12-Team Four

The rain continued its relentless assault, the sky heavy and swollen with the storm’s fury. The world beyond their camp had turned into a blurred, waterlogged mess. Even through the thick sheets of rain, the ground beneath them was turning slick and treacherous, the mud growing deeper with every passing minute. The canopy above groaned under the weight of the storm, and the wind howled through the trees, making it feel as if the entire jungle was alive with tension.

All six of them were crammed beneath a single tarp, its edges snapping in the wind as they huddled close to avoid the constant spray. Water still managed to creep in from the sides, trickling down backs and dripping from tangled hair, but it was better than nothing. The makeshift shelter offered no comfort, only a fragile illusion of safety against the elements.

Adán leaned against a tree trunk, his back pressed against the slick bark. Water ran in rivulets down his jacket, pooling at his elbows before dripping onto the muddy ground below. His gaze never left the tree line, scanning the dark blur of foliage that surrounded them. Something felt wrong. Off. The jungle was too quiet. No chirping insects, no rustling branches, no signs of life beyond their small circle. Even with the storm raging around them, that silence crawled under his skin.

Beside him, Ren adjusted one of the bungee cords holding the tarp in place. The waterproof material snapped loudly in the wind, straining against its anchors. Her face, usually so calm and calculating, was drawn tight with tension. Her fingers moved quickly, efficiently, but her eyes kept drifting to the jungle.

“How long is this storm supposed to last?” Adán asked, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the rain.

Ren didn’t answer immediately. She secured the last tie, then wiped a strand of wet hair from her forehead. “As long as it wants to,” she said, finally, her tone clipped. “Could be an hour. Could be two days. Depends on its mood.”

Adán exhaled through his nose. He’d hoped for something more definite, but he knew better. Costa Rica’s weather had no regard for plans or predictions. Here, nature always had the upper hand.

Franz stood at the far edge of their shelter, arms crossed tightly over his chest, the hood of his jacket pulled low over his eyes. His boots were caked in mud, sinking slightly every time he shifted his stance. He glared out at the storm like it had personally offended him. “We’re wasting daylight,” he muttered.

Sophia crouched a short distance away, her arms wrapped around her knees. She looked tired but alert, her dark hair plastered to her face. Her eyes flicked toward Franz briefly. “Daylight doesn’t matter if we can’t move. We’ll break something in this muck if we try.”

Helena sat beside her, unusually quiet. Her blonde hair was darkened with water, sticking to her cheeks and neck. She kept glancing toward the tree line, her eyes wide, her expression pale. Every rustle of the tarp made her flinch.

Emma, sitting at the center of the group, adjusted the tarp above them with practiced care. She moved deliberately, checking each cord and angle without fuss. Though she hadn't spoken much since the storm began, she observed everything with sharp, quiet awareness.

“If it doesn’t ease up soon, we’re going to start losing body heat,” she said calmly, but firmly. “Even here. Wet clothes, no movement—it adds up.”

Franz scoffed. “It’s the tropics. Not the Arctic.”

Emma didn’t reply, just stared at him, her expression unreadable. After a moment, she looked away and pulled her jacket tighter.

The rain kept hammering the tarp, turning conversation into brief, fragmented exchanges. The mud below them squelched with every shift, and each gust of wind rattled the trees like bones clattering together.

“Any word from the DPW?” Adán asked. He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it anyway.

Ren shook her head. “Nothing. Still off-grid. No signal.”

The silence that followed was heavy. They were truly alone out here, cut off from the outside world, just six people huddled beneath a thin sheet of nylon in the middle of a wild, storm-choked jungle.

Time dragged. It was impossible to tell how long they’d been stuck there—minutes felt like hours under the relentless downpour. They rotated positions now and then, trying to keep circulation in their legs. The water pooled around their boots, turning the ground beneath them into a thick, sucking sludge.

Adán shifted and stretched his legs out with a grunt. “We’re sitting ducks.”

“No one’s hunting us,” Sophia said, though her voice lacked conviction.

“You sure?” Helena asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “I feel like something’s watching us.”

Everyone paused.

It wasn’t the kind of thing you wanted to hear—not now, not here—but no one laughed it off. No one said she was imagining things. Because they were all thinking it, even if they didn’t want to admit it.

A loud crack echoed through the trees. A branch? Maybe. But it didn’t sound like a branch. It sounded deliberate.

Adán reached for his flashlight. Ren did the same. The beams pierced the curtain of rain, catching nothing but shadows and falling water.

Franz muttered something in German under his breath.

“We need shelter,” Emma said. “Proper shelter. If we stay here all night, we’re going to be in worse shape tomorrow.”

“There’s nothing nearby,” Franz replied. “Just trees and mud.”

“Not exactly,” Sophia said, pulling a damp map from her backpack. She pointed to a spot east of their current position. “There’s a maintenance building here. About a kilometer away. Concrete. Probably used for storing equipment or monitoring old systems.”

Adán leaned in to see. “If it’s got walls and a roof, I’m sold.”

Ren nodded. “We should move before we lose the last of the light. Even a dry corner beats this.”

They packed quickly, their movements efficient despite the cold and wet. The tarp was pulled down, folded as best as they could manage, and stuffed into Ren’s pack. With flashlights on and weapons checked, they stepped out into the storm.

The jungle pressed in around them like a living wall. The path ahead was no more than a suggestion, half-swallowed by water and twisted roots. Each step was a struggle—mud sucked at their boots, and fallen branches snagged at their legs. The rain blurred everything past a few meters, reducing the jungle to a swirling mess of shadows and green.

Adán led the way, machete in one hand, flashlight in the other. Ren followed close behind, her hand never far from the grip of her sidearm. Emma and Franz stayed in the middle of the group, with Sophia and Helena bringing up the rear.

Every sound was muffled by the storm, but every now and then, something cracked just out of sight. A low groan. A shifting branch. An impact against wet foliage.

Helena kept looking back.

“Don’t fall behind,” Sophia said, gently but firmly.

“I’m not,” Helena replied, but she stayed closer after that.

After what felt like an eternity, the maintenance building came into view. Squat, rectangular, and made of stained concrete, it sat slightly elevated from the jungle floor. A single rusted door marked the entrance. No windows.

Ren reached it first and grabbed the handle. Locked.

Adán stepped forward. “Move.” He backed up a step and slammed his shoulder into the door. It rattled, but didn’t budge.

Franz sighed and rolled his eyes. “Give me that.” He knelt, pulled a screwdriver from his belt, and started working the lock. In less than ten seconds, it popped open with a loud click.

Adán raised a brow. “Show-off.”

Franz shrugged. “Learned from the best. Me.”

The door creaked open, revealing a dry, dusty interior. The air smelled of mildew and rust, but it was warm. Safe.

They filed inside quickly. Ren pulled the door shut behind them, sealing out the storm.

The room was small, built for function, not comfort. Metal shelves lined the walls, filled with old tools, monitors, and papers. A bulky computer sat on a desk near the back. Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust.

“Think it works?” Sophia asked.

Adán stepped over to the computer, brushing cobwebs from the screen. “Only one way to find out.”

As he fiddled with the power supply, the others began shedding wet jackets, squeezing water from sleeves and pants, and settling against the dry walls with exhausted sighs. The storm still raged outside—but for now, they had walls. A roof. A moment to breathe.

Helena curled up near the back, her eyes slowly losing that wide, haunted look. Emma checked the locks and hinges, then slid down next to her. Ren and Franz stood by the door, keeping watch. And Adán, still grinning, tapped the keyboard of the ancient machine.

For the first time in hours, the silence wasn’t so suffocating.

But it wasn’t gone either.

—

The air inside the maintenance building was stale, thick with the scent of damp concrete and dust. The only light came from their flashlights, bouncing off rusted metal shelves and the dull, lifeless screen of the computer on the desk.

Adán cracked his knuckles, shaking water from his hair as he crouched beside the desk. “Alright, let’s see if we can get this thing running.”

Sophia, still wringing out the ends of her soaked sleeves, sighed. “You better not break it. We might need this.”

“Have a little faith,” Adán muttered, already prying open the computer tower’s casing to check the wiring. The inside was grimy, but nothing seemed fried.

Sophia rolled her eyes and leaned over to press the power button. Predictably, nothing happened.

Ren, meanwhile, had busied herself with rifling through the shelves. “Anyone else notice how half the stuff in here is rusted to hell?” she muttered, pulling open an old toolbox filled with corroded screws. “This place hasn’t been maintained in a while.”

Emma and Helena moved cautiously through the small room, their flashlights flickering across the walls. Helena brushed her fingers over a row of dusty manuals, flipping through one absentmindedly. Emma ran a hand along the shelves, as if expecting to find something hidden in the dust.

“This place isn’t abandoned,” Emma said suddenly, tilting her head. “There’s no dust on the chair, or the keyboard.”

Helena’s brow furrowed. “So someone’s been here recently.”

Ren looked up from her scavenging. “Yeah? And where are they now?”

No one had an answer.

Franz stood stiffly near the door, arms crossed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes darted to the dark corners of the room, the steady drumming of the rain outside grating on his nerves. Every so often, his fingers tapped against his belt. He didn’t like this.

A loud click snapped everyone's attention back to the desk. The computer screen flickered, a faint glow illuminating Adán’s face. He grinned triumphantly. “And we’re in business.”

Sophia leaned in, watching as the old machine slowly booted up. The interface was clunky, a DPW maintenance screen popping up with a list of system diagnostics. Adán scrolled through them, but his smirk faded almost immediately.

“No power in most of the facility,” he muttered. “Everything’s running on emergency reserves.”

Emma stepped closer. “Then how is this computer working?”

Adán tapped the screen, pulling up a power status report. “Looks like this place has its own powerbank. Probably meant to keep the systems running independently if the main grid fails.”

Helena frowned. “How long until it runs out?”

Adán checked the status bar. “…Maybe a couple hours. Less if we keep using it.”

The team exchanged uneasy glances.

Ren exhaled, running a hand through her damp hair. “Something’s seriously wrong.”

Adán pushed back from the desk, the chair creaking as he stood. “Alright, this is your thing,” he said, motioning toward the computer. “Have at it.”

Sophia didn’t hesitate, slipping into the seat with practiced ease. She cracked her knuckles, eyes already scanning the screen as she took control of the keyboard. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

Adán stepped aside, crossing his arms as he watched her work. Sophia’s fingers moved quickly, pulling up different system logs, network diagnostics, and facility status updates. The low hum of the machine filled the room, the only real sound aside from the pounding rain outside.

Ren leaned over the back of the chair. “Can you access any cameras? Maybe see what’s going on?”

Sophia’s brow furrowed. “I can try, but if the power’s out in most of the facility, the security system is probably down too.” She tapped a few keys, navigating through the outdated interface. A loading bar appeared, crawling forward painfully slow.

“Great,” Ren muttered, stepping back and ruffling her damp hair. “We’re blind.”

Emma and Helena were still moving around the room, their flashlights sweeping over old equipment, cabinets, and rusted tools. Every so often, Emma would pause, scanning a manual or checking the labels on outdated supply boxes.

Franz remained near the door, shifting on his feet. He was staring at the darkness outside, listening, waiting. The storm was still relentless, but something about the way he held himself made it clear—he didn’t trust that they were alone.

Adán stood still for a moment, his eyes fixed on the screen as the quiet hum of the computer filled the room. His thoughts raced. It was clear now that the storm was just the beginning of their troubles, but there was something nagging at the back of his mind. Something more immediate, something that didn’t feel right.

“Hey, Soph,” he called out, breaking the silence. “You think you can access the location of the trackers?”

The trackers had been a part of the team’s standard issue. Every member, regardless of role, had been given one for identification and safety. The idea was simple—if anything went wrong, if they got separated or into trouble, the trackers would lead the DPW team to them. It was meant to be a precautionary measure, though in Adán’s experience, it was often the kind of thing that made you feel more secure than you actually were.

Sophia didn’t hesitate, her fingers flying over the keyboard. “I can try. Give me a second.”

The old computer wasn’t the fastest, and it took a moment for her to find the software she needed. The interface was crude, but eventually, the map of the area popped up. Lines connected the dots of where each team member’s tracker was, but the map was incomplete. Most of the facility’s systems were offline, and the tracker locations were being updated in intervals that were far too large to be reliable in real-time.

But Sophia didn’t stop. She dove deeper into the software, bypassing some of the more basic protocols, until she found the tracker data. A few more keystrokes, and the locations of the other teams—along with their individual trackers—began to appear in small, blinking dots on the screen.

Adán caught a glimpse of something interesting and leaned in, eyes narrowing. “What’s the status on Team Two?”

Sophia’s fingers paused for a moment, then she zoomed in on the map, quickly navigating to Team Two’s expected area. The dots were scattered in a way that immediately raised a red flag.

“There,” Sophia said, pointing to a series of dots that should’ve been clustered together. But they were anything but.

Adán squinted at the map, the rain outside still pounding against the walls of the concrete building. “They’re all over the place.”

Ren stepped closer, her frown deepening as she studied the screen. “That’s not right. They should be sticking together.”

Sophia adjusted a few settings, isolating the locations of the individual trackers. It became clear as the dots blinked on and off. Some of them were moving erratically, while others were stationary, scattered far apart. They were nowhere near where they should’ve been.

“But there’s something else,” Sophia murmured. She zoomed in further, her breath catching slightly when she highlighted the tracker closest to them. It blinked on the screen, its proximity far too close.

“Tadeo Ochoa’s tracker,” she said softly, eyes narrowing. “It’s not with the rest of the team… It’s 600 meters away from us. And it’s moving.”

The group fell silent.

Emma’s gaze shifted between the map and the others, a quiet tension settling in the room. “That’s... not good.”

Adán gritted his teeth. “Why is his tracker so far out? If he’s moving that much, it’s not just a simple malfunction.”

Ren’s eyes flicked to the door again, the unease creeping up her spine. “We need to check it out. Now.”

Sophia chewed on her lip, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “We’re too far from their position... and we don’t know what’s going on with the other team members. It could be dangerous.”

Adán looked at her, voice hard. “We don’t have a choice. Something’s wrong. We need to find out what happened to team Two, let’s find Tade to figure it out.”

There was a heavy pause in the room as the rain beat against the walls, the wind howling outside. Adán’s heart thudded in his chest. The storm was bad, but this—the tracker—felt like the first sign of something much worse. Something they weren’t prepared for.

And as the weight of the decision pressed down on them, the silence in the room deepened.