Chapter 4 - The Hunt in the Hills
The mountain road was a nightmare of blind curves, steep drop-offs, and slick, wet asphalt.
Callie pushed her old Civic to its absolute limit, the engine screaming as she took a sharp left-hand turn, her rear tires sliding dangerously close to the rocky edge of the ravine. Behind her, the headlights of the dark SUV loomed closer, a relentless, terrifying shadow in the dense fog.
She knew she couldn't outrun them on the highway. Her car was too old, her engine too weak. She needed to use her knowledge of the local terrain.
When she was a teenager, her grandfather had taken her to the old reservoir ruins located deep in the Fairview hills—a network of abandoned stone aqueducts and dirt service roads that had been closed off since the sixties.
She saw the rusted iron gate of the reservoir road approaching on her right.
Without slowing down, Callie slammed on her brakes, sliding the Civic into a dramatic, ninety-degree turn. She smashed through the rotted wooden barrier beside the gate, her car bouncing violently onto the muddy, unpaved dirt road.
The SUV tried to follow, but its heavier weight and wider wheelbase made it slide on the deep, wet mud. It fishtailed wildly, its bumper clipping a massive pine tree before it managed to regain control and continue the pursuit.
Callie drove by pure instinct, the headlights of her car illuminating the dark, looming trees that lined the narrow trail. She turned off her headlights, relying on the faint, gray moonlight filtering through the canopy to see the road.
Behind her, the SUV’s high beams swept through the trees like searchlights, but they were losing ground. The narrow, rock-strewn path was too treacherous for the larger vehicle.
She came to a fork in the road. To the left was the main aqueduct bridge; to the right was a steep, overgrown path that led down to the old pump house.
Callie steered her car to the right, driving it deep into a thick patch of overgrown brush beside the old stone pump house. She turned off the engine, pulled the key from the ignition, and ducked below the dashboard, her breath coming in shallow, silent gasps.
A few seconds later, the low rumble of the SUV’s engine echoed through the trees.
The headlights swept across the pump house, illuminating the ancient stone walls only inches from Callie’s hiding spot. The vehicle stopped.
Callie held her breath, her hand clenched around the brass key in her pocket.
Through the window, she heard the doors of the SUV open. The heavy crunch of boots on gravel sounded in the dark.
"She’s in here somewhere," a voice said, low and guttural. "Check the pump house. If she’s got the files, we need them before the state police arrive. Joel’s contact at the precinct says the Attorney General’s office just issued an emergency warrant."
"What about the old woman?" the second voice asked.
"Joel’s moving her to the warehouse in the harbor," the first man replied. "By tomorrow morning, she’ll be on a boat to Canada. We’ll dispose of her there."
A cold, white-hot fury washed over Callie, replacing her fear with a lethal, absolute clarity. They weren't just going to lock Geneva away; they were going to kill her.
The footsteps circled the pump house, getting closer to her hidden car.
Callie reached into her glove compartment, her fingers searching the dark space until they wrapped around a heavy, steel tire iron she had kept there since her car’s last flat tire.
She slowly opened her car door, the hinges silent in the wet air.
Using the shadows of the stone pump house, she slipped out of the vehicle. One of the men was standing only ten feet away, his back to her, his flashlight sweeping across the interior of the old building.
Before he could turn around, Callie stepped forward, swinging the steel tire iron with all her strength.
The heavy metal struck his knee with a sickening, wet crack.
The man let out a sharp shriek of agony, collapsing onto the wet ground. Callie didn't waste a second. She grabbed his fallen tactical flashlight and shone it directly into the eyes of the second man, who was running toward her from the other side of the building.
Blinded by the intense, high-powered beam, the second man stumbled on the wet rocks, his foot catching on a rotted root. He fell forward, his head striking the edge of the stone pump house with a dull thud. He lay still, unconscious.
Callie stood in the dark, her chest heaving, the tire iron heavy in her hand. She looked down at the first man, who was clutching his shattered knee, groaning in pain.
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a low, terrifying pitch.
"Where is the warehouse in the harbor?" she asked, pressing the cold steel of the tire iron against his throat.
"I... I don't know," the man gasped, his face pale with pain. "Please..."
"Where is she?" Callie repeated, pressing harder.
May you like
"The old fisheries warehouse!" the man shrieked. "Pier 14! The blue metal building! They’re moving her there tonight! Joel’s boat is docked at the slip behind it!"
Callie pulled the tire iron back. She didn't say a word. She ran back to her Civic, threw the laptop and her bag into the passenger seat, and roared out of the reservoir ruins, leaving the two men bleeding in the dark.
