Chapter 4 - The Schoolhouse Ghost
The silence inside Hangar 9 was deafening, broken only by the hiss of rain beginning to tap against the rusted iron roof. Toby froze, his hazel eyes darting between his mother and father, his small hands still clutching the hem of David's torn jacket.
"They're lying," Clara breathed, though her heart dropped into her stomach. "School was canceled today because of the regional weather alert. I kept Toby home with me. The school is empty."
"They don't care about the building, Clara," David said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "They care about the leverage. They think Toby’s second-grade class is in session. If they breach that building looking for him and find it locked, they'll check the local registry and realize my sister lives two blocks away. They’re running a checklist."
David keyed the mic on his shoulder. "Corbin. I'm here. Leave the perimeter alone."
A soft, metallic chuckle crackled through the small speaker. "Always predictable, David. You always try to absorb the blast radius yourself. Bring the drive to the terminal concourse. Five minutes, or I tell the tactical unit to execute the breach anyway. Just to be thorough."
The line went dead with a high-pitched beep.
"Who is Corbin?" Clara asked, stepping closer to David, her fingers brushing the cold barrel of his rifle. "Is he your handler?"
"He was my partner," David said. He turned and opened the rear door of the utility truck he had crashed through the fence. Inside the bed lay two olive-drab hard cases. He popped the latches with swift, practiced motions, revealing civilian clothing, a first-aid kit, and two semi-automatic pistols with suppressor attachments. He handed one to Clara without looking up.
She took it, the heavy metal cold and unfamiliar in her hand. "I don't know how to use this, David."
"The safety is off. Point, pull," David said curtly. He pulled off his torn flannel shirt, revealing a dark Kevlar vest beneath, and threw on a dark canvas mechanic’s jacket. "You two take the maintenance tunnel beneath the runway. It leads to the drainage culvert near the interstate. There’s an old green sedan parked behind the diner on Route 9. Keys are under the wheel well."
"No," Clara said, her voice dropping into a register of iron firmness that made David stop. "We don't separate. We separated this morning, and I almost watched our son get kidnapped by a man who looked like an usher at our wedding. If we go, we go together."
Toby looked up, his jaw set in an exact mirror of his mother’s expression. "Dad, don't leave."
David looked down at his son, something fracturing behind his hardened eyes. For a fraction of a second, he looked like the man who read bedtime stories and forgot where he left his car keys. Then he nodded, closing the hard case.
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"Alright," David said. "We don't run. We hit the concourse first. But Clara... if Corbin sees Toby, he won't hesitate. He doesn't leave loose threads."
David turned to the hangar's power distribution box, ripping the primary breaker lever downward. The entire airfield terminal plunged into instant darkness, emergency sirens screaming as backup generators struggled to kick in.
