Chapter 9: The Mountain Signal
The isolation of the cabin provided a temporary sanctuary, but it also cut them off from vital communication. By the third day, the woodpile was running low, and the canned provisions in the pantry were dwindling. Thomas knew they couldn't stay hidden forever, but he needed to make contact with Sarah to find out if the federal inspector general had officially seized the Apex Biomechanics servers.
To reach a signal, Thomas had to drive twenty minutes up the winding logging road to the high ridge overlooking the interstate valley, where a faint cellular tower ping could be caught.
"Lock the doors, keep the deadbolt thrown, and don't open for anyone," Thomas instructed, checking his service pistol before tucking it into his belt holster.
"I'll be fine, Dad," Leo said from the kitchen table, where he was whittling a small piece of pine wood with a pocketknife—an exercise Sarah recommended to rebuild fine motor control in his hands. "I'm not going anywhere fast anyway."
The drive up the ridge was quiet, the dense pine forest pressing in from both sides of the narrow dirt track. When Thomas reached the summit, he pulled the station wagon off onto a grassy turnout and pulled out his encrypted satellite phone. He dialed Sarah’s direct number, waiting through three long rings before her voice came through, heavy with static.
"Thomas? Where are you? Are you safe?" Sarah asked rapidly.
"We're at the cabin. Signal is terrible up here," Thomas said, keeping his eyes on the rearview mirror. "Did the inspector general move on Apex?"
"Yes, but you need to listen to me very carefully," Sarah said, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper. "The corporate audit was approved, but someone inside the Department of Defense flagged your personal file. They’re classifying your withdrawal of the brace as a security breach of military-funded tech. They’re trying to paint you as a rogue officer."
Thomas felt his blood run cold. "That's absurd. I returned their defective hardware."
"They claim the telemetry chip contains classified neural-mapping data related to DARPA’s soldier-augmentation program," Sarah explained, the sound of keyboard clicking echoing in the background. "They aren't just trying to cover up a product defect anymore, Thomas. They're trying to bury the entire project, and anyone who possesses the physical evidence is a liability."
"Where are you right now?" Thomas asked, his military instincts kicking into high gear.
"I'm at my clinic, but I'm being watched—"
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The line abruptly went dead, replaced by a harsh, mechanical screech of white noise.
Thomas slammed his fist against the steering wheel, cursed under his breath, and threw the station wagon into reverse, spinning the tires on the gravel as he tore down the mountain road toward the cabin at breakneck speed.
