Chapter 6 - FLIGHT INTO THE MAELSTROM
The kitchen doors slammed shut behind us, and Julian quickly jammed a heavy wooden chair under the handle. It wouldn't hold them for long, but we only needed a minute. He grabbed my hand and yanked me toward the service exit leading to the garage.
"The cars are dead without the garage power," I yelled over the storm, struggling to keep my footing on the slick tile.
"I didn't park in the garage," Julian replied grimly.
He kicked open the service door, and the storm hit us like a physical blow. The wind howled, driving sheets of freezing rain into my face. We plunged into the dense pine forest surrounding the estate, the mud instantly soaking my shoes and slowing me down. Behind us, I heard the splintering crash of the kitchen door giving way.
"There! In the trees!" someone shouted from the patio.
Flashlight beams pierced the darkness, sweeping through the swaying pines like the eyes of predators. We pushed deeper into the woods, the branches tearing at my clothes and scratching my face. I held Leo so tightly my arms ached, praying the rain wouldn't drown out his breathing. Miraculously, the baby remained asleep, lulled by the rhythm of my frantic running.
After what felt like hours of agonizing navigation through the dark, muddy terrain, we broke through the tree line onto a narrow, unpaved logging road. Hidden beneath a camouflage tarp was an old, battered Ford Bronco.
"Get in," Julian barked, tearing the tarp away.
I scrambled into the passenger seat, wrapping Leo tightly in my jacket to warm him. Julian jumped into the driver’s seat, hot-wiring the ignition with practiced speed. The engine roared to life just as two black SUVs burst through the clearing behind us, their high beams blindingly bright in the rearview mirror.
"Hold on!" Julian yelled, throwing the Bronco into gear.
The tires spun in the mud before catching, and we shot forward into the night. It was a terrifying, high-speed chase down a treacherous mountain road in the middle of a torrential downpour. Julian drove like a madman, taking hairpin turns with inches to spare. The SUVs relentlessly pursued us, ramming our rear bumper and sending us swerving toward the sheer cliff edge.
"They're trying to push us off!" I screamed, terrified as the back of the Bronco fishtailed wildly.
"Not today," Julian growled.
As we approached a sharp, narrow bridge overlooking a raging river, Julian slammed on the brakes and ripped the steering wheel to the left. The Bronco spun a complete 180 degrees, coming to a screeching halt blocking the bridge. The lead SUV, unable to stop in time on the wet asphalt, slammed its brakes but hydroplaned. It smashed into the steel guardrail, flipping over in a shower of sparks and metal, blocking the path for the second SUV behind it.
Julian threw the car in reverse, spinning us back around, and accelerated away from the wreckage. We had lost them. For the first time since the hospital, I let out a jagged, sobbing breath.
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"Where are we going?" I asked, trembling uncontrollably as the adrenaline began to wear off.
"To Seattle," Julian said, his eyes fixed dead ahead on the road. "To the FBI field office. We’re ending this tonight. Richard thinks he can operate in the shadows. We’re going to drag him into the light."
