Part 2:

We need you to come to the Black Ridge Mountain Ranger Station immediately..

His coffee mug slipped from his hand, shattering on the Lenolium floor.

Did you find them, Mr.

Caldwell? Dot dot dot.

Her voice was careful, professional, but Dany heard something underneath it.

Something that made his stomach clench.

We’ve found evidence.

I can’t discuss it over the phone, but you need to come now.

And Danny, bring a recent photo of Sarah.

One where we can clearly see any identifying marks, scars, tattoos, anything unique.

The drive to Black Ridge took 90 minutes on a good day.

Dany made it in ‘ 65.

His 2004 Honda Civic screaming around the mountain curves he’d memorized over two years of searching.

The October morning was crisp and clear, mist clinging to the valleys below.

The trees exploding in reds and golds just like they had been that weekend.

The Ranger Station parking lot was chaos.

state police cruisers, FBI vehicles, a coroner’s van, and three ambulances.

Dany<unk>y’s legs went weak.

Ambulances meant survivors.

But the coroner’s van, Detective Callaway met him at the perimeter tape, a woman in her 50s, with gray stre hair pulled back tight, and eyes that had seen too much.

She guided him away from the crowd of reporters already gathering into a small office that smelled of burnt coffee and old wood.

Sit down, Mr.

Caldwell.

Just tell me.

She pulled out a tablet, swiped to a photo.

Yesterday afternoon, a hiker’s dog uncovered human remains in a ravine about 5 miles from where your sister’s group was camping.

We’ve been excavating since 3:00 a.

m.

Dany stared at the aerial photo of the ravine.

Orange evidence markers dotted the ground like fallen leaves.

So many markers.

How many? We’ve found remains from at least nine individuals so far.

Callaway’s voice was steady, but her knuckles were white where she gripped the tablet.

Based on clothing and personal effects, we believe they’re from your sister’s group.

Nine.

The word came out like a punch.

There were 11 of them.

I know.

She swiped to another photo, a mudcaked wallet.

We’ve identified Brandon Cole from his driver’s license.

And she hesitated, then showed him a water damaged student ID.

Nicole Hendris.

Dany<unk>y’s hands shook as he touched the screen, zooming in on Nicole’s photo.

She’d been Sarah’s roommate, her best friend since freshman year.

They’d planned to backpack through Europe after graduation.

What about Sarah? We haven’t found her.

Or Kevin Hartley.

Their remains aren’t in the ravine.

Hope and dread twisted in his chest.

So they could be.

Mr.

Caldwell, I need to show you something else.

Callaway pulled out an evidence bag containing a small notebook.

The pages warped and stained.

This was in Brandon Cole’s jacket pocket.

It’s water damaged, but our texts were able to recover some of the writing.

She opened it to a marked page.

Dany recognized Brandon’s handwriting immediately.

He’d been the organized one, the one who always took notes, made lists, planned every detail of their trips.

The entry was dated October 16th, 2015, the day after they had arrived.

Day two, something’s wrong.

Found old campsite one mile north.

Weird stuff.

Backpacks from different years.

Found ID from 2009.

Maria Santos, USC.

She went missing.

Remembered the news story.

There are more camps, more old gear.

How many? The next entry was shorter, more frantic.

Kevin went to check the other sites.

Been 3 hours.

Should have taken 30 minutes.

Girls want to leave.

Trevor and Matt say we’re overreacting.

Keep hearing things.

Someone’s watching us.

Danny turned the page.

Brandon’s usually neat handwriting had devolved into desperate scrawls.

“They’re not park rangers.

” That was the last entry.

“We ran the name Maria Santos,” Callaway said quietly.

USC student went missing on Black Ridge Mountain in October 2009.

She and four friends never found.

Dy’s mind raced.

There were others.

We’ve been going through missing persons reports for the past 20 years.

At least 37 people have vanished on or around Black Ridge Mountain.

Always in groups, always in October.

October, Danny repeated the word tasting like ash.

We think someone’s been using the mountain as a hunting ground, targeting camping groups during peak season when the trails are busy enough that a few missing people might not be noticed immediately.

Danny stood up so fast his chair fell backward.

And you’re just figuring this out now? Two years later.

The original investigation treated it as a missing person’s case.

Group got lost.

Possible animal attack.

Exposure.

It happens.

But this, she gestured to the notebook.

This changes everything.

You said you found nine bodies.

Where are Sarah and Kevin? Callaway was quiet for a long moment.

Then she pulled up another photo on her tablet.

It was a piece of fabric, torn and muddy, caught on a tree branch.

We found this 2 m from the ravine heading down the north face of the mountain.

It matches the description of the jacket Sarah was wearing.

Dany grabbed the tablet, zooming in.

It was Sarah’s jacket, the purple Northace she’d bought specifically for the trip.

But something was wrong with the photo’s perspective.

This was heading down the mountain away from where you found the others.

Yes, and Danny dot dot dot.

Callaway pulled up one more image, a footprint preserved in dried mud with a measurement marker beside it.

This was found near the fabric.

It’s fresh, maybe 2 weeks old.

Size seven women’s hiking boot.

Sarah wore size seven.

Danny’s knees buckled.

He caught himself on the desk, his mind struggling to process what Callaway was implying.

You think she’s alive? I think someone survived the initial attack based on the evidence patterns, the wear on the recovered items, and the distribution of the remains.

Callaway chose her words carefully.

We believe at least one member of your sister’s group may have survived the initial incident.

Then where has she been for 2 years? Before a Callaway could answer, her radio crackled to life.

Detective, you need to see this.

Sector 7 immediately.

The urgency in the voice made them both move.

They rushed out of the office, Callaway leading the way to a police ATV.

They drove up a narrow trail Dany had searched at least a dozen times, past the yellow tape marking the original campsite, deeper into the woods where the trees pressed close and the sunlight barely penetrated.

A cluster of investigators stood around something Dany couldn’t see.

They parted as Callaway approached and Dany saw what had made veteran police officers look sick.

It was a tree, ancient, massive, its trunk probably 6 ft in diameter.

But that wasn’t what made Dany<unk>y’s blood freeze.

The tree was covered in Polaroid photographs.

Dozens of them, maybe hundreds, protected from the weather by sheets of clear plastic tacked to the bark.

They started about 8 ft up and spiraled around the trunk going up as far as Dany could see.

Each photo showed a group of young people camping, hiking, sitting around fires, laughing, living.

And in the corner of each photo, written in neat handwriting, were dates.

October 2003, October 2005, October 2007.

Danny’s eyes tracked up the spiral until he found what he was looking for and desperately hoping not to see.

October 2015, 11 faces around a campfire.

But this wasn’t the Instagram photo.

This was taken from a distance from somewhere in the darkness beyond the fire’s light.

The angle suggested the photographer had been above them, possibly in a tree.

Someone had been watching them that night, documenting them, hunting them.

Dany stared at the photograph of his sister’s group until his vision blurred.

The image was perfectly centered, professionally composed despite being taken in darkness.

Whoever shot this had experience, patience, and the right equipment for night photography.

There’s more, Detective Callaway said quietly, leading him around to the other side of the massive tree.

The photos on this side were different.

Aftermath shots, groups in distress, people running, faces twisted in terror.

And at the very bottom, protected by a metal box bolted to the trunk, was a leather journal.

A crime scene tech was photographing each page before carefully turning to the next.

Dany caught glimpses of neat handwriting, detailed entries, maps with X marks.

It’s a record, the tech said, his voice muffled by his mask.

Going back to 1999, every group, every hunt, every outcome.

Dy’s phone vibrated in his pocket.

Unknown number.

He almost ignored it, but something made him answer.

“Hello?” Silence, then breathing, then a voice that made his knees buckle.

“Danny?” It was Sarah.

Weak, raspy, but unmistakably his sister.

“Sarah! Oh my god, where are you? Are you okay? We’re on the mountain.

We found Don’t come looking for me.

” Her voice was flat, mechanical, like she was reading from a script.

Please, Danny, just go home.

Forget about this.

Sarah, what are you talking about? Where are you? I’m safe.

Kevin’s safe, but only if you stop.

Only if everyone stops looking.

Dany grabbed Callaway’s arm, mouthing, it’s her.

While fumbling to put the phone on speaker.

Sarah, listen to me.

We found the others.

We know what happened.

Just tell me where you are and we’ll come get you.

A different voice came on the line.

Male, older, calm, and controlled.

Mr.

Caldwell, your sister is correct.

She and Mr.

Hartley are alive and relatively unharmed.

They will remain so as long as you and the authorities cease your investigation immediately.

Who is this? Someone who has survived in these mountains for 23 years by being very careful.

Your sister’s group stumbled into something they shouldn’t have.

Nine of them paid the price for their curiosity.

Two were salvageable.

Dany<unk>y’s rage boiled over.

“You murdered nine people.

I harvested them.

” The voice remained eerily calm.

Just as I’ve harvested dozens of others who thought they could come to my mountain, my territory without consequence.

But your sister, she understood.

She adapted.

She and Kevin have been quite helpful these past two years.

You’re lying.

October 30th, 2016.

You came to the mountain alone, searched the Cedar Creek Trail for 6 hours.

You sat on a fallen log near the waterfall, and cried for 13 minutes.

You left a missing poster on the trail marker, even though they’d all been removed by park services.

Sarah watched you the entire time.

Danny’s blood turned to ice.

He remembered that day.

He’d felt like someone was watching him, but he’d chocked it up to paranoia.

“She wanted to call out to you,” the voice continued.

“But she knew what would happen if she did.

She’s learned the rules.

Stay quiet.

Stay useful.

Stay alive.

” “What do you want?” “I want what I’ve always wanted.

To be left alone.

The police will find enough evidence in that ravine to close their case.

Nine bodies, a tragic accident, perhaps an animal attack.

The families will have closure and in return Sarah and Kevin continue their education.

Education.

Someone has to maintain the hunting grounds after I’m gone.

Your sister shows remarkable promise.

She’s developed quite the eye for photography.

Dany<unk>y’s gaze snap back to the polaroids on the tree.

The recent ones.

The thought that Sarah might have taken some of them made him physically ill.

Let me talk to her again.

No, this is your only communication.

Leave the mountain.

Stop searching or I’ll add two more photos to my collection.

Close-ups this time.

The line went dead.

Dany immediately tried calling back, but the number was already disconnected.

He turned to Callaway, who was barking orders into her radio.

“We need triangulation on that call now.

Get the tech team.

” It was a satellite phone, one of the techs said, looking at his equipment.

Bounce through at least three proxies.

We’ve got nothing.

Dany slammed his fist against the tree, not caring that it split his knuckles open.

She’s alive.

She’s up there somewhere, and he’s making her Jesus Christ, what has he done to her? Callaway guided him away from the tree, from the horrified investigators, from the photos that would haunt him forever.

Danny, we need to think about this carefully.

If he’s telling the truth, if you heard him, he knew exactly where I was last year, exactly what I did.

Sarah was watching me, and I didn’t even know.

His voice cracked.

My sister’s been alive this whole time, 2 years, and she never she couldn’t.

They sat on a fallen log while a medic cleaned and bandaged Dy’s hand.

Around them, the investigation continued.

More photos were being cataloged.

The journal was being processed.

Somewhere in the ravine below, forensic teams were still extracting the remains of nine young people who just wanted to go camping.

“We can’t stop the investigation,” Callaway said.

Finally, “Nine people are dead.

Their families deserve answers.

” “And what about Sarah? What about Kevin? We’ll find them.

This guy just made a mistake.

He made contact.

That gives us something to work with.

She pulled out her phone, showing Dany a topographical map of Black Ridge Mountain.

Based on the 2-year timeline and what he said about territory, he has to have a permanent structure up here somewhere off the marked trails, but with access to power for those photo developments, supplies, possibly internet for that satellite phone.

Dany studied the map, his mind racing.

He said, “My mountain like he owns it.

” We checked.

Most of Black Ridge is National Forest, but there are some private holdings from before the park was established.

Old mining claims a few grandfathered properties.

How many? Seven properties totaling about 300 acres scattered across the North Face.

She zoomed in on the map.

But here’s the interesting part.

One of them has been paying property taxes regularly for the past 40 years.

Owner listed as V.

Aldridge.

Victor Aldridge.

Danny read from her screen.

Who is he? According to the records, he inherited the land from his father in 1976.

47 acres including an old mining operation.

But here’s the thing.

There’s no record of Victor Aldridge anywhere else.

No driver’s license, no social security number, no birth certificate, a fake name, or someone who’s been very careful about staying off the grid.

Callaway pulled up another document.

The property taxes are paid in cash every year.

Always on time, always exact change, delivered by mail with no return address.

A commotion near the photo tree drew their attention.

One of the investigators was calling Callaway over, his face pale.

They’d found something behind the metal box that held the journal.

It was a Polaroid camera, modern, expensive, with a telephoto lens attachment, and stuck to it was a post-it note with today’s date and a single line.

She’s getting better at this.

V.

Attached to the note was a fresh Polaroid.

It showed Dany and Callaway sitting on the log just minutes ago, taken from somewhere above them, somewhere in the canopy.

Dany spun around, scanning the trees, but saw nothing.

He’s here right now, watching us.

Callaway’s hand moved to her weapon, but she didn’t draw it.

Everyone, stay calm.

Maintain positions.

She spoke into her radio quietly, professionally, but Dany could see the tension in her shoulders.

Another text came through on Dany<unk>y’s phone.

This time, it was a photo attachment.

Sarah and Kevin standing in what looked like a cave or mineshaft.

They were thin but alive, dressed in worn camping clothes.

Sarah’s hair was longer, unckempt.

Kevin had a beard.

But what made Dany<unk>y’s stomach turn was their expressions.

They weren’t scared.

They weren’t pleading for help.

They were smiling.

And Sarah was holding a camera.

Dany showed the photo to Callaway, his hands trembling.

Sarah’s smile wasn’t forced or fearful.

It looked genuine, relaxed, like she was posing for a family photo.

Kevin had his arm around her shoulders, casual and comfortable.

Behind them, the cave walls were lined with what looked like supplies, canned goods, water bottles, camping equipment.

“They don’t look like prisoners,” Callaway said quietly.

“Stockholm syndrome,” Dany insisted.

“It’s been 2 years.

He’s had two years to break them down, make them dependent on him.

But even as he said it, doubt crept in.

Sarah’s eyes in the photo were clear, alert.

She’d lost weight, but didn’t look malnourished.

Her clothes were worn but clean.

And that camera in her hands, it looked expensive, well-maintained.

Another text came through.

Ask yourself why only two survived.

V.

Before Dany could respond, his phone rang.

Sarah again.

Put it on speaker.

Callaway whispered, gesturing for the tech team to start recording.

Sarah, I’m sorry about earlier.

Her voice was stronger now, more like the sister he remembered.

He was listening.

I had to say what he wanted.

Are you alone now? For a few minutes, Danny, you need to understand something.

That night, October 15th, we found things.

Evidence of what had been happening up here.

Brandon wanted to leave immediately, go to the police, but Trevor and Matt, they wanted to explore more, document everything.

They thought we’d stumbled onto some serial killer’s dumping ground.

Her voice caught.

Danny could hear her taking deep breaths.

We split up.

Stupid, I know.

Brandon took Nicole, Jessica, and Khloe back toward the main trail to get cell service.

Trevor and Matt went to investigate another campsite we’d found.

Ashley, Jason, and Ryan stayed at our camp.

Kevin and I, we went looking for water.

That’s when we heard the screaming.

Danny closed his eyes, imagining it.

11 friends scattered across the dark mountain, separated, vulnerable.

It happened so fast.

By the time Kevin and I got back to camp, Ashley and Jason were gone.

Ryan was crawling toward the fire, his leg twisted wrong, crying.

Then this man stepped out of the shadows, older, maybe 60s, carrying an old hunting rifle.

He looked at Ryan, then at us, and he said the strangest thing.

What? He said, “Which one of you takes photographs?” Danny’s eyes snapped to the polaroids covering the tree.

“What did you say?” I was too terrified to speak, but Kevin, God, Danny, Kevin saved my life.

He pointed at me and said, “She does.

She’s a photography major.

She’s really good.

” And it was true.

You know, I’ve been taking pictures since high school.

Had my camera with me on the trip.

Sarah, what happened to the others? A long pause.

When she spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper.

He made us choose.

What? He said he only needed two.

Two to learn, two to carry on.

The rest were surplus.

He made Kevin and me choose who would live.

Danny’s stomach heaved.

No, you wouldn’t.

We refused.

Of course, we refused.

But then he shot Ryan right there while we watched and he started walking toward where Brandon’s group had gone.

He knew exactly where they were, had been tracking them.

He gave us 10 seconds to decide or he’d kill everyone.

Callaway was writing frantically, noting everything around them.

Other investigators had stopped working, listening to Sarah’s confession echo through the mountains.

I chose Kevin, Sarah continued, her voice breaking.

And Kevin chose me, the others.

He marched them to the ravine, made us watch.

said, “If we looked away, if we ran, he’d hunt us down like the others he’d hunted over the years.

” Sarah, Jesus Christ.

But here’s what you need to understand, Danny.

After after it was over, he showed us something.

A whole network of caves connected to the old Black Ridge Mine.

There are people living up here, not just him.

Others who have survived previous hunts.

Some have been here for years.

Dany and Callaway exchanged shocked looks.

How many others? I don’t know exactly.

They come and go.

Some he releases after they’ve learned enough.

Some choose to stay.

He calls it the collection.

People he saved from the weakness of modern society.

Taught to survive, to hunt, to appreciate the mountain.

Sarah, that’s insane.

He’s a serial killer.

Is he? Or is he something else? Danny, I’ve seen the photos going back decades, the journal entries.

He doesn’t kill everyone.

He selects.

He preserves.

The ones who show promise, who demonstrate skills, who can adapt, they get a choice.

A choice.

He murdered nine people.

Nine people who would have reported him, who would have brought police, reporters, developers.

Nine people who would have destroyed what he’s built up here.

But Kevin and I, we understood.

We adapted.

Dany heard something in her voice that terrified him more than anything else.

Pride.

You need to get out of there.

Both of you.

Tell me where you are.

And I am out, Danny.

The words hit him like ice water.

What? I leave the mountain all the time now.

I was in town last week.

Walked right past you at the grocery store.

You didn’t even recognize me.

Danny’s mind reeled, trying to remember everyone he’d passed at the store.

It wasn’t possible.

He would have known his own sister.

You’re lying.

Aisle 7.

You were buying those protein bars you like.

I was 3 ft away wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses.

Victor was right.

People see what they expect to see, and nobody expects to see the dead.

Prove it.

You have a new girlfriend.

Rebecca works at the bank.

You’ve been dating for 3 months.

You haven’t told her about me yet because you don’t want to scare her off with your complicated family situation.

Dany<unk>y’s legs gave out.

He sat hard on the ground, the phone shaking in his hand.

Only a handful of people knew about Rebecca.

Sarah couldn’t know unless you’ve been watching me.

We all watch.

That’s what we do.

We document.

We preserve.

We protect the mountain and its secrets.

There was a pause.

Then Sarah’s voice softened.

Danny, I know this is hard to understand, but I’m okay.

I’m more than okay.

I’m free in a way I never was before.

No student loans, no job interviews, no pressure to be something I’m not.

Up here, I’m learning things, real things.

How to track, how to hunt, how to survive, how to kill, how to select.

There’s a difference.

Sarah, please.

The investigators are going to find more than they bargained for in those caves.

Bodies from years ago, but also supplies, equipment, proof that people have been living here successfully for decades.

They’re going to realize this is bigger than one man.

And when they do, they’re going to have to make a choice.

What kind of choice? Storm the caves and risk killing the victims they’re supposed to be saving or negotiate? Because, Danny, we’re not all victims anymore.

Some of us have become something else.

The line went dead.

Callaway immediately called for a search team to investigate the old Blackidge mine.

But Dany could see the conflict in her eyes.

If Sarah was telling the truth, they weren’t dealing with a simple hostage situation.

They were dealing with a cult, a community, a decades old system of predator and prey where the lines had become blurred.

She’s been brainwashed, Dany said, but the words felt hollow.

Maybe, Callaway replied, or maybe she’s trying to tell us something.

That conversation, she knew we were recording.

She gave us locations, numbers, details.

Either she’s completely under his control or or she’s playing a longer game than we realize.

Dy’s phone buzzed with another photo.

This one showed the entrance to a mineshaft partially hidden by overgrowth.

But what made his blood run cold was the figure standing beside it.

It was Sarah holding a sign.

Come alone or don’t come at all.

You have 24 hours to decide.

S.

She wasn’t smiling anymore.

Her expression was serious, urgent, and in her other hand, barely visible, she held something that might have been a knife, or might have been a key.

Dany stared at the photo for a full minute, zooming in on Sarah’s hand.

It was definitely a key, old-fashioned brass, the kind that might open a padlock or an old door.

She was holding it at an angle that made it visible to the camera, but would look natural to anyone standing near her.

She’s trying to tell us something,” he said, showing Callaway the detail.

The detective studied it, then called over one of her tech specialists.

“Can you enhance this section?” While they worked on the image, Dany<unk>y’s mind raced.

Sarah had been free to leave the mountain.

She’d been in town close enough to touch him and hadn’t made contact.

Either she was completely broken or she was trapped in some other way.

Detective.

An investigator jogged over from the photo tree.

We found something else hidden in the journal.

There’s a section written in different handwriting.

Looks like someone added pages recently.

They returned to the tree where the journal was being processed.

The tech had separated several pages that were clearly newer than the rest.

The paper less yellowed, the ink darker.

The handwriting was feminine.

Neat.

Sarah’s October 1st, 2017.

He makes us write our observations.

Says documentation is as important as the hunt itself.

I’ve been here 23 months.

Kevin stopped counting after the first year.

There are 17 of us total.

Five from the 2009 group, three from 2011, two from 2013, four from 2014, Kevin and me from 2015, and three from last year, 2016.

We didn’t know about last year’s hunt until after he kept us separated.

The rules are simple.

Learn the craft.

Prove your worth.

Earn your freedom.

Some have earned it.

Marie from the 2009 group left last Christmas.

She sends letters.

has a job in Denver now.

Victor says she’s one of his greatest successes.

Dany felt sick.

Marie Santos, the girl whose ID Brandon found.

Callaway was already on her phone calling the FBI.

I need a location on Marie Santos.

Last known address, Denver, Colorado.

Possible victim turned accomplice in multiple homicides.

The journal entries continued.

October 5th, 2017.

Victor is getting older.

He talks about succession, about who will inherit the mountain.

He watches us all, evaluating.

Kevin thinks we’re being tested.

I know we are.

The others don’t know Victor is sick.

Lung cancer, probably from years of smoking.

He hides it well, but I see the blood when he coughs.

He’s got maybe 6 months, maybe less.

He needs to choose someone before he dies.

Someone to continue the tradition, someone who understands the importance of the selection process.

My god, Callaway breathed.

He’s training his replacement.

The next entry was dated just 3 days ago, October 12th, 2017.

It’s almost time for this year’s hunt.

Victor has chosen the group, College Kids from Portland, planning to camp near Crystal Lake.

12 of them.

Too many, he says.

We’ll need to call to four at it most.

But I’ve been thinking, what if there was another way? What if instead of selecting from victims, we selected a different kind of survivor? Dany won’t understand at first, but he’s strong.

Stronger than he knows.

And he’s been hunting, too, in his way.

Hunting for me, hunting for truth.

He just needs the right motivation.

She’s planning something, Dany said, his voice tight.

This isn’t Stockholm syndrome.

She’s planning something.

The final entry was from yesterday, October 14th, 2017.

Tomorrow is the anniversary.

Victor wants to make it special.

He’s planned an elaborate hunt for the Portland group, but I’ve convinced him to wait.

Told him the police presence would make it too risky.

He doesn’t know I’ve been leaving markers.

doesn’t know I led that hiker’s dog to the ravine.

Doesn’t know I’ve been preparing for this for months.

By the time anyone reads this, it will have started.

Danny will come for me.

I know he will.

And when he does, he’ll have to make the same choice we all did.

Survive and adapt or die fighting.

But I’m giving him something the rest of us never had.

A chance to fight back with full knowledge of what he’s facing.

The key is hidden where mom used to hide our Christmas presents.

He’ll remember.

Danny’s breath caught.

The old hollow oak tree behind our house.

He was already moving, but Callaway caught his arm.

This could be a trap.

She’s been with him for 2 years.

She could be.

She led you to the bodies.

She’s been leaving breadcrumbs this whole time.

Danny pulled free.

My sister is trying to take down a serial killer from the inside.

and she needs my help.

Then we’re coming with you.

No.

Danny showed her the photo again.

Come alone or don’t come at all.

If Victor sees police, he’ll kill her and Kevin and disappear.

You know these mountains, thousands of acres of wilderness.

He could hide forever.

We can’t let a civilian.

I’m not asking permission.

Dy’s voice was steel.

My sister has been surviving in hell for 2 years, playing some kind of long game to stop this psychopath.

The least I can do is trust her.

Callaway stared at him for a long moment, then made a decision.

Wire, GPS tracker, panic button, non-negotiable.

While the tech team prepared the equipment, Dany drove down the mountain toward his childhood home, now empty since their parents had died in a car accident 3 years ago.

A year before Sarah disappeared, he’d kept the house, unable to sell it, maintaining it like a shrine to the family that no longer existed.

The hollow oak was exactly as he remembered it, standing at the edge of the property line.

He reached into the hole where their mother used to hide Christmas presents, his fingers finding something metal wrapped in plastic.

It wasn’t just a key.

It was a set of keys along with a handdrawn map and a note in Sarah’s handwriting.

Danny, the main key opens the old mine entrance at these coordinates.

The others are for chains inside.

There are 12 people being held in the lower chambers.

Not victims from our group, but others he’s been training.

Victor never lets more than three of us roam free at a time.

The rest are insurance.

If one runs, others die.

That’s why I couldn’t leave.

That’s why none of us could.

He’ll be watching the main entrance, but there’s a ventilation shaft on the north side.

You can fit.

I made sure of it.

Come at exactly 9:47 p.

m.

I’ll make sure Victor is distracted.

Trust me, please.

P.

S.

Bring the gun kept in his study.

You’re going to need it.

Danny checked his watch.

4:15 p.

m.

Just over 5 hours.

He looked at the map, memorizing every detail.

the ventilation shaft, the layout of the tunnels, the chamber where the others were kept, and at the bottom, circled three times, a room marked Victor’s gallery.

Another note beside it.

This is where he keeps the trophies and the evidence that could save us all.

Dany retrieved his father’s Glock from the study safe, checked the magazine, and tucked it into his waistband.

Then he called.

I’ve got a way in and a plan.

Danny, whatever you’re thinking.

Sarah’s been planning this for months.

She’s been moving pieces into position, waiting for the right moment.

She needed someone on the outside she could trust.

Someone who would come for her no matter what.

You, me.

He looked at the photo tree coordinates on the map.

And in 5 hours, we’re going to end this one way or another.

He could hear Callaway breathing on the other end of the line, weighing her options.

We’ll have teams positioned around the mountain the moment you give the signal.

No signal.

If this goes right, Sarah and I will walk out with the survivors.

If it goes wrong, he paused, thinking of the ravine full of bodies.

If it goes wrong, at least you’ll know where to look, Danny.

He hung up and started preparing.

5 hours to save his sister.

5 hours to end a 23-year reign of terror.

5 hours to prove that sometimes the hunted could become the hunter.

Dany parked his car a mile from the coordinates Sarah had provided, hiking the rest of the way through dense forest as darkness fell.

The wire Callaway had given him chafed against his chest.

The GPS tracker felt heavy in his pocket, but the Glock at his waistband was reassuring.

At 9:15 p.

m.

, he found the ventilation shaft, a rusted grate barely visible among the rocks and undergrowth.

Just as Sarah had promised, the bolts had been loosened.

He could remove it with his hands.

He was about to enter when his phone vibrated.

A text from an unknown number.

Change of plans.

He knows.

S.

Before Dany could react, a voice spoke from the darkness behind him.

Mr.

Caldwell, I was wondering when you’d arrive.

Dany spun, hand moving to his weapon, but froze when he saw the scene before him.

Victor Aldridge stood 10 ft away holding a rifle.

He was exactly as Sarah had described, 60s, weathered with the kind of lean strength that came from decades of mountain living.

But it was the figure kneeling beside him that made Dany<unk>y’s blood freeze.

Kevin Hartley, hands bound, duct tape over his mouth, a knife pressed to his throat.

Your sister thought she was clever, Victor said, his voice calm, conversational.

Leaving breadcrumbs, playing detective.

But I’ve been doing this for 23 years, Mr.

Caldwell.

I know when I’m being hunted.

Where’s Sarah? Safe for now, though her safety depends entirely on you.

Victor adjusted his grip on the knife, and Kevin made a muffled sound of pain.

Take out your phone, your gun, and that wire you’re wearing slowly.

Danny complied, setting everything on the ground.

Kick them away.

The items scattered into the underbrush.

Good.

Now we can have an honest conversation.

Victor gestured with the rifle.

Walk.

We’re going to visit your sister.

They moved through the forest.

Kevin stumbling ahead of them.

Victor keeping the rifle trained on Dany<unk>y’s back.

The main mine entrance appeared through the trees, a black mouth in the mountainside supported by ancient timbers.

“She told you about Marie Santos,” Victor said as they walked.

“Did she tell you the whole truth? That Marie now runs one of the most successful wilderness therapy programs in Colorado? That she’s helped dozens of troubled young people find themselves? She’s a killer.

She’s evolved.

As your sister has evolved, as you’re about to evolve.

They entered the mine, following a string of LED lights that had been strung along the ceiling.

The tunnel sloped downward, branching into multiple passages.

Victor guided them left, then right, navigating with the confidence of someone who knew every inch of the space.

Do you know why I choose October, Mr.

Caldwell? Dany remained silent.

It’s when the mountain is most beautiful.

When the leaves turn to fire and the air turns crisp.

When people feel most alive, most connected to nature.

That’s when they’re ready for transformation.

They emerged into a large chamber lit by camping lanterns.

Danny’s breath caught.

The room was filled with people, at least 15 of them, sitting on makeshift furniture, some reading, others preparing food on camp stoves.

They looked up as the group entered, and Dany recognized faces from missing person posters he’d studied over the years.

And there, in the center of the room, was Sarah.

She stood up slowly, her expression unreadable.

“Hello, Danny.

” “Sarah, what is this?” “This is the collection,” Victor said, proddding Dany forward with the rifle.

“My life’s work, not victims, Mr.

Caldwell.

Students, survivors, the next evolution of humanity.

One of the others, a young man who couldn’t have been older than 25, approached.

“Is this him? Sarah’s brother.

” “Yes, Tom.

” Victor smiled.

“Mr.

Caldwell is about to join our family one way or another.

” Sarah moved closer, and Dany could see the conflict in her eyes.

“Dany, there are things you don’t understand, things I couldn’t tell you.

You said he was holding people prisoner.

” He is.

She gestured to several younger people seated against the far wall, chains visible around their ankles.

“The ones still learning, still resisting.

But the rest of us are free to leave,” Victor finished.

“Ask any of them,” Marie left.

So did James, Patricia, Marcus.

They send letters.

They visit sometimes because what they learned here, what they became here made them better than they ever were in your world.

You’re insane,” Victor laughed, a dry, rattling sound that turned into a cough.

He covered his mouth and Dany saw blood on his hand when he pulled it away.

“Perhaps, but I’m also dying, and before I go, I need to ensure my work continues.

” He looked at Sarah.

“I thought it would be you, my dear.

You showed such promise, such natural talent, but then you started your little rebellion.

” Sarah’s face remained neutral.

I don’t know what you mean.

The journal entries, the breadcrumbs leading them to the ravine.

Victor shook his head sadly.

Did you think I wouldn’t notice? I’ve been watching you for months, letting you think you were clever, wondering what your endgame was.

He gestured to Kevin, still kneeling with the knife at his throat.

And then I realized you weren’t trying to escape.

You were trying to bring your brother here.

You were trying to choose your own successor.

Dany looked at Sarah, horror dawning.

What? He’s dying.

Dany, Sarah said quietly.

Someone has to take over.

Someone has to lead the collection.

And if it’s not someone who understands, who cares about these people, it’ll be someone like Tom.

The young man Victor had addressed smiled coldly.

I’ve been here eight years.

I’ve earned the right to lead.

You’ve earned the right to be a psychopath, Sarah shot back.

You enjoy the hunts.

You enjoy the killing.

And you don’t? Tom stepped closer to her.

I’ve seen your photographs, Sarah.

The way you capture their fear, their final moments.

You’re an artist.

Enough.

Victor commanded.

This is why we need fresh blood.

New perspective.

He looked at Dany.

Your sister believes you have what it takes.

That you could modernize our operation, make it sustainable for another generation.

I’m not going to help you murder people.

No.

Then Kevin dies, then Sarah, then you.

And Tom takes over, and I guarantee his methods will be far less selective than mine.

Victor moved the knife, drawing a thin line of blood across Kevin’s throat.

Kevin’s muffled scream echoed through the chamber.

Stop.

Dany stepped forward, but Tom and two others blocked his path.

There is another option, Victor said.

An old tradition, trial by hunt.

Sarah’s head snapped up.

Victor, no.

What’s trial by hunt? Dany asked.

Victor smiled.

You and Tom in the woods.

Tonight, winner takes everything.

Leadership of the collection.

Freedom for those you choose to free.

The right to reshape this community as you see fit.

And if I refuse, then I kill Kevin now, chain you up with the others, and let Tom have his way with your sister before I die, which given my condition, could be any day now.

” Dany looked at Sarah, searching her face for some sign, some indication of what she wanted him to do.

She gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“What are the rules?” “No rules,” Tom said eagerly.

Just the forest, the dark, and whatever weapons we can find or make.

First one back with proof of the others death winds.

Dany, you don’t have to do this, Sarah said, but her eyes said differently.

Yes, Dany said, not looking away from his sister.

I do, Victor clapped his hands once.

Excellent, Tom.

You have 10 minutes to prepare.

Mr.

Caldwell, the same.

Then we begin.

As Tom moved to gather supplies, Sarah approached Dany.

She hugged him and he felt her slip something into his pocket.

“The old hiking trail,” she whispered in his ear.

“The one dad showed us.

Remember?” Before he could respond, she pulled away.

“May the best hunter win,” Victor said that rattling laugh following Dany as he was led away to prepare for a hunt where he would be both predator and prey.

Dany was given access to a supply cache, rope, a flashlight, a hunting knife, and basic camping gear.

As he gathered items, his fingers found what Sarah had slipped into his pocket.

A small compass and a folded piece of paper.

He unfolded it carefully, shielding it from view.

Sarah’s handwriting, cramped and urgent.

Tom keeps trophies in a hollow tree near Crow’s Point.

He’s killed three who tried to leave.

Victor doesn’t know.

Use this.

Dany pocketed the note, his mind racing.

Sarah wasn’t just playing a long game against Victor.

She was maneuvering against Tom, too.

Time’s up, Victor called.

They gathered at the mine entrance.

Tom had equipped himself with a compound bow he’d apparently been maintaining, plus a large hunting knife.

His confidence was unsettling.

This wasn’t his first hunt.

The boundaries are the mountain itself, Victor announced to the assembled collection.

No leaving Black Ridge, no outside help.

You have until dawn.

If neither returns by then, both forfeit and I choose my own successor.

Tom grinned at Dany.

I’ll make it quick out of respect for Sarah.

Tom, Victor said sharply.

Remember, this is about succession, not pleasure.

Conduct yourself with dignity.

Of course.

Tom’s smile didn’t waver.

I always do.

They were positioned at opposite ends of the mine clearing, about 50 yards apart.

Victor fired a shot into the air, and the hunt began.

Tom immediately melted into the forest, moving with practiced silence.

Dany ran in the opposite direction, crashing through underbrush, deliberately making noise.

He needed Tom to think he was panicking, fleeing blindly.

The old hiking trail Sarah had mentioned was a path their father had shown them years ago, barely visible, used by deer more than people.

It led to a series of caves that connected back to the mine through natural passages.

If Dany could reach them, his phone, confiscated earlier, was gone, but the wire Callaway had given him had a backup transmitter sewn into the lining of his jacket.

It was still broadcasting, though he had no way to communicate.

The FBI would be tracking his movement, watching him run through the forest, probably wondering what the hell was happening.

A branch snapped behind him.

Too close.

Dany dove sideways just as an arrow whistled past, embedding in a tree trunk where his head had been.

Tom was already tracking him, using the noise to follow.

Dany changed tactics, moving more carefully, using the techniques Sarah had inadvertently taught him through her journal entries.

Stay low.

Step on rocks when possible.

Move with the wind to mask sound.

20 minutes passed.

The moon was rising, casting silver light through the canopy.

Dany found the deer trail and followed it upward toward Crow’s Point.

if Sarah was right about Tom’s trophies.

Another arrow, this one grazing his shoulder, tearing through jacket and skin.

Dany bit back a cry and kept moving.

Tom was hurting him, he realized, driving him toward something.

Then he heard it.

The sound of running water, a stream.

And Dany remembered something from Brandon’s journal.

Sound of water masks.

Everything else can’t hear anything over it.

Tom was driving him toward the stream where the sound would cover his approach.

Dany stopped, doubling back quietly.

He found a position behind a fallen log and waited, controlling his breathing, watching the shadows.

Tom emerged from the trees 5 minutes later, bowdrawn, scanning for movement.

He was good, professional, patient, but he was expecting Dany to be at the stream.

Dany let him pass, then followed at a distance.

Tom reached the water and stopped, confused.

He knelt, checking for tracks, and that’s when Dany saw them.

Small bones hanging from Tom’s belt.

Finger bones by the look of them.

Trophies.

Sarah had been right.

Tom had been killing long before tonight.

Dany picked up a rock and threw it across the stream.

Tom spun, firing an arrow instantly at the sound.

In that moment of distraction, Dany charged.

They collided hard, rolling down the embankment into the shallow water.

The bow went flying.

Tom’s knife came out, slashing wildly.

Dany caught his wrist, and they struggled in the icy stream, each trying to gain control of the blade.

Tom was stronger than he looked, with years of mountain living behind him.

But Dany had something Tom didn’t.

Desperation and rage for what had been done to his sister.

The knife went flying.

They separated, both gasping, circling each other in the kneedeep water.

She talked about you constantly, Tom panted.

Dany this, Danny that.

How you’d come for her? How you’d save everyone? He spat blood.

But you’re just another soft city boy playing hero.

Maybe, Dany said, but I’m not a serial killer collecting finger bones.

Tom’s expression shifted, becoming genuinely confused.

Is that what you think? That we’re killers? He laughed.

We’re evolutionists.

We’re preparing humanity for what’s coming.

When society collapses, when the cities burn, we’ll be the ones who survive.

You’re insane.

Am I? Look around.

Climate change, political collapse, economic disaster.

It’s all coming.

Victor saw it decades ago.

He’s been building an ark.

And your sister? Tom’s eyes gleamed.

Your sister understands.

She’s documented everything.

every lesson, every survival technique, every necessary sacrifice.

They circled each other, both looking for an opening.

She played you perfectly, Tom continued.

Made you think she was a victim, a prisoner.

But she’s been free for over a year.

She could have left any time.

Instead, she chose to bring you here.

You’re lying.

Am I? Ask yourself, why didn’t she just escape when she was in town? Why leave clues instead of going to the police? Because she needs someone to take over when Victor dies.

Someone she can control.

Dany<unk>y’s mind reeled, but he kept his focus.

Tom was trying to distract him, make him doubt.

Tom lunged, going for a tackle.

Dany sidestepped, using Tom’s momentum to drive him face first into the water.

But Tom rolled, kicking Dany<unk>y’s legs out from under him.

They fought in the stream, brutal and desperate.

Tom got his hands around Dany<unk>y’s throat, forcing him under.

Water filled Dany<unk>y’s lungs.

His vision sparked.

His hand found a river rock, smooth and heavy.

He swung it with all his strength, connecting with Tom’s temple.

Tom went limp, falling sideways into the current.

Dany gasped for air, coughing up water, watching Tom’s unconscious form start to drift downstream.

For a moment, he considered letting the current take him.

Then he grabbed Tom’s jacket, dragging him to the bank.

He wasn’t a killer.

Not yet.

Tom was breathing but unconscious.

Danny used the rope from his pack to bind him thoroughly, then searched his pockets.

He found photos, polaroids, of three young people, all in their 20s, all clearly dead.

Sarah had been right.

Tom had been killing collection members who tried to leave.

Dany also found a radio.

He turned it on and immediately heard Victor’s voice.

Tom, report.

The FBI is moving toward the mine.

Whatever you’re doing, finish it quickly.

Danny keyed the radio.

Tom’s done.

This is Danny.

Silence.

Then, is he dead? No, but he’s finished.

I have evidence he’s been killing collection members.

Three murders you didn’t authorize.

A longer silence.

Then Victor laughed.

That rattling, dying sound.

Clever boy, just like your sister.

Bring him back.

We have much to discuss.

The FBI.

We’ll find exactly what I want them to find.

Hurry now.

The real test is just beginning.

As Dany hauled Tom’s unconscious form through the forest, he realized the hunt had never been about Tom at all.

Continue reading….Part 1 of 2Part 2 of 2Next »