Chapter 4 - The Midnight Route
The snow was a living entity now, a white wall that obliterated everything beyond three feet. Billy’s twenty-year-old Volvo wagon sat idling in the driveway of Briar Lane, its exhaust pipe coughing white plumes into the darkness.
Billy had packed light: his university pension records, a thermos of hot tea, three boxes of crackers, and two large winter coats he had borrowed from his neighbor’s porch line last autumn. Lily and Clara sat in the backseat, strapped into an improvised booster seat made of stacked history journals and wrapped in three layers of wool blankets.
Sheriff Donald Vance stood by the driver's side window, his flashlight turned down toward the snow. "Take Route Nine North, Billy. The state plows prioritize the dairy corridors. Avoid the interstate—Vance has automated license plate readers on the toll plazas near Albany."
"Where do I go, Donald?" Billy asked, his hands gripping the worn leather steering wheel. His knee was on fire from the constant clutching, but the adrenaline kept his vision sharp.
"Go to Saratoga," Donald said. "Find a woman named Dr. Evelyn Vance—my sister. She runs the pediatric clinic near the old springs. She used to be the family physician for the Sterlings before Harrison bought the hospital board. She’s the only doctor in the state who won't report these girls to the system the moment she sees their names."
"Thanks, Donald," Billy said, shifting the Volvo into reverse.
"Don't thank me yet, Professor," the sheriff muttered, looking back toward the main road. "Vance’s limousine hasn't left the township. They’re watching the exits."
The Volvo rolled out of the driveway, its tires biting into the six inches of fresh powder. Billy kept the headlights on their lowest setting, navigating by the dim amber glow of the dashboard. The wipers slapped against the windshield in a rhythmic, comforting cadence: shuck-shuck, shuck-shuck.
In the backseat, Lily was singing a soft, tuneless song to Clara, her tiny fingers playing with the silver crest medallion around her neck. Clara was quiet, her eyes fixed on the snow patterns passing outside the frosted window glass.
"You doing okay back there, ladies?" Billy called out, checking his rearview mirror.
"The car is warm, Mr. Billy," Lily said. "Is this a magic car?"
"It’s an old car, Lily," Billy smiled faintly. "But it has a very good heart. Just like you two."
They cleared the town limits of Maple Ridge without incident. The road turned into a narrow ribbon of white bounded by massive, towering pine trees that bent under the weight of the snow. It felt like driving through a tunnel of ghosts.
Billy checked his watch. Two.fifteen AM. They had been driving for an hour, the Volvo’s engine humming steadily despite the sub-zero temperatures. His breathing was starting to shallow, a familiar tightness tightening around his chest—the early stages of an asthma flare-up brought on by the stress and the cold. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his rescue inhaler, and took two deep puffs, the bitter medicine coating his throat.
Suddenly, a pair of headlights appeared in the rearview mirror.
They weren't normal headlights. They were wide, high-intensity halogen beams, mounted high on a massive black chassis. An armored SUV was closing the distance, moving at a speed that defied the storm conditions.
"Hold on, girls," Billy said, his voice dropping into a tight, focused register.
He pressed his foot down on the accelerator. The Volvo’s old engine groaned, the transmission shifting down as the vehicle surged forward into a clearing where the road wound dangerously along the edge of the Mohawk River ravine.
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The black SUV didn't slow down. It pulled alongside the Volvo, its massive studded tires spraying gray slush against Billy’s driver-side window. The passenger window of the SUV rolled down, revealing the broad-shouldered security guard, Thomas, holding a heavy yellow spike strip over the side panel.
They weren't trying to arrest him. They were trying to force him off the ridge.
