Chapter 2 - Breadcrumbs of a Dead Man
The rain fell in heavy sheets as Ava kicked in the door of her father’s remote hunting cabin.
She had driven for three hours, avoiding the main highways, her mind spinning with Holloway’s words. You.
She locked the deadbolt and drew the curtains. The cabin was exactly as Ethan Cross had left it ten years ago. Dust covered the floorboards.
“If he wasn't my father,” she whispered to the empty room, “then who was he?”
She remembered the way Ethan used to tap his boots on the floorboards by the fireplace. Three short taps, two long. A nervous habit.
Or a code.
Ava walked to the fireplace. She knelt and tapped the floorboard. Three short. Two long.
The wood sounded hollow.
She grabbed a fire poker and pried the board up. Underneath sat a black, waterproof lockbox.
Inside was a single leather-bound journal and a heavy, matte-black handgun.
Ava opened the journal. The handwriting was frantic, completely unlike her father’s usual precise penmanship.
If you are reading this, Ava, they found you. I’m sorry. I couldn't protect you forever.
She turned the page. There were coordinates. A valley in Nevada.
They told us it was a terrorist camp. They lied. It was a crash site. We weren't there to kill insurgents. We were there to retrieve biological assets.
Ava traced the words with a trembling finger. Biological assets.
They found pods. Most were dead. But one was open. A child. I couldn't let Holloway take you to the labs. I took the ignition key—the coin—and I took you.
May you like
A heavy thud echoed from the porch outside.
Ava snapped the journal shut and grabbed the gun.
