Chapter 6 - Rescue from the Dark
The quiet afternoon exploded into chaos.
Three dark armored vehicles tore up the gravel driveway, their tires throwing dirt into the air as tactical sirens echoed through the valley. Flashbang grenades detonated outside the front porch with deafening CRACK-CRACK blasts, shattering the glass windows of the living room.
"FBI! FREEZE! GET ON THE GROUND!"
Inside the house, Preston’s eyes went wide with shock. He snatched a heavy iron poker from the fireplace and slammed Pendelton across the face, sending the terrified notary crashing to the floor.
"Vanessa! The back garage! NOW!" Preston screamed, sprinting down the hallway toward the rear exit.
He didn't care about the money anymore; he cared about eliminating the evidence. If he could reach the garage, douse the subterranean room in fuel, and ignite it, he could destroy the holding cell and flee into the dense state park woodland behind the property before the federal agents could secure the perimeter.
Preston burst through the rear service door into the massive concrete workshop. He grabbed a five-gallon red jerrycan of racing fuel from a shelf and rushed toward the heavy steel keypad door set into the floor.
He punched in the code: 0-4-1-2.
The magnetic locks disengaged with a heavy pneumatic hiss. Preston kicked the steel door open, grabbing a road flare from his belt.
"Preston!" a voice shouted from the gloom above.
Preston spun around. Standing on the upper catwalk of the garage, holding a heavy tactical flashlight and a steel crowbar, was Marian Hawthorne. She had bypassed the front assault, entering through the high ventilation window Marcus had breached moments earlier.
"Step away from that door, Preston," Marian said, her voice echoing off the concrete walls like an ancient judgment.
"You old bitch!" Preston roared, his face contorted in psychotic rage. He pulled a compact 9mm pistol from his jacket holster and aimed it up at the catwalk. "You ruined everything! She was going to give me everything!"
BANG!
A gunshot shattered the air, but it didn't come from Preston's gun.
Marcus Vance had breached the side access door, his service weapon raised. The round struck Preston square in the right shoulder, spinning him around. The pistol flew from his grip, clattering across the concrete floor and falling down the dark stairs into the subterranean room.
Preston collapsed against the steel railing, clutching his bleeding shoulder, screaming in agony.
Marian didn't waste a second. She sprinted down the metal stairs, past the groaning sociopath, and rushed into the dark, cold subterranean room beneath the workshop.
The air inside was freezing, smelling of damp concrete and metallic despair. In the far corner, huddled beneath a thin, dirty tarp on a bare concrete floor, lay Olivia.
Her lips were cracked, her cheeks hollow, her pale blue eyes wide with terrified confusion as the beam of the flashlight struck her face.
"Olivia!" Marian dropped to her knees, throwing her arms around her daughter’s trembling, frail frame.
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"M-Mom?" Olivia’s voice was a frail, hoarse rasp. She clutched at Marian’s wet wool coat, burying her face into her mother’s neck, weeping hysterically. "Mom... you came... he said... he said you forgot about me... he said nobody was coming..."
"I’m here, baby," Marian sobbed, tears streaming down her face as she wrapped her coat around her daughter's freezing body, rocking her back and forth. "I’m here. The nightmare is over. I've got you."
