Chapter 7 - The Road to the Lake
The torrential rain turned the mountain road into a churning river of mud and fallen branches. Sarah gripped the steering wheel of Arthur’s backup Range Rover, the windshield wipers slapping furiously against the glass, barely clearing the blinding deluge.
Her phone finally caught a weak signal on the dashboard mount. She immediately dialed the emergency dispatch.
""911, what is your emergency?""
""My name is Sarah Cole. I'm pursuing a black Cadillac Escalade, license plate 7-V-N-C-E. Julian Vance, six years old, has been kidnapped by his stepmother Eleanor Vance and Marcus Thorne. They are heading toward the Vance lake estate on Blackwood Ridge.""
""Ma'am, stay on the line. Officers have already been dispatched to Vance Manor following a medical call,"" the operator replied calmly. ""Do not attempt to intervene yourself. Road conditions are hazardous.""
""You don't understand,"" Sarah said, tears mixing with sweat on her face. ""They murdered Clara Vance last year to steal her estate, and now they're going to eliminate Julian so Eleanor inherits everything. If you don't send cars to the lake house right now, that boy won't survive the night!""
""Units are being rerouted to Blackwood Ridge,"" the dispatcher confirmed, her tone shifting to urgent seriousness. ""Estimated arrival time is twenty-five minutes due to washouts on Route 9.""
""Twenty-five minutes is too late,"" Sarah whispered.
She pressed the gas pedal down further, the heavy vehicle surging forward through the winding curves. The road hugged the edge of a steep ravine, the dark waters of Lake Blackwood churning hundreds of feet below in the gloom.
Up ahead through the dense curtain of rain, red taillights flashed as a vehicle braked violently around a sharp hairpin bend.
The black SUV.
Sarah closed the distance, her high beams cutting through the mist to illuminate the rear bumper of the Escalade. Through the rear window, she caught a glimpse of a small face pressed against the glass—Julian, looking back in terror.
Suddenly, the Escalade swerved into the middle of the road and slammed on its brakes, attempting to force Sarah off the slick asphalt.
Sarah braced herself, wrenching the wheel to the left. The Range Rover skidded sideways, tires screeching against wet gravel, the front bumper clipping the SUV’s rear quarter-panel with a sickening crunch of metal.
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Both vehicles spun across the slick turnout at the entrance of the lake estate gates, coming to a halt facing each other in the pouring rain, headlights glaring like the eyes of two cornered beasts.
The driver's door of the Escalade flew open. Marcus Thorne stepped out into the rain, his gun drawn and leveled directly at Sarah’s windshield.
