Chapter 11 - The Ghost TownThe abandoned copper mine on Route 66 was a decaying monument to a forgotten era. Half-collapsed wooden structures, rusted machinery, and a gaping, black maw carved into the side of a jagged canyon made it look like the set of a horror movie. More importantly, it was located forty miles outside of Amarillo in a total cellular dead zone.
We arrived two hours before midnight.
David had driven us in his modified Jeep, moving with the quiet, lethal efficiency of a man falling back into old habits. We had dropped Lily off at a secure, 24-hour truck stop diner with Betty—the waitress from Crestwood who had fled town after Evelyn's thugs threatened her, and who David had miraculously tracked down and paid handsomely to watch our daughter in a safe, well-lit booth. Lily was coloring happily, surrounded by friendly truckers, completely safe.
Now, it was just the two of us against the Vance empire.
"Alright, let's go over the kill box," David said, pulling a heavy duffel bag from the back of the Jeep. He unzipped it, revealing a tactical arsenal he had stored beneath the floorboards.
We stood over the hood of the Jeep, using a red-lens flashlight to look at a hand-drawn map of the mine entrance.
The Ambush Plan:
The Bait: I would stand in the center of the clearing, directly under the moonlight, holding a dummy USB drive.
The Overwatch: David would position himself on the rusted catwalk of the old processing plant, armed with a long-range hunting rifle.
The Perimeter: We had strung tripwires connected to flashbang grenades across the two flanking paths. If Taylor brought a squad to surround me, they would walk right into blinding light and deafening noise.
"She won't come alone," David muttered, handing me a Kevlar vest. "Put this on. Under your jacket. Taylor is arrogant, but she isn't stupid. She's going to bring muscle, and she’s going to try to shoot you the second she sees you."
"I know," I said, slipping the heavy vest over my head and securing the Velcro straps. "But she needs the drive. She knows that if she kills me and doesn't find it on my body, the FBI gets it at midnight. She has to talk to me first."
"Just don't let her get into your head, Mark," David warned, checking the chamber of his sidearm. "The woman you married is dead. The thing coming up that road is a Vance."
At exactly 11:45 PM, the low crunch of heavy tires on gravel echoed through the canyon.
I stood in the center of the dusty clearing, the cold desert wind whipping my jacket around me. Up on the catwalk, David was completely invisible, swallowed by the shadows.
Headlights pierced the darkness. Two sleek, black SUVs crawled into the clearing, their high beams blinding me. The vehicles parked in a V-formation, pinning me in the intersection of their lights. The doors opened.
Four men in tactical gear stepped out, assault rifles held in low-ready positions. They fanned out, their boots crunching on the loose rock.
Then, the rear door of the lead SUV opened.
May you like
Taylor stepped into the dust. She was wearing a beige trench coat, her hair pulled back into a severe ponytail. She didn't look like a mother who had just lost her child. She looked like an executioner.
"Hello, Mark," Taylor called out. Her voice was steady, carrying over the wind without a tremor of emotion. "You look terrible."
Related Stories
