Chapter 3 - The Forest Sanctuary
By 2:00 AM, the blizzard that had been threatening the county all evening finally broke over the mountains. Heavy, blinding snow fell in thick sheets, turning the winding mountain roads into treacherous mirrors of ice.
I sat in the front passenger seat of Officer Lawson’s four-wheel-drive police cruiser, staring out through the sweeping windshield wipers.
Daniel sat in the rear seat behind the wire cage, his hand resting against mine through the steel mesh.
After finding the secret safe, Lawson had received authorization from the State Police Task Force to track Richard's cell phone signal—which had briefly pinged off a tower near the entrance of Blackwood Forest before vanishing into the dark wilderness.
"Mrs. Pierce," Officer Lawson said, keeping his hands locked at ten-and-two on the steering wheel as the cruiser negotiated a slick mountain curve. "Are you absolutely sure about the cabin's location?"
"Yes," I answered, my eyes scanning the dense wall of pine trees lining the highway. "Three years ago, before Richard and I stopped speaking, he took Daniel and me up there to help him haul timber. It’s located two miles down a fire access road off Mile Marker 42. There's a frozen creek behind the property."
"If he's parked at that cabin in this weather," Officer Lawson noted, "he's trapped. The snow is already four inches deep. A two-wheel-drive or standard truck won't make it back onto the main highway without chains."
"My father doesn't plan to drive back onto the highway, Officer," Daniel spoke up from the back seat, his voice cold and steady. "Beyond that frozen creek is an private dirt airstrip owned by his hunting buddy, a retired commercial pilot named Vance. If Vance has a plane on that runway, my father can be out of state before sunrise."
Lawson pulled his radio microphone to his lips. "Dispatch, this is Unit 2. Alert the Regional Aviation Authority. Check for any unauthorized flight plans filed out of the Vance Private Airstrip near Blackwood Forest."
"Copy that, Unit 2," the dispatcher replied through static. "State Police units are currently staging at Mile Marker 40. Tactical unit ETA is ten minutes."
"We don't have ten minutes," Daniel said, pointing through the front windshield. "Look!"
Through the thick curtain of falling snow, sitting at the mouth of the overgrown fire road at Mile Marker 42, was Richard Pierce’s silver Ford F-150.
The truck was parked at a violent angle against a snowbank, its driver's side door thrown wide open, its hazard lights blinking uselessly in the storm.
Lawson slammed on the cruiser's brakes, bringing the vehicle to a skidding halt fifty yards away. He threw the shift lever into park and hit the high-beam spotlights.
The blinding white light illuminated the truck.
The driver's cabin was empty. Deep, fresh footprints in the snow led away from the open driver's door, plunging directly into the pitch-black tree line of the forest.
Lawson unbuckled his seatbelt, reaching for his heavy winter tactical jacket and pulling his service weapon from its holster.
"Stay inside the vehicle," Lawson instructed us sternly. "Both of you. That is a direct order. It is seventeen degrees outside, visibility is less than fifty feet, and Richard Pierce may be armed."
"Officer—" Daniel started.
"No, Mr. Pierce!" Lawson barked, turning to face him through the cage. "I have two state tactical cruisers arriving behind us in three minutes. Let us secure the perimeter."
Lawson stepped out into the howling wind, drawing his flashlight and sidearm, cautious steps crunching through the deep snow as he approached the abandoned truck.
I watched him through the fogged side window.
Suddenly, a dull, metallic echo rumbled through the quiet forest.
BANG.
A single gunshot echoed from deep within the trees.
I gasped, pressing my hands against the glass.
Officer Lawson instantly dropped to one knee behind the truck's rear tire, training his flashlight into the dense dark woods.
"SHOTS FIRED! SHOTS FIRED AT MILE MARKER 42!" Lawson yelled into his shoulder mic. "SUSPECT IS ARMED! NEED IMMEDIATE BACKUP!"
"Daniel!" I screamed, turning to the back seat.
Daniel was already leaning over the center console, using a emergency release tool he had pulled from his pocket to pop the rear door latch.
"Daniel, no!" I cried, reaching for his jacket. "He has a gun!"
"He isn't shooting at the police, Maya!" Daniel said, his eyes filled with a terrifying, desperate clarity as he threw the rear door open. "He's shooting at the lock on the cabin door! He’s trying to get inside to access Vance's shortwave radio!"
Before I could stop him, Daniel bolted out into the roaring blizzard, his boots plunging through the heavy snowdrifts as he sprinted past Lawson into the dark tree line.
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"Daniel!" I screamed, throwing my own door open and lunging out into the freezing wind.
The icy air struck my face like a slap, but I didn't feel the cold. The terror in my chest was a burning fire. I chased the dark silhouette of my husband into the blackness of Blackwood Forest, guided only by the distant, flickering beam of a flashlight moving through the trees.
