The Distraction

The text from Caleb was a lifeline in the dark, but the sirens behind them were getting louder. Sarah threw the phone onto the dashboard and stomped on the gas, the stolen Toyota shuddering as it hit ninety on the rain-slicked highway.

"He's alive," Sarah said, her voice tight with relief. "He made it out."

"But he blew up the plane," Maya said from the backseat, her hand still gripping Sarah's shoulder. "Why?"

"To destroy the evidence," Sarah said. "And to make sure Elena stays dead. If the world thinks she burned in that hangar, no one will look for her."

"But she's not dead," a weak voice said.

Sarah looked in the rearview mirror. Her mother was awake. Her eyes were unfocused, glazed with drugs, but she was looking at Sarah.

"Mom?" Sarah whispered.

"She's not dead," her mother repeated. "She has a bunker. In the mountains. She told me..."

Her mother’s voice trailed off, her head lolling back against the seat.

"Mom!" Sarah shouted.

"She's out again," Maya said, checking her pulse. "But she's breathing."

Sarah gripped the wheel. A bunker. Of course. Elena wouldn't rely on a single exit strategy. She had layers. Contingencies.

But right now, Sarah had a more immediate problem.

Blue lights flashed in the mirror. A state trooper.

"They found us," Maya said.

"They're looking for a murderer," Sarah said. "Not a family."

She slowed down, pulling into the right lane. She couldn't outrun a radio. She had to outsmart them.

"Get down," she told Maya. "Cover Grandma with the blanket."

The cruiser pulled up behind them, lights blazing. Sarah rolled down the window as the officer approached, rain pelting her face.

"License and registration," the officer said, his hand resting on his holster.

"I don't have them," Sarah said, making her voice tremble. "We were... we were carjacked. At the airfield."

The officer frowned, shining his flashlight into the car. He saw Maya huddled under a coat. He saw the unconscious woman in the backseat.

"Ma'am, step out of the vehicle."

"Please," Sarah said. "My mother is sick. We were trying to get her to the hospital when—"

"Step out of the vehicle!"

He reached for the door handle.

Sarah didn't argue. She opened the door.

But she didn't step out. She kicked the door open, slamming it into the officer's knees.

He grunted, stumbling back.

Sarah didn't wait. She slammed the door and floored it.

The Toyota fishtailed on the wet pavement, then straightened out, roaring back onto the highway.

"Mom!" Maya screamed. "You just assaulted a police officer!"

"Add it to the list," Sarah said.

The cruiser was already back in pursuit, joined by two others. A roadblock was forming ahead.

"We can't make it to the city," Sarah said. "We need to get off the road."

She saw a sign. *Hawthorne State Park. 2 Miles.*

The woods. Her father's old hunting grounds.

She yanked the wheel, taking the exit ramp on two wheels. The cruisers followed, sirens wailing.

She drove deep into the park, past the picnic areas, onto the fire roads. The Toyota bounced over ruts and roots, the suspension groaning.

"Where are we going?" Maya asked, clutching the seat.

"The cabin," Sarah said. "The one Julian mentioned. The one we went to as kids."

She remembered it now. A small, hidden structure deep in the woods. Off the map.

She killed the headlights. She drove by moonlight, navigating the narrow track by memory and instinct.

Behind them, the police lights flickered through the trees, searching. But they were slowing down. They didn't know the terrain.

Sarah reached the end of the track. The cabin was there, overgrown with vines, dark and silent.

"Out," she said.

They dragged her mother out of the car, carrying her between them into the musty shelter. Sarah kicked the door shut and barred it with a chair.

"We're safe," she whispered. "For now."

But as she turned back to the window to watch for the police, she saw something else.

Not a cruiser.

A black SUV. Moving slowly through the trees. No lights. No sirens.

Argus.

"They tracked the phone," Sarah realized. The fixer's phone. She had forgotten to ditch it.

She grabbed the phone and smashed it against the wall.

Too late.

The SUV stopped fifty yards away. Four men got out. They were wearing tactical gear. Night vision goggles.

They weren't here to arrest her. They were here to sanitize the site.

"Maya," Sarah said, pointing to the back of the cabin. "There's a trapdoor under the rug. It leads to a root cellar. Get Grandma inside."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to create a diversion," Sarah said.

She looked around the cabin. Old furniture. Dry wood. A kerosene lamp on the table.

And the gun she had taken from the fixer. One clip. Twelve rounds.

"Go!" she shouted.

Maya dragged her grandmother toward the trapdoor.

Sarah grabbed the lamp. She smashed it on the floor. The oil spread, soaking the ancient wood.

She lit a match.

The cabin erupted in flames.

Sarah kicked open the front door and stepped out onto the porch, the fire roaring behind her like a dragon. She raised the gun.

The men stopped, surprised by the sudden inferno.

"Come and get me!" Sarah screamed.

She fired. Once. Twice.

The men scattered, taking cover behind the trees.

Sarah didn't wait to see if she hit anyone. She jumped off the porch and ran into the woods, leading them away from the cabin. Away from Maya.

She ran until her lungs burned, branches whipping her face. She could hear them behind her, heavy boots crashing through the undergrowth.

She reached the edge of a ravine. A fifty-foot drop into a rocky stream.

She was trapped.

She turned around.

The men emerged from the trees. Four of them. Guns raised.

"End of the line, Miss Jenkins," the lead man said.

Sarah looked at the ravine. Then at the men.

She smiled.

"You're right," she said.

She raised the gun to her own head.

"If I die, the story dies," she said. "But if I jump..."

She took a step back.

"Don't do it!" the man shouted. "We need you alive!"

"You need a scapegoat," Sarah said. "But I'm done playing your game."

She threw the gun at them.

And then she jumped.

The wind rushed past her ears. The darkness swallowed her.

She hit the water hard. Cold. Brutal.

It pulled her under, tumbling her against the rocks. She fought for air, for surface, for life.

But the current was too strong.

As she blacked out, her last thought wasn't of fear.

It was of the phone in her pocket. The one she hadn't smashed.

The one with the photo of the will.

And the auto-upload she had set to trigger on impact.