«Unit 34, do you copy? Any unusual activity?»
David grabbed the radio, his voice gravelly. «This is Unit 34. Fresno County Patrol Zone, CA. No movement.»
«Someone’s probably tucked in under blankets; it’s freezing out here.»
«Roger that. Hold position. Shift change at 0500 hours.»
David exhaled. The cold had seeped through every layer. He stepped out of the patrol car and stretched, headlights sweeping the empty road like a fading memory.
In the distance, through a thin mist, a faint glow approached. A black van with no license plates rolled toward him. He darted back to the vehicle and switched on the siren. Red and blue lights pulsed.
«Black van, no plates, heading toward checkpoint 34. Initiating stop,» he said into the mic.
The van slowed but didn’t pull over. It drifted left, then right, as if torn between running and obeying.
«Vehicle, stop immediately. This is Fresno County Police, CA,» David barked through the PA.
Finally, the van halted a few feet from the checkpoint. David exited, hand hovering near his holster, and marched to the driver’s window, knocking sharply.
«Evening. License and registration, please.»
The driver turned—haggard, with heavy stubble and a baseball cap pulled low. His eyes darted, never locking with David’s.
«Uh, papers? Yeah. I’m just delivering cargo,» his voice was quiet, tinged with a foreign accent.
«What cargo drives at night without lights or plates? Step out. Open the rear hatch.»
«That’s not necessary, sir,» he stammered.
David’s tone grew firmer. «Out. Now.»
The man stepped out reluctantly, hands shaking. David studied him. «Name?»
«Nathan. Nathan Reynolds.»
«Where are you from?»
«Des Moines, Iowa, but I’ve been living here.»
David glanced at the van’s interior. A clear plastic divider separated the cab and cargo area. Something felt wrong.
«Anyone else in the vehicle?»
Nathan swallowed hard. «No. Just the cargo.»
David moved behind the van, hand on the latch. His pulse raced. Every nerve on edge.
He opened the door. A little girl, about seven or eight, curled up in the corner. Her hands were zip-tied, eyes wide with terror.
And then he froze. It was her face. Grace’s face. Dark brown eyes, delicate chin, wavy dark hair—every feature a perfect match.
David stepped back, breathing sharply. «Oh God.»
Nathan reached up, shouting, «I didn’t hurt her. I swear. I’m just… delivering her.»
David drew his weapon and yelled, «Get on the ground. Now.»
Nathan swung around, knocked David’s arm aside, then leapt back into the driver’s seat. He hit the gas.
«Stop him!» David yelled as the van sped into the night.
«Unit 34. Suspect fleeing. Black van, no plates, headed toward the Sierra Nevada Mountain Road. Abducted child on board.»
David jumped into his cruiser, siren blaring, giving chase. The wind screamed past the windows like a cry from the soul. His hands trembled as he replayed that child’s face—Grace’s face, or someone exactly like her.
The radio crackled. «Do you need backup, David?»
«Yes. Send units 42 and 47 to Route 123 toward the Pine Forest. Move.»
He sped on, headlights piercing the mist, tailing the faint red glow of the van’s rear lights. The road was rough, dangerous, but David didn’t care. His mind was spinning—who is that girl? Why does she look exactly like Grace? What kind of sick joke is this?
His eyes burned. From the radio came another voice—Grace, just waking up, calling him.
«Dad? I heard sirens. Are you okay?»
David couldn’t answer. He glanced at the rearview mirror, then wiped his eyes. «I’m okay, sweetheart. I’ll be home. I promise.»
The sirens wailed into the night, signaling a chase that wasn’t just about a little girl or a fleeing van. It was the beginning of a nightmare David had never imagined.
The mountain road was narrow and slick, flanked by black pines like sleepless shadows. David kept on the van’s tail, tires grinding against the icy asphalt. His heart thudded from fear and rage.
«Who is she? Why does she look like Grace’s twin?» he murmured.
Nathan didn’t stop. He veered onto a trail leading into the woods, where signal reception dropped off completely.
David yelled into the radio. «Unit 34. Lost GPS signal. I’m pursuing through the northern shortcut of Fresno Forest. Dispatch drones if needed.»
Suddenly, the van swerved violently, skidded, slammed into a roadside boulder, and plunged off the cliff.
«Damn it.»
David slammed the brakes, his car skidding but stopping just short of the edge. Without thinking, he jumped out, flashlight in hand, running to the ledge.
In the faint light, he spotted the van, overturned, front crushed, smoke rising from the engine.
«Mila. Are you there?» he called, not sure why he suddenly knew her name.
A soft whimper answered him. He slid down, hands bleeding from jagged rocks. He forced open the warped door and found the girl—Mila—lying in the back seat, head bleeding, but conscious.
«Don’t be scared. I’m, uh, I’m the police. I’ll get you out.»
Mila stared at him, eyes full of boundless fear. «Who, who are you?» she asked, voice trembling.
«David. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.»