Chapter 3: The Flight and the Follower

The Greyhound station reeked of diesel fumes and desperation. Elias clutched his hastily packed duffel bag against his chest, eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of unusual bird activity. Three pigeons pecked at discarded food near the vending machines, but they seemed focused on their scavenging rather than surveillance. Still, his skin crawled every time one of them turned in his direction.

The decision to flee had crystallized in the early morning hours, after another sleepless night spent cataloging every flutter and chirp outside his window. Seattle was compromised—the Master had made that abundantly clear. But his parents' house in Millbrook was three hundred miles south, a small town where birds were just birds, where ancient oak trees and familiar streets might offer sanctuary his urban prison couldn't provide.

"Now boarding bus 47 to Portland, with continuing service to Millbrook and Eugene," the tinny announcement crackled over the intercom.

Elias joined the queue of tired travelers, keeping his head down and shoulders hunched. The bus driver—a middle-aged woman with kind eyes—barely glanced at his ticket as he climbed aboard. He chose a seat in the middle, away from windows, and pulled his baseball cap low over his eyes.

As the bus pulled away from the terminal, Elias allowed himself a moment of hope. The Master's network might be vast, but surely it had limits. Birds were territorial creatures with finite ranges. The further he traveled from Seattle, the more likely he was to encounter wildlife that hadn't been corrupted by that smooth, cultured voice.

The highway stretched ahead through dense Pacific Northwest forest, Douglas firs and Western red cedars creating a green tunnel that blocked out most of the sky. For the first time in days, Elias felt his shoulders begin to relax. He even managed to doze fitfully as the bus wound through mountain passes and small logging towns.

It was near the Oregon border when he first noticed the shadow.

A large bird—too distant to identify clearly—paced the bus from above, visible through the driver's windshield as a dark speck against the grey sky. Elias told himself it was coincidence. Hawks often followed vehicles on highways, watching for roadkill or small animals startled into the open by passing traffic.

But as the miles rolled by, the shadow remained constant. Never closer, never further, maintaining perfect distance like a practiced surveillance unit.

"Jesus," the driver muttered, glancing up through the windshield. "That hawk's been following us for forty miles. Never seen anything like it."

Other passengers began to notice, pointing and taking photos with their phones. An elderly man across the aisle leaned toward his companion. "My grandfather used to say hawks were messengers from the spirit world. Maybe it's trying to tell us something."

Elias's blood turned to ice water. He knew exactly what message the hawk carried, and who had sent it.

The bus made scheduled stops in small towns along the route—brief pauses to pick up or drop off passengers, refuel, or stretch legs. At each stop, Elias watched the bird through the terminal windows. It perched on power lines or rooftops, utterly still except for the occasional turn of its head. Watching. Waiting.

Distance means nothing, he realized with growing horror. The network has no boundaries.

His phone buzzed. Another text from the unknown number: Lovely scenery on Highway 5. The mountains are particularly beautiful this time of year. Enjoy the journey. - M

Elias's hands shook as he deleted the message. How was this possible? The Master was back in Seattle—at least, Elias assumed he was. But his reach extended far beyond the city limits, carried on wings that could travel hundreds of miles without rest.

At the Salem terminal, a flock of crows gathered in the parking lot. Not unusual in itself—crows were intelligent, social birds that often congregated in urban areas. But these moved with unnatural coordination, arranging themselves in perfect rows like soldiers awaiting orders. When the bus prepared to depart, they took flight in precise formation, joining the hawk in its aerial escort.

By the time they reached Albany, a dozen birds shadowed the bus. Hawks, crows, even a pair of ravens that looked large enough to carry off small children. They formed a loose V-formation above the vehicle, a dark constellation against the overcast sky.

Other passengers were growing uneasy. The elderly man kept muttering prayers under his breath. A teenage girl with purple hair livestreamed the phenomenon on social media, narrating breathlessly about "supernatural omens" and "end times prophecies." The bus driver adjusted her rearview mirror obsessively, as if the aerial escort might suddenly dive-bomb her windshield.

"This is fucked up," the girl announced to her phone's camera. "Like, seriously fucked up. Birds don't act like this. It's like they're organized or something."

If only you knew, Elias thought grimly.

His phone buzzed again. This time it was a call from his mother.

"Elias? Honey, are you coming home? Your father thought he saw you at the bus station this morning, but that's impossible, right? You would have called first."

Elias's throat constricted. His father had been at the Greyhound station? But that was over two hundred miles away, and he'd bought his ticket less than twelve hours ago. There was no way—

"The strangest thing," his mother continued, her voice tinged with confusion. "There's been this hawk circling our house all day. Beautiful creature, but it won't leave. Just flying in circles, like it's looking for something. Your father thinks it might be injured, but it looks perfectly healthy to me."

The phone slipped from Elias's nerveless fingers, clattering to the bus floor. Around him, passengers glanced over with mild concern, but their attention quickly returned to the aerial procession outside. He retrieved the device with shaking hands.

"Elias? Are you there?"

"I'm... I'm on my way home, Mom. I'll be there tonight."

"Oh, wonderful! I'll make your favorite dinner. Pot roast with those little potatoes you used to love. It'll be just like old times."

No, he wanted to scream. It'll be exactly like Seattle, only worse. I'm bringing the nightmare home with me.

But he couldn't voice the truth. How could he explain that his childhood sanctuary was already compromised, that his parents' home had become another node in the Master's surveillance network? His mother would think he'd suffered a complete mental breakdown.

"That sounds great, Mom. I love you."

"Love you too, sweetheart. See you soon."

The call ended, leaving Elias staring at his reflection in the darkened window. Outside, the bird escort maintained their vigil, close enough now that he could make out individual features—the mottled brown and white of a red-tailed hawk's plumage, the iridescent black of raven feathers, the grey caps of hooded crows.

As if sensing his attention, the lead hawk suddenly banked toward the bus, diving close enough to the window that Elias could see its amber eyes. For a moment, predator and prey regarded each other through the glass barrier.

Then the hawk opened its beak, and despite the engine noise and highway wind, Elias heard its message with perfect clarity:

Welcome home.

The bird peeled away, rejoining its formation, but the damage was done. Home wasn't sanctuary—it was just another cage, painted with familiar colors to make the bars less obvious.

Millbrook appeared through the trees as the sun began its descent toward the western mountains. The town looked exactly as Elias remembered—a cluster of modest houses surrounding a small commercial district, all of it nestled in a valley between forested hills. Population 3,847 according to the welcome sign, though that number hadn't changed in over a decade.

The bus wheezed to a stop outside Mel's Diner, its diesel engine ticking as it cooled. Elias gathered his bag and joined the handful of passengers disembarking. Most were locals returning from shopping trips to larger cities, their arms full of packages from stores unavailable in Millbrook's limited downtown.

Above them, the aerial escort circled like buzzards over carrion.

"Elias!" His father's voice cut through the evening air. Tom Vance stood beside a battered pickup truck, his weathered face creased with worry and confusion. "What are you doing here? Is everything all right?"

The lie came easily. "Just needed a break from the city, Dad. Thought I'd visit for a few days."

But his father's eyes were tracking the birds overhead, and his expression grew increasingly troubled. "Son, have you noticed anything... strange... about the wildlife lately?"

You have no idea, Elias thought as he climbed into the truck's cab. Through the windshield, he watched the hawk that had led the formation settle onto a nearby telephone pole. Its amber eyes never left his face.

The Master's reach was infinite. Distance meant nothing. Geography was irrelevant.

There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

The hunt had followed him home.