Chapter 12 - The Last Road Out
“THEY'RE NOT TAKING THOSE CHILDREN TO ANOTHER HOUSE. THEY'RE TAKING THEM OUT OF THE STATE!”
I stood over a map in the federal command center.
Agent Grant and Detective Ortiz watched as I traced a route through the mountains.
Saint Brigid's House connected to three major roads.
Two led toward populated towns.
The third crossed a remote stretch of high country before joining an interstate highway beyond the state line.
I knew that route.
Bennett Logistics had used it for years.
“East Valley Road,” I said. “Then Alder Creek. After that, there's an old freight bridge.”
Agent Grant studied the map.
“Why would Mercer use a road that dangerous in a snowstorm?”
“Because there are no traffic cameras for nearly fifteen miles.”
Lena looked at me.
“And because your company knows how to avoid inspection checkpoints.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
It hurt to admit how useful my knowledge had become.
Every secret route.
Every concealed storage facility.
Every fraudulent shipping arrangement.
I had once considered them advantages.
Now I understood how easily they could become instruments of suffering.
Agent Grant called her field commander.
“Redirect the eastern teams toward Alder Creek. Establish a containment perimeter. We have reason to believe the children are being transported through that corridor.”
I watched her work.
For the first time in my adult life, I was relying on people I couldn't intimidate or control.
And I had to trust them.
That was harder than I expected.
Meanwhile, federal agents searched Saint Brigid's House.
They found children's drawings taped to walls.
Shoes arranged beneath metal beds.
Half-finished meals.
A broken toy airplane.
The place looked disturbingly ordinary.
That was what made it so horrifying.
Children had lived there.
They had slept there.
Some had probably been told they were unwanted or forgotten.
And the people responsible had hidden the operation behind the language of charity.
One investigator recovered a notebook belonging to Natalie Reed.
Several pages had been torn out.
Others contained handwritten calculations and dates.
On the final page was a message:
If anything happens to me, please tell Nora I never stopped looking for a way home.
I read the sentence three times.
Natalie had known she might not survive.
Yet even in captivity, her thoughts remained with her daughter.
I thought of Emily.
Of all the ordinary evenings I'd sacrificed to business.
Of the school events I'd missed.
Of the telephone calls I'd ignored.
I had believed providing money was enough.
It hadn't been.
Agent Grant approached.
“Michael, we found another transportation document.”
She placed it in front of me.
The vehicle number caught my attention immediately.
UNIT 12
I stopped breathing.
“That's impossible.”
Lena looked up.
“What?”
“Unit Twelve was decommissioned years ago.”
“Why?”
I swallowed.
“After Emily's accident.”
Agent Grant examined the record.
“The registration number was reassigned to another vehicle. The associated route and dispatch account remained active.”
I stared at the screen.
Thomas had continued using the same operational identity.
The same number.
The same network.
Eleven years after a child had died because his driver was ordered not to stop.
I felt physically ill.
“You're telling me that vehicle is carrying children tonight?”
“We believe so,” Agent Grant replied.
A radio crackled.
“Command, this is Eastern Team Three. We have visual contact with two transport vans near Alder Creek.”
Agent Grant pressed the communication button.
“Confirm identification.”
“First vehicle matches the description. Second vehicle displaying Bennett Logistics markings.”
My heart began pounding.
“Are the children visible?”
“Negative. Rear compartments obscured.”
“Can you stop them?”
“We're moving into position.”
A second voice interrupted.
“Command, the lead van is accelerating toward the freight bridge.”
Agent Grant's expression tightened.
“Do not initiate a pursuit that endangers the passengers. Establish the roadblock ahead.”
The radio hissed.
Then came another report.
“Command, the black SUV has separated from the convoy.”
Lena leaned forward.
“Direction?”
“Northbound. Old Ridge Road.”
I went completely still.
Old Ridge Road.
Again.
The place where Emily died.
The place where I found Nora.
Agent Grant turned toward me.
“Michael, the driver of that SUV is attempting to contact you.”
My phone rang.
An unknown number.
I answered.
Mercer's voice came through the speaker.
“You've caused me a great deal of trouble.”
“Where's Natalie?”
“Alive. For the moment.”
I heard a muffled voice in the background.
A woman's voice.
“Please! My daughter—”
The line went silent for a second.
Then Mercer returned.
“You remember the old guardrail on Old Ridge Road, don't you, Michael?”
My hands began shaking.
“Don't hurt her.”
“Then come to the place where your daughter died.”
May you like
He paused.
“And this time, perhaps you'll finally learn what it feels like to lose someone because you couldn't stop me.”
