We scramble into the undergrowth, adrenaline surging. The night is thick with insect hum and the smell of damp earth. Our only chance is to slip deeper into the island's dense interior, hoping to lose them among twisted vines and rocky slopes.Marta leads the way, slipping through ferns with predatory grace. The men's flashlights swing back and forth behind us, growing brighter each second. Elena clutches my hand, breath shaky.A sliver of moonlight illuminates a narrow path up a steep ridge. We take it, hearts pounding, while the beach behind us explodes in angry shouts. The chase is on again.