JOHN B
The weight of the compass in my hand is heavier than I expected, as if the old, rusted piece of metal carries all the weight of my father's absence. I turn it over, brushing off the dirt, my fingers tracing the faded engravings on the back. It's his, without a doubt. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut—he was here, and not that long ago.
"We're close," I say, more to myself than to JJ and Pope, who are both watching me with a mix of concern and excitement. It's the closest we've come to finding him, and for a moment, the hope that's been keeping me going flares up, burning brighter than it has in weeks.
JJ leans over, studying the compass like it's some kind of holy relic. "If he left this behind, it means he's probably nearby, right? Maybe he dropped it, or... or he left it as a sign."
Pope nods, his brain already working overtime, trying to connect the dots. "We need to keep moving. If Big John was here, there's got to be more. A trail, maybe, or something he left behind."
The urgency in his voice snaps me out of my thoughts. He's right—this isn't the time to stop and get caught up in emotions. We're on the brink of something big, and we can't afford to lose momentum now.
"Let's go," I say, tucking the compass into my pocket. It's like a lifeline, a reminder that my dad is still out there somewhere, waiting for us to find him. And I'm not going to let him down.
We push deeper into the woods, the undergrowth thick and tangled around our ankles. The air is heavy with humidity, the scent of earth and salt clinging to our skin. The deeper we go, the more the world around us seems to close in, the trees growing denser, the shadows darker. But I don't care. All that matters is finding him, finding my dad.
Pope's up ahead, his eyes scanning the ground, looking for any sign that we're on the right track. JJ's beside me, quiet for once, his usual bravado replaced with a focused intensity that matches my own. I know he's worried about what we'll find, but he's not saying it. We've come too far to turn back now.
After what feels like hours, we come to a clearing. The trees open up to reveal a small, overgrown structure—an old, crumbling ruin that looks like it's been abandoned for centuries. My heart skips a beat as I take it in. This has to be it. The place my dad mentioned in his notes, the last place he was seen.
"This is it," Pope says, his voice hushed with awe. "It matches the description in Big John's journal."
JJ moves ahead of us, his hand resting on the hilt of his knife as he approaches the ruin. "Stay close. We don't know what we're walking into."
I follow him, my pulse pounding in my ears. The structure is small, barely more than a stone foundation and a few crumbling walls, but it's enough. Enough to make my heart race with anticipation, with fear.
As we step into the ruin, the temperature seems to drop, the air suddenly colder, more oppressive. The walls are covered in moss, the floor littered with debris—broken bits of pottery, old tools, and other signs of life long forgotten. But there's something else too, something that makes my breath catch in my throat.
There, in the center of the room, is a small, makeshift camp. A fire pit, long since extinguished, with the charred remains of wood still inside. A tattered blanket, half-buried under leaves. And, most importantly, a leather-bound journal that looks eerily familiar.
I rush forward, my hands shaking as I pick up the journal. It's old, the leather cracked and worn, but I'd recognize it anywhere. It's my dad's.
"John B," JJ says, his voice low and urgent. "Is that...?"
I nod, flipping open the journal to the first page. The handwriting is unmistakable—big, bold letters that have always reminded me of the way my dad used to speak, full of confidence and energy.
My heart races as I skim through the pages, each word bringing me closer to him. The entries are detailed, full of notes and observations, maps and sketches. He was close, so close, to finding what he was looking for.
But then, the entries stop. The last page is dated weeks ago, and the final words are hastily scrawled, as if he was in a hurry.
"They're coming. I have to go. If you find this, keep going. Don't stop. It's here. I know it."
My breath catches in my throat. Who was coming? And what did he find that was so important he had to leave everything behind?
"We need to move," Pope says, his voice cutting through the fog of my thoughts. "If someone was after him, they could still be out there. We're not safe here."
JJ's already scanning the area, his hand resting on his knife, ready for anything. "Let's grab what we can and get out of here. We'll figure out the next step once we're safe."
I nod, slipping the journal into my bag along with the compass. There's no time to waste. We need to find out what my dad was so close to, what he was willing to risk everything for.
As we start to leave the ruin, something catches my eye—a small, metal box tucked under a pile of rocks in the corner. I hesitate, then quickly move to grab it. The box is heavy, the metal cool against my skin, and when I open it, my heart nearly stops.
Inside is a stack of old, yellowed papers—maps, notes, sketches. All in my dad's.