CHAPTER 6: The Man Olivia Called the Shepherd
The first drop of burning gasoline slipped through the cracks in the hatch.
It landed on the dirt floor with a hiss.
Emma screamed.
Ella threw herself against Sarah.
The smell hit me a second later.
Gasoline.
Fresh.
Strong.
Above us, someone laughed.
"Let's see how long they stay hidden now."
Then came the unmistakable sound of a match being struck.
Fssst.
A heartbeat later...
Flames crawled across the edges of the wooden hatch.
Smoke poured into the shelter.
"Everyone back!"
I grabbed a thick wool blanket from the bunk and threw it over the opening.
It slowed the smoke.
But only for a moment.
The fire spread quickly through the old timber.
Sarah coughed violently.
"They're trying to smoke us out."
"No," I said, looking at the flames.
"They're trying to bury the evidence."
The shelter suddenly reminded me of Olivia.
Every shelf.
Every nail.
Every carefully stacked can of food.
She hadn't built this place for camping.
She had built it to save lives.
And now someone wanted to erase every trace that it had ever existed.
Another loud crack echoed above us.
Part of the ceiling collapsed.
Burning pieces of wood scattered across the floor.
Lily-sized footprints...
No.
Emma's.
Ella's.
The twins instinctively stepped closer to me.
"Ethan..."
Sarah's voice shook.
"There has to be another exit."
I turned in a slow circle.
The shelter was too organized.
Too carefully designed.
Olivia always had a backup plan.
Always.
Then I noticed something.
The old cedar bookshelf against the back wall.
It looked... wrong.
Not because of the books.
Because there was no dust behind it.
Everywhere else, years of mountain dust covered the floor.
Except there.
I rushed over.
The bookshelf wouldn't move.
Then I remembered something Olivia used to say whenever furniture got stuck.
"Stop pushing. Look for what it's hiding."
I ran my hand along the side.
My fingers touched cold metal.
A small iron latch.
I pulled it.
The bookshelf swung open silently.
Behind it...
A narrow stone tunnel disappeared into darkness.
Sarah covered her mouth.
"I never knew..."
I whispered,
"Neither did I."
The smoke thickened.
"We're leaving."
Emma grabbed my hand.
"Where does it go?"
"I don't know."
"But Olivia built it."
"And that's enough for me."
We hurried into the tunnel just as the burning hatch collapsed behind us.
The hidden passage sloped sharply downward.
Cold mountain air rushed through it.
Fresh air.
Ventilation.
Olivia had thought of everything.
The further we walked, the cooler it became.
Soon the smell of smoke disappeared completely.
After nearly fifteen minutes, the tunnel widened.
Sunlight shone through cracks in the rock.
Then...
We reached an old iron door.
Covered in moss.
Half hidden behind ivy.
I pushed.
It opened with a deep groan.
Fresh mountain air flooded inside.
We stepped out...
Into a clearing I had never seen before.
A small log cabin stood beside a creek.
Simple.
Weathered.
Smoke drifted lazily from its chimney.
Someone was living there.
Sarah stopped walking.
Her eyes filled with tears.
"No..."
She whispered.
"It can't be."
I looked at her.
"What?"
She smiled for the first time since I'd met her.
"The Shepherd."
The cabin door opened before we reached it.
An elderly man stepped onto the porch.
He looked to be in his late seventies.
Tall despite his age.
Broad shoulders.
Silver beard.
Faded ranger's jacket.
He leaned on a carved walking stick.
But his blue eyes were sharp.
Very sharp.
He looked directly at me.
Then smiled sadly.
"You have Olivia's eyes when you worry."
My heart skipped.
"You knew my wife."
He nodded.
"For nearly twenty years."
The twins ran toward him without hesitation.
"Mr. Henry!"
The old man knelt with surprising ease and hugged them both.
"I was beginning to think you girls had forgotten this old mountain fool."
Emma laughed through her tears.
"Never."
He stood and offered me his hand.
"Henry Walker."
After a pause, he added,
"But Olivia always called me..."
"The Shepherd."
I shook his hand.
"My name's Ethan Brooks."
"I know exactly who you are."
His expression softened.
"She hoped you'd never have to find this place."
Inside the cabin, everything felt strangely familiar.
The same cedar scent as our cottage.
The same blue enamel coffee pot Olivia had once insisted on buying at a flea market.
The same handmade quilts.
My eyes landed on a framed photograph sitting on the fireplace.
Olivia.
Much younger.
Standing beside Henry.
Both covered in mud.
Both laughing.
I stared.
"When was this taken?"
Henry followed my gaze.
"The summer we built the first shelter."
"You helped her?"
"I taught her."
Sarah quietly sat the twins at the kitchen table.
Henry poured them warm soup without asking a single question.
Like he'd been expecting them.
Then he looked at me.
"You're wondering why Olivia never told you."
I nodded.
"Every day."
Henry sighed.
"Because I made her promise."
I froze.
"You?"
"I told her the fewer people who knew..."
"...the fewer people could be forced to talk."
He walked to an old wooden desk.
Unlocked the top drawer.
Pulled out a sealed envelope.
Across the front...
In Olivia's unmistakable handwriting...
Were four words.
For Ethan. If Found.
My hands started shaking before I even touched it.
Henry looked me straight in the eyes.
"She left that with me two weeks before she died."
"She said..."
"...if you were holding it..."
"...then she had run out of time."
I carefully opened the envelope.
Inside was another letter.
And a flash drive.
The first line stole the air from my lungs.
Ethan, if you're reading this, it means my death was never an accident.
Before I could read another word...
A loud engine echoed across the valley.
Henry's face instantly hardened.
He looked out the window.
Three black SUVs were climbing the dirt road toward the cabin.
Henry quietly reached beneath the fireplace mantle.
Pulled out an old hunting rifle.
Then looked at me.
"They found us faster than I expected."
He handed me Olivia's letter.
"Whatever happens..."
"...don't let Victor Dawson get that flash drive."
Outside...
The first SUV stopped.
A man in an expensive charcoal-gray suit stepped out.
He removed his sunglasses.
Smiled toward the cabin.
And called out loudly—
"Henry..."
"You've been protecting my property long enough."
Henry's expression turned to stone.
He whispered only one sentence.
May you like
"That's Victor Dawson."
TO BE CONTINUED...
