Chapter 9: The Journey to the Cliffs
The drive out to the coastal cliffs took them away from the urban sprawl of Portland and into a wilder, more desolate landscape. Heavy gray clouds hung low over the Pacific Ocean, churning the water below into a restless expanse of white foam and dark swells. The winding two-lane road was slick with rain that had begun to fall in steady, slanting sheets. Inside the car, the tension was palpable. Clara clutched the black flash drive in her hand like a talisman, while David kept his eyes glued to the slick road ahead, his knuckles white where he gripped the steering wheel. Elena sat quietly in the back, her gaze fixed on the dense pine forests that lined the highway, watching for any sign they were being followed.
They turned off the main highway onto a narrow gravel access road that wound its way toward the edge of the precipice. The trees grew sparser here, battered by the relentless ocean winds that swept in off the water. As they crested the final hill, the old wooden lighthouse came into view, its whitewashed paint peeling and weather-beaten against the stormy gray backdrop. Beside it stood a small, abandoned park ranger station, its windows boarded up with weathered plywood. According to the GPS coordinates, the destination was right here, at the base of the cliffs where the land dropped away into the crashing surf below. David pulled the car to a halt beside the ranger station, killing the engine and the headlights simultaneously.
The silence inside the car was broken only by the steady patter of raindrops hitting the roof and the low, distant roar of the ocean waves crashing against the rocks far below. "We stay together," David said, turning to look at both women. "Whatever is waiting for us out there, we don't separate." Clara nodded, pulling her coat tighter around her as she opened the car door. The cold, salt-laden wind rushed in immediately, carrying the sharp scent of damp earth and sea spray. As they stepped out onto the gravel, their shoes crunching softly in the wet dirt, Clara looked toward the edge of the cliff. Standing beside the rotting wooden guardrail, illuminated faintly by the dim gray light of dusk, was a lone figure holding a black umbrella.
