Chapter 3 - The Blackwood Basin
The old Subaru Outback plowed through eight inches of unplowed snow, its headlights cutting narrow yellow cones through the swirling white abyss of Route 112.
Elena sat in the passenger seat, gripping an old topographic survey map of the Blackwood River industrial sector. Miller was behind the wheel, his face illuminated by the green glow of the dashboard lights, a unlit cigarette clamped between his teeth.
In the backseat lay three heavy wool blankets, a bolt cutter from Miller's trunk, two high-intensity halogen flashlights, and Miller’s off-duty .38 caliber revolver locked in the glove box between them.
"If this goes bad, Elena," Miller said, his eyes fixed on the whiteout ahead, "you stay in the vehicle. You don't step foot inside that perimeter until I signal that the structure is secure."
"We both know you won't be able to secure a four-story industrial plant alone, Frank," Elena replied, her voice eerily calm as she folded the map. "We need to find the coal chute Maya crawled out of. It’s the only entry point they haven't reinforced."
They crossed the narrow iron bridge over the frozen Blackwood River at 11:45 PM.
Below them, black, icy water churned against jagged rocks. Ahead, towering against the dark winter sky like the ribcage of some colossal prehistoric beast, stood the ruin of the Federal Cement Works.
The facility was massive—a sprawling complex of rusted corrugated steel, crumbling brick silos, and three massive concrete lime chimneys stretching eighty feet into the freezing air.
Miller cut the headlights half a mile before the gate, coasting the car into a grove of pine trees beside an abandoned weigh station.
The silence of the woods descended instantly, broken only by the whistling of the wind through the rusted steel girders of the plant.
"No guards at the main gate," Miller whispered, pulling his night-vision monocular from his coat and aiming it toward the chain-link fence. "No tire tracks in the driveway since the snow started three hours ago."
"They aren't using the main driveway," Elena pointed out, pointing her gloved finger toward the riverbank. "Look at the high-voltage power lines. The snow isn't settling on the transformer box near the secondary loading dock."
"The power's running," Miller nodded grimly. "They have a generator operating inside."
They stepped out of the car into the knee-deep snow, the freezing wind instantly biting through Elena’s wool coat. She pulled her knit cap down over her ears, picked up a halogen flashlight, and followed Miller down the embankment toward the river edge.
They moved like ghosts along the rusted perimeter fence until they reached the low concrete arch of the coal runoff culvert.
The iron grate covering the culvert had been freshly cut—two bars bent outward, leaving a narrow, jagged opening just wide enough for a small child, or a thin woman, to squeeze through.
On a sharp iron burr at the edge of the cut metal hung a tiny, torn scrap of blue thermal fabric.
The same fabric as the blanket Maya had been wearing.
Elena dropped to her knees in the snow, her hand touching the frozen cloth. Her eyes traced the dark, cavernous tunnel stretching into the foundation of the building.
"She crawled through sixty feet of frozen slag in the dark," Elena whispered, her heart breaking for the little girl back at St. Jude's. "To bring me that bracelet."
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"I go first," Miller said, drawing his revolver and clicking off the safety. "Keep your flashlight low. If you hear gunfire, you retreat to the car and hit the emergency beacon on my radio. Do you understand me, Elena?"
Elena didn't answer. She pulled her flashlights close to her chest and slid into the cold, concrete mouth of the earth behind him.
