Chapter 4 - The Flight Through Shadow
Leaving by the front door was out of the question. Miller’s SUV was still visible at the crossroads, its headlights cut but its parking lights glowing like the eyes of a wolf waiting at the edge of the woods.
I packed a small backpack with bottles of water, the remaining crackers, a flashlight, and a heavy iron tire iron I kept in the utility closet. I didn't have a gun, but I had Olivia's map of the mountain trails etched into my memory from a decade of summer hikes.
"We’re going out the back," I told the twins, kneeling down to look them in the eye. "We have to stay very quiet. No talking, no crying. If you hear a branch snap, you drop to the ground and hide in the brush. Can you do that for me?"
They nodded solemnly, holding hands tightly.
We slipped out the back door into the cool mountain night. The air smelled of damp pine and oncoming rain. The moon was a crescent sliver, providing just enough light to see the outline of the trail without using the flashlight. We walked in single file: me leading the way, Emma in the middle, and Ella holding onto the back of my jacket.
The trail climbed steeply away from the cottage, winding through thickets of mountain laurel. Every few hundred yards, my boot would brush against a small, smooth object—another white creek stone, placed years ago by Olivia, guiding us through the dark. It felt as though my wife was walking beside us, her spirit an invisible shield against the terrors of the night.
After an hour of hard hiking, the trail began to slope downward toward the sound of rushing water. This was Mill Creek, a fast-moving stream that cut through a deep, rocky ravine. The terrain here was treacherous, slick with wet moss and loose shale.
Suddenly, a blinding beam of light cut through the trees from the ridge above us.
"Over here!" a voice shouted—not Miller's, but another man's, rough and coarse. "I found footprints in the mud near the upper fork! They're heading down to the water!"
"Get down," I hissed, throwing my arm over the girls and pulling them into the deep shadow of an overturned oak root.
The beam of a high-powered spotlight swept across the canopy just feet above our heads. We could hear the heavy thud of combat boots crushing the dry undergrowth, the crackle of a handheld radio spitting static.
"Miller, this is Vance," the radio crackled. "We’ve got movement down by the old mill basin. Looks like the city lawyer took the bait. He’s got the kids with him."
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"Copy that," Miller’s voice responded, distorted by the speaker but clear enough to make my blood run cold. "Terminate the transport. No witnesses on this one. Make it look like a tragic accident on the rocks."
My grip tightened on the iron tire iron. This wasn't a custody dispute. It was an execution order. I looked at the twins, who were shivering against my chest, their tiny hands over their mouths to stifle their whimpers. I realized then that I wasn't just a lawyer trying to settle an estate anymore. I was their only chance at survival.
