Chapter 5 - The Red Notebook
The contents of the red notebook became our blueprint for survival. While two state troopers guarded Emily’s hospital room door, Reynolds and a specialized cyber-forensics technician worked on decrypting the secondary files listed in Sarah’s notes.
Sarah had been meticulous. Before Jason had realized what she was doing, she had documented his routine, his secondary vehicles, and three different storage units he rented under fraudulent names across the tri-county area. But one particular address, scribbled in red ink on the very last page, caught my eye.
“Cabin 14 - Blackwood Ridge. He keeps an old satellite radio and emergency rations there. He told me it was for hunting season. He never hunts.”
"Blackwood Ridge," I pointed to the entry, looking up at Reynolds. "That’s an abandoned logging district forty miles north in the state forest. It’s completely off the grid."
Reynolds squinted at the map on his laptop. "No cell towers. Dense pine cover. If he needed a holding site before heading to the private airstrip in Fulton County, that cabin would be the perfect place."
"Sarah could be there right now," I said, my voice rising with urgency. "Every hour we sit in this hospital room is an hour closer to him putting her on that plane—or worse."
"We can't just storm a remote cabin based on an old diary entry, David," Reynolds warned. "I have to mobilize tactical teams, get a warrant signed by a night judge, and coordinate with the state police. That takes time."
"She doesn't have time!" I snapped, clenching my fists. "Look at what he did to my daughter! He locked a ten-year-old child in an animal cage like a stray dog! You think he’s going to treat Sarah with mercy?"
Before Reynolds could respond, the power in the hospital wing abruptly flickered.
The hum of the air conditioning died down. The bright overhead LEDs buzzed twice, turned dull yellow, and then went completely dark. A second later, the red emergency backup lights kicked on with a harsh mechanical clatter, bathing the sterile hallway in an eerie, blood-colored glow.
A loud fire alarm began blaring throughout the hospital corridors, accompanied by an automated voice: “Warning. Fire detected in electrical substation B. Please evacuate immediately.”
My heart seized. "Reynolds..."
"Stay here!" Reynolds drew his Glock from his shoulder holster, his eyes darting toward the hallway. "Officers, secure this doorway! Nobody enters without credentials!"
The two troopers outside the door unholstered their weapons, their faces tense. Nurses and orderlies began hurrying down the hall, guiding ambulatory patients toward the emergency stairwells amidst the flashing red strobe lights.
Inside the room, Emily shot up in bed, letting out a piercing scream. "Daddy! It’s him! He’s here! That’s what he did at Elm Street—he cut the power box before he took Mommy!"
I rushed to the bed, wrapping my arms around Emily, pulling her to the floor behind the heavy steel frame of the examination table. "I'm right here, baby. Stay low. Cover your ears."
Through the frosted glass panel of the hospital room door, I saw a tall man in a dark maintenance jumpsuit walking briskly through the panicked crowd of nurses. He wasn't evacuating. He was moving against the flow of people, wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes and holding a silenced automatic pistol down by his right hip.
Marcus Cole.
He had walked straight into a county hospital, triggered a fire alarm in the basement to kill the main grid, and used the ensuing chaos to hunt his quarry.
"Drop your weapon!" one of the state troopers yelled, raising his sidearm toward the approaching figure.
Two muffled thuds sounded through the door.
The state trooper collapsed backward into the room, blood blossoming across his shoulder, his gun clattering across the linoleum. The second officer returned fire, his shots deafening inside the enclosed hallway, shattering the glass panels of neighboring rooms.
"Emily, close your eyes!" I shouted, reaching down to grab the fallen officer's dropped firearm with my right hand.
May you like
I was an accountant, not a soldier. But in that split second, watching the shadow of the monster who had caged my daughter step over the threshold of our room, every ounce of civilized restraint evaporated from my soul.
I wasn't just a father protecting his child. I was an animal guarding his den.
