Chapter 7 - The Cat and Mouse
The sudden darkness was a physical blow, disorienting and absolute.
I heard the sharp phut of the suppressed pistol, the bullet shattering the concrete wall mere inches from my head.
I dropped to the floor, scrambling on hands and knees beneath the heavy wooden workbenches that lined the far wall.
"Cute trick," the paramedic's voice echoed in the blackness, maddeningly calm. "But there's only one exit."
He was right. The only way out was up those stairs, and he was standing between me and freedom.
I needed a distraction, something loud enough to mask the sound of my movements.
My fingers brushed against a heavy, metal toolbox tucked beneath the bench.
I grabbed a large crescent wrench, its cold weight reassuring in my trembling hand.
I waited, straining my ears for any sound of his approach.
The faint scuff of a rubber sole on concrete told me he was moving slowly, systematically sweeping the room.
I judged his position, winding my arm back, and hurled the wrench with all my strength toward the opposite corner of the basement.
It crashed against a stack of metal paint cans with a deafening clatter.
The paramedic reacted instantly, firing three rapid shots into the corner where the sound originated.
I used the noise of the gunfire to propel myself forward, sliding on my stomach toward the bottom of the stairs.
I reached the bottom step just as his flashlight beam flicked back on, sweeping erratically across the room.
I didn't hesitate. I scrambled up the wooden steps, ignoring the agonizing splinters tearing into my palms.
"Hey!" he shouted, realizing he had been tricked.
I burst through the door into the laundry room, slamming it shut behind me and throwing the heavy deadbolt.
It wouldn't hold him long, but it bought me a few precious seconds.
I scrambled out the open window, tumbling onto the wet grass of the backyard just as I heard the sharp crack of a bullet splintering the wooden door.
I ran blindly through the darkness, vaulting over fences and tearing through manicured hedges, driven entirely by pure, unadulterated terror.
I didn't stop running until my lungs burned and my legs felt like lead.
I collapsed behind a large oak tree in a neighboring park, gasping for air.
I pulled the flash drive from my pocket, gripping it tightly.
I had the proof, but I was a wanted fugitive, and the people hunting me were the very authorities I was supposed to trust.
I needed help. I needed someone completely unconnected to this town.
I pulled out my phone and dialed the only person I could think of.
My brother, Mark, a former military intelligence officer who lived three states away.
The phone rang endlessly, each tone amplifying my mounting panic.
Finally, a groggy voice answered. "Hello?"
"Mark, it's me. I need help. They're trying to kill me, and they framed me for hurting Addie."
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There was a long, chilling pause on the other end of the line.
"I know, sis," Mark said, his voice entirely devoid of sleep or surprise. "Luke already called me."
