Chapter 6 - Into the White Out
The storm was beginning to lose its lethal fury, the wind dying down from a screaming roar to a steady, biting chill. The sky overhead was shifting from an opaque white to a deep, bruised indigo as dawn approached.
Nathan drove his heavy-duty black SUV down the winding mountain pass, the chains on the tires biting hard into the packed ice. The headlights cut through the fading darkness, illuminating the snow-bent pines that lined the steep drop-offs.
He knew the old property Sarah and Marcus had rented on the lower ridge—a dilapidated farmhouse tucked away behind an apple orchard, far enough from civilization to hide secrets, but close enough to the main road for convenience.
When he pulled into the snowy driveway twenty minutes later, the scene was chilling.
The front door of the farmhouse was kicked wide open, hanging crookedly off its bottom hinge. Footprints—heavy combat boots matching the tread pattern of Marcus's men—marred the pristine snow leading up to the porch.
Nathan cut the engine, grabbed a high-powered tactical flashlight from his glove compartment, and stepped out into the freezing air. His breath plumed white in front of him.
"Sarah!" he called out, his voice echoing off the silent, snow-laden trees. There was no answer, only the sound of melting snow dripping from the eaves.
He stepped inside the dark, drafty house. Furniture had been overturned; papers were scattered across the floorboards. The lingering scent of ozone and cordite hung heavily in the air. Marcus had clearly anticipated Sarah hiding something and had torn the place apart looking for duplicates of the documents Lily had carried.
Nathan moved methodically through the ground floor, checking the kitchen, the living area, and the small office space. Nothing.
Then he remembered Lily's words: Mommy was hiding in the root cellar behind the old barn.
He rushed out the back door, his boots crunching loudly in the crusty snow as he crossed the frozen backyard toward the weathered wooden barn. The heavy wooden doors of the root cellar were slightly ajar, a faint line of shadow cutting across the white ground.
Nathan pulled the doors open, shining his flashlight down the steep, stone steps.
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"Sarah?" he called down, his heart hammering against his ribs in a way it hadn't even during the worst trauma surgeries of his career.
A faint, raspy cough echoed from the bottom of the cellar.
