Chapter 4 - The Trapdoor

I pressed my back desperately against the cold, rough wood of the maple boards.

Nivea shifted in my arms, letting out a soft whimper.

I gently covered her tiny mouth with my hand, praying she would stay quiet.

Jean’s footsteps grew louder as she walked slowly down the central aisle of the mill.

I knew she was familiar with the layout because she used to bring me lunch here.

I had to move before she reached the end of the lumber stack.

I crept silently toward the massive industrial saw in the center of the room.

Beneath the saw was an old maintenance trapdoor that led to the ventilation tunnels.

I carefully lifted the heavy iron ring and slipped down into the darkness with Nivea.

I pulled the door shut just as Jean’s flashlight swept over the floor above me.

The tunnel was cramped, covered in decades of thick, choking sawdust.

I crawled on my knees, cradling my daughter to protect her from the dirty air.

Suddenly, a rough hand grabbed my shoulder from the pitch-black shadows.

I almost screamed, but a familiar voice whispered harshly in my ear.

"Keep quiet, Frank," the raspy voice demanded.

It was Silas, the old night watchman who had worked at the mill for forty years.

He flicked on a dim red flashlight, revealing a hidden, underground bunker.

"I know what your wife is involved in," Silas whispered, looking at the baby.

"I can get you both out of the county in my old smuggling truck."

I thanked him profusely, feeling a massive wave of relief wash over me.

Silas smiled, but the expression did not reach his cold, dead eyes.

He stepped backward, quickly slamming a heavy iron gate between us.

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"I am sorry, Frank, but the bounty on that child is just too high," he said.

He locked the padlock and pulled out a walkie-talkie to call Jean.