Chapter 8 - The Intercept
I hit the steering wheel with the heel of my palm so hard the horn blared.
"Where did they take her?"
"The manifest said St. Jude Research Facility on Old Mill Road," Elena said, her voice shaking. "Mark, that place was shut down six years ago for environmental violations. Why would federal marshals take a body to an abandoned lab?"
"Because they aren't marshals," I said, cold dread washing over my spine.
I checked the dashboard clock. Twenty-eight minutes left.
I reached over and touched Toby’s forehead. His skin was blistering hot, his breathing shallow and rapid. The dark veins had reached his jawline, creeping toward his temples like black roots under ice.
"Hold on, buddy," I choked out. "Daddy's coming. Just hold on."
I yanked the wheel hard right, cutting across the median grass, tires throwing mud as I turned onto Old Mill Road.
The road hadn't been paved in a decade. Potholes battered the Subaru's suspension as thick pine branches whipped against the windshield.
At the end of the two-mile dirt track, the rusted iron gates of the St. Jude facility hung wide open, their chains freshly sheared on the ground.
Parked near the loading dock of the brutalist concrete building was an unmarked black Mercedes Sprinter van, its rear doors wide open under the amber sodium lights.
Two men in black tactical gear were unloading a long, silver mortuary gurney.
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On top of the gurney was a blue heavy-duty vinyl body bag.
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