He'd not risked talking to the others, but he knew there were at least six, though it was unclear if the other cells had more than one person in them as did the one where he and his brother were kept.
That meant there were at least eight people down in the basement.
Were they all boys? Or were there girls mixed in?
Again, the answer was unclear.
All Jamie knew was that something different was about to happen and he didn't like the way it made his senses tingle.
The plates for him and his brother appeared at the bottom of the door. The man nudged the food deeper into the room before the opening closed again.
"I suggest you eat up today, boys," the man's voice boomed again.
A clue, Jamie thought. He called us boys. That answers that question.
"Tomorrow, you're going to have a day out in the sun."
The sun? Jamie never thought such a simple indulgence would sound so incredible, but the mere idea of the warmth of the sun touching his face filled his soul with the slightest sliver of hope. Still, he couldn't help but sense there was a catch.
"Many of you have read books or seen movies where young people are thrown into a game where they hunt each other for sport. Only the winner survives."
Oh, no. Jamie realized where this was going. At least he thought he did. He looked over at Oliver who returned the glance with one smothered in worry.
"You have been recruited to take part in a similar game, but I have good news." Their warden paused for effect. "You won't be pitted against each other. You will have only one enemy to evade."
Jamie didn't allow the statement to give the faintest trickle of relief. He knew there was more.
"That enemy is me. I will release you and give all of you a fifteen-minute head start. After that, how long you survive is up to your ability to run, hide, and adapt. One of you might even get lucky and take me down." He huffed at the latter, clearly thinking the notion unlikely. "We will begin at noon tomorrow. So eat up and get some rest. You're going to need it."
He paused again, and for a few seconds, Jamie thought his speech was over. Then the man spoke again. "This property spreads out over one hundred acres of varying terrain. There are fields, hills, meadows, forests. If you want to survive longer, you best consider all that."
Heavy footfalls clomped up the stairs and faded as they neared the top. A door closed, signaling that the prisoners were alone again.
Jamie noted how the man said "survive longer," an insinuation that their demise was only a matter of time. He looked over at his brother again to gauge his reaction, but that tidbit seemed to sail over Oliver's head. Jamie was glad for that.
How had all of this happened? How did they end up in a place like this with a monster like the man who'd taken them?
Jamie ran over the events of that fateful day in his mind for the hundredth time. He wished he could toss away the regrets. His mother told them not to go, that lunch would be ready soon. She'd suggested their father go with them, but the boys insisted they would be okay.
How wrong he'd been.
Over the course of the last 36 to 48 hours, or however long it had been, Jamie made the same promise over and over again. He swore he would never question his parents' judgment again.
Unfortunately, he didn't see a way out.
Then again, maybe there was. He got up and took the few steps over to the plates, then scooped them up.
Oliver had remained sitting in his usual spot against the wall with his arms wrapped around his knees.
"Here you go, Oli," Jamie said, doing his best to sound cheerful. "You heard the man. Eat up. We're going to get out of here tomorrow."
"That's not what he said," Oliver disputed. "He said he's going to hunt us and kill us."
Jamie's voice soured at the comment.
"He said he's going to give us fifteen minutes head start, Oli." Jamie made sure to keep his voice low. "He also said there are a hundred acres on this property. That's lots of places to hide. Or disappear," he added quickly. "We could find a good place to hide and stay there until night. Then, when it's dark, we'll sneak out and find a way back into town."
"What town?" Oliver asked, picking at the sausage on his plate. "We don't even know where we are."
"We can't be that far from Browns Ferry," Jamie insisted. "When he put us in the back of the truck, we didn't travel far. Two or three miles, maybe four or five, but I doubt that far. He took us somewhere close to the park."
Another voice entered the conversation from somewhere else in the basement. It hissed in the darkness, barely a whisper. "Be quiet," the boy warned. "He will come back and punish us."
"Yeah," a second agreed, this one stronger, gruff.
It was the first time Jamie had heard the others since being stuffed into the cell with his kid brother. A strange comfort fluttered into his soul at hearing the other kids' voices.
"Listen," Jamie ordered. "You heard the guy. He intends to let us loose in his own private game park and hunt us down like animals."
Oliver looked up from his sausage, troubled by the statement.
Jamie quickly added, "We can get out of here if we work together."
"How do you figure?" A third new voice entered the conversation. The weak tone signaled that the boy speaking must have been there for a while. He sounded utterly weary. Jamie had heard that before, but from adults, not another kid.
Jamie held his plate, pinched between forefinger and thumb, as he shuffled over to the door. He leaned close to the opening so the others could hear better. "How many of us are in here?"
No one spoke. He waited for nearly twenty seconds before another voice, this one slightly deeper than the others he'd heard, finally answered.
"Eight, counting you two." The boy sounded like he might be Jamie's age, or maybe older. "I was the first one in here as far as I know. If there were any other boys down here, they're gone now. But I don't think there were. I was his first." The despondency in his voice cracked, and the words faded away.
Several seconds passed before he spoke again. "The second one came in a few days later. After that, he didn't bring anyone for a couple of weeks."
"That's when I got here," the second voice said. "I was the third."
Silence resumed.
"If there are eight of us, we have a chance," Jamie said confidently. "He's only one man."
"We don't have any weapons," the first argued. "And he's not going to give us any. You heard him. Our only chance is to run and hide. I have a feeling that won't help. He's probably an expert hunter or something. He'll track us down like wild animals."
Jamie stole a sidelong glance at his brother's reaction to the comment. Oliver's eyes suddenly filled with worry. The sausage on his plate no longer seemed appealing.
"We still have a chance if we stick together," Jamie said. "We have fifteen minutes to find a way out of this place."
"It's a hundred acres," the third interjected again. "There's no way we can cover that kind of ground in fifteen minutes."
"Neither can he."
"Unless he's using an ATV or something," the first said.
"True. That's a possibility."
"We should split up," another voice said. This one was new to the conversation. The speaker sounded different from the others in that his accent was different, probably from the northeast. New York City, if Jamie recalled correctly. He'd only been there once, but met several people from that area and to him, the distinct way they spoke stuck with him through the years.
"We could," Jamie agreed, partially. "But if we do that, he could hunt us down one by one. We're stronger together."
"So, what? He can kill us all in one go? I don't think so."
"I agree," the first said. "We have a better chance if we split up. Individually, we will be harder to track, especially if we all go in different directions. He may get one or two of us, but not all of us."
The sobering statement quieted the basement once more. Jamie hated to c
onsider the notion that a few of them wouldn't make it out of here alive. They were right on one count, though, and he couldn't dispute that. If they moved as a herd, the boys would be easier to track—even for a novice hunter. He doubted this man was that.
"Fine," Jamie said. "We'll split up and go our separate ways."
He shook his head at the unspoken question in his brother's eyes. "Not us, Oli," Jamie mouthed. "We stick together. No matter what."
Eight
Brown’s Ferry
Dak found what he was looking for on the side of the road near the forest. He'd noticed it before when circling Nate's property, but wanted to inspect every inch before returning to the spot.
He spent the last hour driving around, looking for any signs of a security system along the perimeter. All he found was the old barbed wire fence that wrapped around the farm. Nate hadn't taken the time to update the fencing yet, if he ever planned on it. There were no cameras that Dak could see, but if there were, the devices would likely be camouflaged and hung in the trees. Dak had used similar hunting cameras before to track animals that came and went in the night.
Dak steered the SUV off the road into the pull-off and continued forward until the road vanished behind the thick rows of trees and undergrowth. He'd seen the old trail on his first pass and figured it would be a good place to park. No one would know he was there unless they were really looking. Dak bet that wouldn't happen.
He stopped the vehicle and killed the engine. Peering through the windshield, Dak continued to scour the flat woods in front of him. Then he turned his attention up the hill to his right. It climbed up over a ridge and descended into what he knew was Nate's property. Will supplied the information regarding the property lines and their current boundaries. With that, Dak knew almost down to a foot where Nate's land began and ended.
It was a good start, though Dak knew he had to work fast. He'd promised the McDowells he would find their boys. There was no way to make such a guarantee. For all he knew, the boys could already be dead, along with the other six that had disappeared in the region over the last few months.
He forced that thought out of his mind. The boys were alive. He didn't know why he felt that way, but it pumped through his veins with every heartbeat. He knew it was irrational. In most instances such as this, false hope was the most crushing thing a person could cling to. The devastation that resulted from bad news would feel like falling a thousand feet with a tragic and sudden stop at the bottom.
Dak let the comparison fade away as he opened the SUV's back door and slid his gear to the edge. He pulled a black, hardshell case next to it and flipped it open.
Inside, a drone with a carbon fiber frame and gray shell rested in the foam cushioning. A white, first person viewing (FPV) headset sat a few inches away. Dak wasted no time. He unzipped the rucksack and removed a pistol and holster, attached it to his hip, and moved on to setting up the drone.
Unlike the bulkier, slower machines he'd tested, this one was built for speed. While the others were designed for shooting footage of landscapes, cities, or even weddings and real estate showings, this model was known as a racing or freestyle drone, capable of speeds up to 90 miles per hour.
Dak had been toying with various styles of drones for the last few months, growing more interested in their use for tactical situations with every passing day. He carried two of the faster versions, and one larger drone that he'd equipped with a small amount of ordnance—a chemical compound he'd come up with similar to semtec. The explosive was capable of knocking down a small building and easily killing anyone within five yards. That wasn't the purpose behind the device, though. He'd created it as diversion first—lethal weapon second.
He shoved the bag with the bigger drone back toward the rear seat and took out the racing drone. Most people who used those kinds of aircraft equipped a camera on the front next to the FPV camera so they could record their flight and post the videos to YouTube or other video hosting sites. Dak had taken a slightly different approach.
He'd need the video feed to analyze the best approach into Nate's property, but he also needed to know for sure if the boys were being held there.
So he'd added a modification to the FPV camera that made the drone a little heavier and slower than normal, but would allow him to utilize thermal scanning with the push of a button.
If the boys were being kept somewhere on the property, Dak would know. On the other hand, if there were no thermal images on his screen, he had a bad feeling it was because the kids were already dead.
After going through his preparations of getting the drone ready and adjusting the flight settings on his laptop, Dak set the drone on the ground and fit the goggles over his eyes.
He didn't like the idea of being blind to his immediate surroundings, but there was no better way for him to get the intel he so badly needed. At least in the forest, hidden in the pull-off, he was secluded.
He looked through the camera lens of the drone as the tiny aircraft's motors whirred to life, lifting the machine off the ground. Dak likened the experience to riding a motorcycle in the air. It had taken him a few months of practice to get accustomed to the controls and how to fly the thing smoothly, but once he got the hang of it, he was doing the same aerobatics as pros he'd seen on the internet.
He carefully guided the aircraft through the opening of the trail until he cleared the trees, then he pushed the machine up, sending it shooting vertically into the air.
It never got old to him, seeing the earth drop away as if he was on board a rocket. The loud whining from the motors faded as he gained altitude, climbing high over the ridge to reveal the farm on the other side.
Acres of dried corn stalks spread out over a huge field between two hills. Dak had to hand it to Nate, he could sure pick the spots. Dak imagined what the place must have looked like in the summer, when everything was green and lush.
He refocused and continued to climb until he was nearly a thousand feet above the plateau. Then Dak steered the aircraft toward the house at the other end of the field. The home was nothing special—a white, two story rancher with a porch that wrapped around half of the exterior.
Dak slowed the drone as it neared the house. The camera angle tilted forward, and Dak flipped the switch on the thermal scanner. His view of the home changed and displayed several orange and red shapes within the confines of the house's outline. One of the figures moved toward the front door. Dak's immediate assumption was that Nate was about to leave the house. If he did and looked up, Nate might see the drone.
Dak pushed the aircraft higher. The screen glitched as the scanner's sensors stretched beyond their normal operating limits. Dak flipped the switch back to normal viewing mode and continued sending the drone high into the air. He'd deliberately kept it just high enough that Nate couldn't hear it, but where the scanners would work.
Breath coming in short, tempered bursts, Dak watched, anticipating seeing his ex-teammate step down off the porch and into the front yard. He kept the machine hanging in midair for what seemed like hours. It may have been only a minute. Dak glanced at the battery indicator. The one downfall to these kinds of drones was how rapidly they burned through battery life. Dak could keep it there for a few more minutes, thanks to some modifications, but the machine couldn't linger indefinitely.
Dak decided to try something else.
He descended while retreating toward the ridge and then leveled the aircraft so he could see under the roof of the porch.
As he suspected, the towering man stood near the steps, looking out at his harvested cornfield. Dak couldn't tell what else he was doing, but he held something in one hand. A beer bottle perhaps? Dak recalled the man enjoyed a bottle of brew now and then. Not that it mattered. The only bearing that factoid might have on the situation would be impeding Nate's ability to drive—depending on how many he'd consumed.
Dak held his breath, watching as the target continued to stare out at the field. Then, after what seemed like decades, Nate tu
rned and sauntered back through the door into the house.
The battery indicator on the screen told Dak he still had five more minutes. He'd need at least one or two to get the drone back to his location. Wasting no time, he accelerated toward the house and positioned the machine directly over the roof again.
This time, when Dak switched on the thermal scanner, he saw nine distinct shapes—all human forms. Eight were smaller than one, which Dak knew to be Nate. He counted again, slower and out loud the second time—just to be absolutely certain. "One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight."
The boys are alive, Dak thought.
The fact shook him. It hadn't been a false hope. The boys were there, still alive in the farmhouse. But for how long?
Dak realized the drone's battery was draining fast. He flipped off the thermal scanner and tilted the nose of the aircraft back toward the ridge, then accelerated at full speed.
The meadows and cornfields whizzed by in a blur below, soon replaced by a blend of fall colors from the leaves clinging to the treetops. The drone skimmed the canopy atop the ridge and then descended the slope toward the road and the hidden pull-off where Dak stood.
As he steered the aircraft around the turn into the trail, he saw himself and the SUV directly ahead. The low battery warning began blinking in the corner of the goggles as he brought the drone in for a rough, but safe landing a few yards away.
Dak stripped the goggles from his head and let them dangle around his neck. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, staring down at the tiny aircraft. He wasn't thinking about the drone. His mind was zeroed in on the eight boys locked in Nate's farmhouse.
Now that he knew they were safe, Dak had to figure out a way to get all the boys out safely. Then he would take care of Nate.
Nine
Brown’s Ferry
Dak stowed the racing drone in the back of the SUV without worrying to put it back in its hardshell case. Instead, he pulled out the slower, larger drone and began preparing for its flight.
The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set Page 32
