My nine-year-old son brought a shivering Golden Retriever puppy home from the edge of our gated community's perimeter fence.
As I made my way back to the timber barn, the sky had turned a bruised purple. A heavy winter blizzard descended over the Catskill mountain region with terrifying speed. Wind howled, thick snow began to fall in sheets, cutting off power lines across the enclave. Visibility dropped to ten feet, then five.
The air thrummed with the sudden, eerie quiet of a snowstorm.
Through the whiteout, I heard the faint, distant sound of the main iron security gates crashing shut. Marcus Driscoll was sealing the compound.
Soon after, the backup generator for the lower village, usually a reliable thrum, sputtered and died. Darkness enveloped the homes below. A panicked voice crackled over the emergency loudspeaker system, ordering all residents into the central chapel for “emergency shelter.” For “monitoring,” I knew.
Marcus was creating a cage.
I reached the timber barn, shivering, flakes clinging to my eyelashes. Ethan, startled by the storm’s fury, clung to me. The puppy whined softly.
“We have to go, son,” I said, pulling him close. “Now.”
My mind worked furiously. Going to the police now was useless. The storm would delay any response by at least twelve hours. Marcus would use that time to destroy all physical files, erase any electronic evidence, and relocate Julian deeper into the mountain network, perhaps to that private care home in Oregon before anyone could intervene.
Our only chance was to confront him directly. I knew Marcus kept his master corporate records, including his private safe, in the subterranean print shop archive.
I remembered the old blueprints. There was a network of service tunnels beneath the main printing press facility, accessible through the basement. It was risky. It was dark. But it was our only path.
“We’re going on an adventure,” I told Ethan, forcing a smile. “Like in your books.”
He looked up, eyes wide, but nodded. The blizzard screamed outside, its icy grip tightening around the enclave, sealing us all in Marcus’s trap.
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