Chapter 13 - The Ten-Minute Purge
The synthesized voice died away, leaving an oppressive, heavy silence in the hallway that felt thicker than the summer heat outside. 'Total property purge in ten minutes.' The phrase repeated in my mind like a ticking time bomb, stripping away any remaining illusion that we were dealing with a simple family mystery or a bureaucratic misunderstanding.
"What does a property purge mean?" Sarah asked, her voice cracking as she clutched little Toby so tightly the boy began to whimper in protest. "Vance, what is that machine going to do to this house?"
Agent Vance didn't answer right away. He was already pulling a heavy tactical radio from his belt, frantically punching buttons to establish a connection with his field office. Static hissed back from the speaker, harsh and unbroken, drowned out by a high-frequency jamming signal that filled the air with a faint, teeth-grinding whine.
"They're blocking all outgoing signals," Vance cursed, slamming the radio against his palm in frustration. "The whole property is shielded by a Faraday cage built into the drywall. Cell phones won't work, radios won't work, and nobody outside this neighborhood can hear us."
Mark didn't hesitate. He grabbed a heavy wooden folding chair that had been left behind in the corner of the hallway and swung it with all his might against the front window glass. The wood shattered into splinters, but the glass—thick, laminated security glass designed to withstand a hurricane—only cracked with a spiderweb pattern, holding fast against the blow.
"It's ballistic glass!" Mark yelled over the whining electronic whine of the jammer. He swung the chair again, smashing it harder until a hole finally broke through the pane, letting in a rush of hot outdoor air.
"Out through the window!" Arthur commanded, stepping up to help Mark clear away the jagged shards of glass from the frame. "Mark, get Clara and Toby through first. Hurry!"
Mark didn't need to be told twice. He hoisted Grandma Clara up toward the broken window frame, pushing her gently as the elderly woman scrambled through the opening, her light blue patterned shirt snagging briefly on a sharp glass edge before she tumbled safely onto the porch floorboards outside.
"Toby, give me your hands," Mark shouted, lifting his young cousin up next. Toby squeezed his eyes shut, handing his blue rolled-up mat to Sarah before Mark grabbed him under the arms and shoved him through the jagged opening after Clara.
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Sarah scrambled through next, dropping heavily onto the porch wood outside. But just as Arthur put his hands on the windowsill to climb out behind them, a loud, heavy mechanical hiss erupted from the ceiling vents above our heads.
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