Chapter 3 - Shadows on the Mountain
Nathan didn't wait for the road plows.
He called his head of security, a former Special Forces operator named Ray, who lived in the guest house down the ridge. Within twenty minutes, Ray had fired up the heavy-duty tracked snowcat vehicle stored in the estate's lower garage.
"Rosa," Nathan commanded, adjusting his heavy winter coat. "Stay with the children. Keep the fire going. If anyone comes to that door who isn't wearing a sheriff's badge, do not open it."
"Dr. Pierce, you can't go down there alone," Rosa pleaded, watching him check a medical kit and slip a heavy flash-flare launcher into his coat pocket. "The roads are completely impassable!"
"My sister is dying," Nathan said, his voice flat, ice-hard, and filled with a fury he had never known he possessed. "I left her seven years ago. I am not leaving her today."
The snowcat roared into the gray light of morning, its heavy rubber tracks churning through three feet of fresh powder. Ray drove, his eyes locked on the whiteout ahead, while Nathan sat in the passenger seat, staring at the silver bracelet clutched in his fist.
The coordinates engraved on the bracelet led toward the base of Blackwood Ridge, a secluded, run-down area near an abandoned lumber mill. It was less than six miles from Nathan's luxurious estate, yet it felt like a world away—a dark valley where desperate people hid from the law.
"Chief Miller just radioed," Ray reported over the roar of the snowcat's engine. "The storm knocked out power to the valley basin. No phone lines, no cell service down there. Sheriff's department is still trying to clear the main highway from town."
"Then we're the only ones," Nathan said.
Twenty minutes later, the snowcat rounded a dense cluster of hemlock trees. Ahead, sitting in a clearing choked with rusted machinery and snow-covered debris, was a sagging, red-painted cabin. Smoke curled weakly from its stone chimney. Parked near the porch was a battered blue pickup truck, its engine ticking quietly as if it had recently been started.
Ray slowed the vehicle to a halt behind a bank of snow. "Someone's there," he murmured, pulling a tactical flashlight and his licensed sidearm from his jacket. "We proceed with caution."
Nathan didn't wait. He threw open the door of the snowcat and hit the snow running. The cold air burned his lungs, but he barely felt it. He marched straight up the porch steps, his boots crushing the ice.
The front door was ajar, hanging off a broken hinge.
Nathan pushed it open and stepped inside. The cabin smelled of stale smoke, cheap alcohol, and copper—the distinct, iron smell of fresh blood.
"Sarah!" Nathan called out, his voice echoing in the gloom.
A crash sounded from the back room, followed by the heavy thud of boots. Out stepped Marcus Kane.
He was a big, broad-shouldered man with unkempt dark hair, wild eyes, and a beard stained with tobacco. He wore a heavy canvas coat, and in his right hand, he held a heavy iron crowbar. His knuckles were bruised, and his face was smeared with dirt and dried mud.
"Well, well," Marcus sneered, a crooked, menacing smile spreading across his face. "If it isn't the big doctor. The high-and-mighty brother who couldn't be bothered to check on his little sister for seven years."
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"Where is she, Marcus?" Nathan said, taking a step forward, his fists clenched at his sides.
"She's where she belongs," Marcus hissed, raising the crowbar. "And you're too late. She's gone, doctor. And those little brats she hid... I know they went up the mountain. I was just about to go fetch them back."
