Chapter 64 - The Sanctum of the North
I killed the headlights instantly, plunging us into total, suffocating darkness.
The heavy thrum of the aircraft rattled the pine branches overhead, a massive shadow passing low across the treetops. A high-intensity thermal searchlight cut through the falling snow, painting a blinding circle of white light across the asphalt fifty yards ahead of our bumper.
"Off the road," Arthur hissed through the phone. "Now, Claire! Into the firebreak to your right!"
I wrenched the wheel. The sedan bounced violently as the tires left the pavement, slamming over frozen ruts and snapping saplings. The undercarriage screeched against a buried boulder, but momentum carried us beneath the dense canopy of ancient hemlocks.
The searchlight swept the highway where we had been driving half a second earlier, lingering on our skid marks in the fresh powder before swinging north. The aircraft roared past, continuing its sweep toward the valley.
"Mom," Lily whispered from the floorboard, where she had curled into a defensive ball. "Are we going to see him?"
"See who, baby?"
"The man who gave me the flash drive," she said softly.
I slammed the brakes, the car idling quietly in the thick brush. I turned around to stare at her in the dim dashboard glow.
"What did you say?"
"The man in the hospital robe," Lily said, her voice impossibly calm in the dark. "He came to my school three months ago. Before Aunt Evelyn’s wedding was even planned. He sat on the bench by the swings. He told me that when the time was right, I had to give the silver drive to the man in the white tuxedo. But he said if Aunt Evelyn tried to take it, I had to sing the song about the blue bird."
My breath caught in my throat. I looked down at the satellite phone on the console.
"Arthur," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper. "You told me you haven't left your room in eight years."
The line was dead silent. The mechanical respirator had stopped cycling.
May you like
Then came a new voice, speaking through the speaker with chilling clarity. It wasn't raspy. It wasn't breathing through an oxygen mask. It was smooth, youthful, and completely devoid of human warmth.
"The patient died three hours ago, Claire," the voice said. "The voice synthesis you've been listening to was a protocol set up by the machine to ensure delivery. You have brought the carrier directly to the target zone. We thank you for your cooperation."
