Chapter 8 - The Blockade
The yard was bathed in blue and red strobes. Two county cruiser utility vehicles had pulled across the driveway, blocking Miller’s pickup truck from the road. The engines hummed, splashing the mud with rhythmic flashes of crimson.
Miller released his grip on Thomas, stepping back into the shadows of the doorway. ""Sheriff's department,"" he muttered, checking the slide on his pistol. ""Thomas wasn't lying about the response time.""
Thomas rubbed his throat, coughing, a vindictive grin breaking through his grimace. ""Go on, Sergeant. Shoot your way through the county deputies. See if they give you your kid back from a federal penitentiary.""
""Put that away, Miller,"" Nathan commanded, his voice steady. ""No weapons. If we fire a shot, they win everything.""
Nathan spun his wheels and rolled directly out into the blinding light of the cruisers. The rain beat down upon his face, running in cold rivulets down his neck. The driver's door of the lead patrol vehicle opened, and a large man in a waterproof campaign hat stepped out. Sheriff Dan Cole. Nathan had played high school football with Cole's younger brother fifteen years ago.
""Nate,"" Cole called out over the drizzle, keeping his hands high on his chest rig. ""Step away from the vehicle. Or... roll it back, I mean. We got a call about an armed intrusion on private property.""
""It's my property, Dan,"" Nathan shouted back, holding the brown ledger high above his head. ""I have the tax allotments. Thomas forged the abandonment papers. He used Hale to execute a fraudulent lien.""
Cole didn't move forward. He stayed behind the ballistic cover of his open door. ""Nate, that ain't for me to decide in the mud at ten o'clock at night. The deed registered with the county clerk says Vance Timber Holding. You're trespassing on a condemned site.""
""Where is my son?"" Nathan asked.
Cole’s expression tightened. He looked down at the mud between his boots. ""He's at the regional intake center over in Clarksville. They moved the transfer up.""
Nathan’s heart dropped through his floorboards. ""Hale said eight o'clock tomorrow morning.""
""Hale expedited it,"" Cole said, his voice dropping. ""Child was showing signs of extreme psychological distress. They declared an emergency placement order at eight tonight. He's eighty miles west by now, Nate.""
Nathan lowered the ledger. The world went silent around him, the sound of the rain disappearing into the high-pitched whistle of his own racing pulse. Clarksville was an old brick youth detention facility that doubled as the state's overflow foster shelter. Once a child passed through those gates, the legal red tape could take years to cut through.
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""I need to get to Clarksville,"" Nathan said.
""Roads are washed out at the gorge, Nate,"" Cole replied, stepping forward with a pair of handcuffs glinting at his belt. ""And you're coming with me to the station to sort this out.""
