Chapter 5 - The Public Enemy
The radio inside the stolen jeep crackled violently to life.
Every single station broadcasted the exact same terrifying message on a continuous loop.
"Wanted for high treason, domestic terrorism, and the kidnapping of Abigail Ferguson."
They had plastered my military photo and David's classified file across every news network in the country.
We were entirely cut off from the rest of the world, hunted by our own government.
"Where are we going?" Abigail asked from the backseat, clutching her bruised ribs in agony.
"We are going to Washington D.C.," David answered, navigating the jeep onto a desolate dirt highway.
"We have to hand this drive directly to the Secretary of Defense before Vance intercepts us."
"We will never make it across state lines," I argued, checking the remaining ammunition in my sidearm.
"Every highway patrol officer and federal agent will be looking for our faces."
David pressed harder on the gas pedal.
"I know a smuggler in Richmond who can secure us completely new identities and clean transport."
I looked at my husband, realizing I was sitting next to a total stranger shaped by five years of brutal captivity.
He drove with reckless, terrifying precision, keeping us entirely off the main surveillance grids.
We arrived in Richmond just as the sun began to set, pulling into a dark, abandoned industrial warehouse.
A man covered in mechanical grease and gang tattoos stepped out from the shadows.
"You brought a lot of heat to my doorstep, David," the smuggler growled, racking a shotgun.
"I need three clean passports and a vehicle that isn't flagged by satellite surveillance," David demanded.
He tossed a solid gold brick onto a nearby metal barrel.
The smuggler inspected the gold, his harsh demeanor softening instantly at the sight of extreme wealth.
"Passports will take two hours to print," the smuggler grunted, turning toward his hidden office.
I helped Abigail out of the jeep, finding a relatively clean crate for her to sit on.
She looked incredibly pale, and her breathing had become dangerously shallow.
"Abby, look at me," I said gently, pressing my hand against her burning forehead.
She was running a massive fever, and the bruising on her arms had turned a terrifying shade of purple.
"Mom, I can't feel my fingers," she whispered, her eyes rolling back slightly.
I ripped the bandages away from her ribs, exposing a dark, spreading infection deep beneath her skin.
Nicholas had not just beaten her; he had caused severe, life-threatening internal bleeding.
"She needs a hospital immediately," I yelled to David, pure panic seizing my heart.
"If we walk into a hospital, we will be arrested and executed before midnight," David argued frantically.
Suddenly, the heavy metal doors of the warehouse violently rolled open.
Four black SUVs stormed into the building, blinding us completely with their high-beam headlights.
A sleek, luxury sedan pulled in slowly behind them.
May you like
The car door opened, and Patricia Ferguson stepped out wearing an immaculate designer coat.
"You really thought you could hide from my family?" Patricia smiled cruelly, raising a silver handgun directly at my dying daughter.
