Chapter 7 - Ambush on Route 9
The rain poured in sheets against the reinforced windows of the safehouse, blurring the dark silhouettes of the pine trees outside. It was midnight, and sleep refused to come. I sat at a small wooden desk, staring at a blank notebook while Sarah Vance’s words echoed in my mind.
Then my phone lit up with an urgent breaking news alert from the local news station.
*BREAKING: Federal Prisoner Transport Carrying Daniel Mercer Ambushed on Route 9; Status of Inmates and Guards Unknown.*
My breath hitched in my throat. I jumped up from the desk and turned on the small wall-mounted television. The screen showed grainy helicopter footage hovering over a stretch of dark highway. Flashing red and blue lights illuminated an overturned black armored transport van lying on its side against a concrete guardrail, smoke billowing from its crushed engine block.
According to the frantically speaking reporter, an unmarked semi-truck had deliberately run the federal transport off the road around 11:30 PM. Armed, masked individuals had reportedly swarmed the vehicle, disabled the guards, and extracted Daniel Mercer before fleeing into the dense surrounding woodland.
“They didn't break him out to rescue him,” a voice said from the doorway. Sarah Vance stood there in her coat, car keys in her hand, her expression grim. “They broke him out to silence him before he could cut a plea deal with federal prosecutors to save his own skin.”
“Who?” I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Who would risk federal manhunt to help him?”
“The same corrupt network of local politicians, judges, and business partners who helped him cover up Clara Sterling’s murder twenty-two years ago,” Sarah said, walking over to the desk. “If Daniel talks, half the power structure in this state goes down with him.”
“Then he’s running,” I realized, the pieces clicking together in my head. “He’s going to try to flee the country.”
“And he knows exactly who put him in this position,” Sarah added, looking straight into my eyes. “Which means you are no longer safe anywhere in this state, Emma. We need to move right now.”
Before we could even reach the door, the overhead lights in the advocacy center flickered violently and died, plunging the hallway into absolute darkness. Emergency backup generators kicked in seconds later with a low, rhythmic hum, casting an eerie yellow glow across the linoleum.
A heavy thud echoed from the front entrance—the sound of reinforced security doors being forced open with a hydraulic crowbar.
“They’re here,” Sarah whispered, pulling a small, legal firearm from her leather briefcase and flicking off the safety with practiced precision. “Get behind me and stay low.”
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Heavy combat boots thudded against the floor outside our room. Someone was methodically checking every door along the hallway, searching for the key witness who had single-handedly brought down an empire.
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