Chapter 11: The Ticking Clock in the Forest
Jack set the formula box down on an upturned wooden crate and immediately set about mixing a bottle using the cold milk and a clean plastic liner he found inside the box. He didn't have a way to warm it properly, so he held the bottle between his palms, generating friction until the liquid reached a tolerable lukewarm temperature. He handed it to Lily, who eagerly guided the nipple into her baby brother’s hungry mouth. Toby latched on with desperate, rhythmic sucks, the tension in the room easing slightly as the baby finally found nourishment.
Jack turned his attention back to Caleb, kneeling beside the injured man to inspect his arm. The radius bone was fractured, protruding slightly beneath the torn fabric of his mechanic’s jumpsuit. It was a nasty, neglected break that needed a hospital immediately, or gangrene would set in within forty-eight hours.
"Listen to me, Caleb," Jack said, his voice dropping to a hard, commanding whisper. "We can't stay here. That sedan we saw at the gas station? They know this area. If they find your tracks in the snow leading back to this cellar, they'll burn this place to the ground with us inside it. Do you have that flash drive?"
Caleb opened his eyes, staring up at Jack with a mixture of fear and stubborn defiance. He reached his good hand into the deep breast pocket of his jumpsuit and pulled out a small, black USB drive encased in a rubberized waterproof shell. He pressed it firmly into Jack’s calloused palm.
"It's all on there," Caleb whispered, his breathing growing shallower. "Bank transfers, email chains, coordinates of the illegal dump sites in the state forest. My brother gave it to me an hour before they ran his truck off the logging bridge. If I don't make it out of here, you need to get it to the state police barracks in iron City. Don't trust the local deputies; they're on the company payroll."
Jack slipped the flash drive securely into the inner zipper pocket of his vest. He stood up, towering over the cramped underground space. The tactical reality was grim. His motorcycle was parked half a mile back down the trail, hidden in the brush. Carrying an injured man, a ten-year-old girl, and an infant through deep snow on a single bike was impossible. They needed an extraction plan, and they needed it before sunrise.
"Can you walk at all if I support your weight, Caleb?" Jack asked, checking his watch. It was 2:15 AM.
Caleb shook his head weakly. "My leg's busted too, man. Hit by a pipe when they jumped us behind the sawmill yesterday. I'm not going anywhere fast. You take the kids. Get them to the highway, flag down a long-haul trucker, and get out of here. Leave me behind; I'll buy you enough time to clear the ridge."
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"We don't leave people behind," Jack said flatly, his voice carrying the finality of a slammed iron door. "Not on my watch."
***
