Chapter 4 - Six Days in the Dark
Dominic visited the steel door once.
Vivienne heard the outer lock open and saw his shadow through the narrow vent.
“Vivienne,” he said.
She remained silent.
“I know you’re awake.”
She sat on the floor with her back against the wall.
Dominic sighed.
“This was not supposed to be painful.”
She nearly laughed.
“You locked me in an unheated room during a mountain storm.”
“I left water.”
“You left me to disappear.”
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Dominic lowered his voice.
“You were never home. You gave everything to the Army, your students, and your missions. I built our life while you treated it like a place to store your uniform.”
“So you decided to kill me?”
“I decided to stop being invisible.”
Vivienne looked toward the vent.
“And Chloe?”
“She understands me.”
“No. She understands the money.”
The silence that followed told Vivienne she had struck the truth.
Dominic’s voice hardened.
“You should save your strength.”
The lock closed again.
The storm arrived that night.
Wind shook the cabin. Snow pressed against the lower windows. The temperature inside the storage room dropped until Vivienne could see her breath.
She measured time through changes in light beneath the door.
She rationed the water.
She removed a metal support from the cot and tested every seam, hinge, and screw. The room had been built to keep equipment secure, not to hold a Special Forces instructor who had taught hundreds of soldiers how to escape confinement.
On the second day, she discovered that one wall panel had been installed over old wooden framing.
On the third, she loosened two screws using the edge of the silver compass Dominic had given her.
Always Find Your Way Home.
The cruelty of the engraving kept her focused.
By the fourth day, the storm had buried the cabin beneath several feet of snow. The roof creaked. Her fingers had become stiff, and exhaustion came in waves.
She thought of surrender only once.
Then she imagined Dominic standing beside an empty coffin, accepting condolences while Chloe held his hand.
Vivienne returned to work.
Behind the loosened panel ran an electrical conduit. She pulled it free, broke the outer casing, and used the copper wire to create a narrow cutting loop.
It was slow work, but the old wood began to split.
On the fifth night, she opened a gap large enough to reach the interior side of an exterior maintenance hatch.
The hatch had been secured with a padlock.
She used the cot frame as leverage.
The lock resisted for nearly an hour.
Then it broke.
Vivienne crawled into the storm.
The world outside was white and silent.
Her radio was gone, her phone had been taken, and she had no map. But she knew the terrain. She moved downhill, following the direction of frozen runoff beneath the snow.
At dawn, she found the logging road.
Near a drainage ditch sat a black plastic case half buried by windblown powder.
Inside was the signal jammer.
Chloe had abandoned it in haste.
Vivienne carried it with her.
Nine hours later, she reached an emergency ranger station that had been closed for the season. She forced the door, found an old landline, and dialed the only number she trusted.
General Ward answered.
“Ward.”
Vivienne’s voice was raw.
“Sir, do not alert my husband.”
There was a pause.
“Colonel Cross?”
“I’m alive.”
Another pause, longer this time.
Then Ward said, “Tell me where you are.”
May you like
Vivienne looked at the broken lock in her hand.
“First,” she said, “tell me whether my funeral has been scheduled.”
