeding.

20 minutes later, Makun stood up. He was not at full energy but it was enough to take care of any unwanted situation.

He stepped into Sam Houston National Forest.

The darkness swallowed him immediately, there were no streetlights here, no cars and no sign of civilisation, all he could hear was of his boots against dirt.

He looked around, then focused his gaze on the ground.

The tyre tracks were easy to follow, two deep grooves cutting through the soft ground, still fresh.

Makun moved, following the traces.

He activated his spirit eye, watching the particles, similar to how he did the very first night in Naija city.

The deeper he sank into the dark forest, the denser the particles got, and what he learned from that night was that dense particles usually pointed to some types of activities, mystic most of the time happening.

He had no idea how that worked, but he knew it was just like that.

He sped, while not sure if the ear peace in his ears still worked, 12 to 15 kilometers Jorg had said, but they had crossed that limit now, if the situation turned sour, he was on his own.

He could not go back, he could only continue, he knew this was his answer to the disappearances.

The particles grew thicker with every step, swirling in the air like dust caught in sunlight, except there was no light here, only darkness and the faint glow his spirit eyes revealed.

He followed them, the tyre tracks forgotten now, the particles were a better guide.

Then he saw it.

A fence.

a three meters tall fence stretching left and right into the trees, disappearing into the darkness on both sides.

What does a fence do here?

He crouched low, moving closer, keeping to the shadows.

Through the gaps in the metal bars, he saw cars, six of them, all black, parked in a neat row near the entrance. The Mercedes Mr. Jones had driven was among them.

Beyond the cars, at the centre of the fenced compound, stood a building. It was bigger than a house, It looked like a villa made of wooden walls, sloped roof, warm light spilling from the windows.

A chalet, Makun knew he had found the answers. This place, was out of the common.

It looked expensive, private, the kind of place rich people built to disappear from the world.

BANG

Chaotic information hit him, his senses heightened, his body tensed before his mind understood why.

Danger, No, Danger and Blood.

He paid more attention, scanning the compound with his spirit eyes.

There.

Guards.

He counted four, no five, no seven, patrolling the perimeter in slow deliberate circles. They wore black tactical gear, faces obscured, and in their hands they carried weapons Makun recognized from war documentaries.

Heavy machine guns, .50 caliber, the kind that could tear destroy vehicles, Pierce through tanks and explode people.

What the hell is this place? Why so much security.

These were not ordinary security guards, this was military-level protection.

Makun reclined behind one of the thick oak trees, pressing his back against the bark, controlling his breathing.

He was not sure whether being a practitioner protected you against bullets, He had never tried that before and could die from carelessness.

He observed the chalet, the guards, the fences, the cars.

Mr. and Mrs. Jones were in there, he was sure of it.

But they were not alone, It was a meeting, a secret one at that, It screamed secret society.

But would not members of secret societies be practitioners as well, why were normal humans here.

To clear every one of his doubts, he had to find a way in, getting past the guards without being seen, without being heard, without being turned into Swiss cheese by those .50 cals.

Think, Makun, Think.

Exactly as he was thinking of a way to get in, he heard a crack above him.

He looked up.

A branch, thick and dead, was breaking loose from the oak tree directly above his head, the wood splintering in slow motion.

No, no, no, no.

He ducked, pressing himself flat against the ground.

CRACK

The branch snapped free and plummeted down, grazing past his shoulder, slamming into the earth beside him.

THUD

Leaves scattered, dirt sprayed and the sound echoed through the quiet forest like a gunshot.

Makun froze.

Of course, of course my luck would do this to me.

“Who is there?” He heard someone ask from inside.

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