Chapter 3 - The Highway Hunt
I sprinted out of the hospital lobby into the pouring rain, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I didn't have a weapon, I didn't have a plan, but I had Mark’s location sharing active on my family app. The little green dot representing his phone was stationary on Route 9, a secluded, heavily wooded stretch of highway four miles away from the hospital.
I threw myself into my minivan, slammed my foot on the gas, and tore out of the parking lot, the tires screeching against the wet asphalt.
Hold on, Mark. Hold on, Emma, I prayed silently, the steering wheel slick under my white-knuckled grip.
As I drove furiously toward the highway, my mind raced. Rachel had always been envious. When we were children, she would break my toys if I received more attention. When I married Mark, she refused to attend the wedding, claiming she was "sick." I had spent a lifetime excusing her cruelty as emotional damage from our parents' favoritism. But this wasn't damage. This was pure, unadulterated sociopathy. She had looked at my seven-year-old daughter—her own niece—and seen nothing but a chess piece to be sacrificed for her own freedom.
Five minutes later, I saw the flashing hazard lights through the thick curtain of rain.
Mark’s sedan was crumpled against a massive oak tree at the bottom of an embankment. The driver’s side door was kicked open. A few yards away, idling ominously in the muddy grass, was a large black SUV.
I slammed on my brakes, my minivan sliding sideways across the shoulder of the road. I grabbed a heavy iron tire iron from the storage compartment under my seat, pushed my door open, and scrambled down the muddy hill.
"Mark!" I screamed into the darkness.
Through the rain, I saw a figure standing over the open trunk of Mark’s car. It was Rachel. She was wearing a sleek, waterproof black trench coat, her hair tied back, looking entirely unbothered by the storm. She held a heavy crowbar in one hand and a flashlight in the other, tearing through Mark’s gym bags and briefcase.
Mark was lying a few feet away in the mud, groaning, his forehead bleeding heavily from a deep laceration. He was semi-conscious, trying weakly to crawl toward her to stop her.
"Where is it, Mark?!" Rachel hissed, kicking him viciously in the ribs. Mark gasped, curling into a ball. "Don't play dumb with me! The bank key! I know you keep the safety deposit box key on your personal keychain! Where is it?"
"Leave him alone!" I roared, descending the final slope and swinging the tire iron with all my might.
Rachel turned just in time. The iron bar missed her skull by inches, clanging violently against the frame of the crumpled sedan. The force of the swing threw me off balance, and I slipped in the slick mud, crashing to my knees.
Rachel stepped back, her flashlight beam blinding me. She looked down at me, and a low, mocking laugh escaped her lips. "Well, look who it is. The perfect mother. Shouldn't you be at the hospital holding your dying daughter's hand, Chloe? What are you doing out here in the dirt?"
"Give me the serum, Rachel," I spat, pushing myself up, ignoring the pain in my knees. "The doctors know what you did. The police know what you did. If you give me the neutralizing agent for Phase-9 right now, I’ll tell the prosecutor you cooperated. You might avoid the death penalty."
Rachel’s laughter grew louder, a sharp, manic sound that echoed through the dark woods. "The death penalty? Please. With the money I’ve made from selling Lexicon’s data, I can buy a new identity in a country without an extradition treaty before the sun even comes up. But I need that drive to finish the final transaction. And once I have it, Emma's little accident will just be an unsolved mystery."
"She’s your niece!" I screamed, tears mixing with the rain on my face. "She drew you a picture for the party! It’s on the fridge right now! She loves you!"
"She’s a liability," Rachel said coldly, her face hardening into a mask of absolute malice. "Just like you. You always got the easy life, Chloe. The nice house, the loving husband, the perfect kid. While I worked eighty hours a week in a sterile lab, bleeding for every dime I earned. You don't deserve any of this."
She raised her crowbar, stepping toward me. "I was going to let you grieve in peace, but since you're here... I guess a tragic double-fatal car accident runs in the family."
She lunged. But before her weapon could descend, a bloody hand reached up from the mud and grabbed her ankle.
It was Mark. With the last ounce of his strength, he twisted her leg. Rachel lost her footing, shrieking as she fell backward into the open trunk of the crumpled sedan.
"Chloe! Now!" Mark choked out.
I didn't hesitate. I threw my entire body weight against the heavy steel trunk lid, slamming it down with a resounding CRUNCH.
Rachel’s arm was caught in the frame, a sickening snap echoing through the night as she screamed in agony. The trunk latched shut, trapping her inside the dark, confined space of the crushed vehicle.
"Let me out! You b*tch, let me out!" Rachel screamed from inside the trunk, her voice muffled but frantic as she beat her uninjured hand against the steel.
I collapsed against the trunk, gasping for air, the rain washing the mud from my face. I looked down at Mark, who was smiling weakly through the blood on his face.
"The keychain..." Mark whispered, pointing to his pocket. "The key to the Lexicon secure lab... it’s on my ring. She stole it from the head analyst last week. It’s in my pocket, Chloe. Take it. Go to the lab."
I reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy silver keyring. Attached to it was a high-security electronic keycard bearing the Lexicon Pharma logo.
I looked toward the black SUV idling nearby. The keys were in the ignition.
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"I'm going to save our daughter," I told Mark, kissing his bloody lips. "I called the police on my way here. They’ll be here in minutes. Hold on."
I stood up, walked over to the idling SUV, and climbed into the driver's seat. I slammed it into drive and tore down the highway, leaving my sister trapped in the dark prison of her own making.
