Chapter 10 - The Root Cellar Escape
They scrambled through the narrow hallway like hunted animals, bullets chewing through the back walls of the cabin as the suppressive fire shifted from the front to the rear. Deputy Miller held the rear guard, firing three rapid shots into the empty hallway before diving headfirst down the wooden trapdoor into the dark root cellar.
Claire was the second one down, hitting the damp earth of the crawlspace on her boots and immediately sweeping her flashlight through the gloom. The beam cut through the thick dust, illuminating rotting wooden crates and old canning jars lining the stone walls.
Marcus shoved the Director down the hatch after her, the older man tumbling hard onto the dirt floor and groaning in pain. Marcus dropped down last, slamming the heavy wooden trapdoor shut above them and sliding the rusted iron bolt into place just as heavy boots thudded against the floorboards overhead.
“Keep moving! Don't stop!” Claire commanded, her flashlight beam guiding them through the low, cramped tunnel toward the exit vent half a hundred yards away in the brush.
They crawled in the damp dark, the sound of muffled shouting echoing from the cabin behind them. The Director wheezed heavily behind Marcus, his expensive suit ruined by the mud and wet clay.
“You won't make it out of this valley,” the Director panted, his voice cracking. “The state police roadblocks are under our control. Every highway for a hundred miles is locked down.”
“We aren't taking the highway,” Claire called back over her shoulder without breaking her rhythm.
They reached the end of the tunnel, pushing open the rusted metal grate that opened into a deep, fern-filled ravine away from the cabin’s direct line of sight. One by one, they tumbled out into the cold, damp air of the forest, gasping for breath.
Sheriff Vance looked around wildly, pulling his radio from his belt. “My cruiser is half a mile down the trail. If we can reach the ridge, we have radio coverage.”
“No,” Marcus said, shaking his head as he pulled the Director up by his arm. “They’ve already jammed local frequencies. Look up.”
Claire looked up through the canopy of fir trees. High above the canyon, a gray military drone circled silently in the overcast sky, its camera lens locked directly onto the clearing below.
“They’re tracking the flash drive’s RF ping,” Claire whispered, her blood running cold.
Deputy Miller stared up at the drone, his rifle trembling in his hands. “How do we lose a satellite?”
Claire reached into her pocket, pulled out the small black flash drive, and stared at the blinking LED light on its casing.
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“We don't lose it,” Claire said, her eyes narrowing with desperate resolve. “We give them a new target.”
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