Cabin Fever - Roe Horvat Page 0,40
hit. Somebody had found us.
Vincent put the car in reverse and backed up. I swallowed the bile rising from my empty stomach.
“Vincent, does that mean…?”
“Michael, listen to me. You will do as I say.” His gaze was fixed on the road through the rear window as he navigated the car in reverse. The tone of his voice. Shit.
“Yes. Anything.” I meant it.
“Promise me, Mikey.”
I couldn’t resist his urgency. Of course, I’d obey him. Always. “I swear.”
“I’ll drive all the way to the cabin’s door. When I stop the car, you’ll run directly to the panic room.”
No. God no. I couldn’t leave him. No!
“Vincent…” His name was a sob on my lips.
“You will go to the panic room, Michael. As fast as you can. You have your phone?”
“Yes.” My voice was gone. I just choked out the word.
“Close the wardrobe from the inside, slide the panel back, lock the door, and call the emergency contact.”
“Vincent…”
The lake came into view again. We were near the cabin, the main door coming closer as Vincent backed the car over the lawn, barely avoiding crashing into the porch.
“Now, Mikey. Go!” He unsnapped my seat belt and, leaning over me, threw the passenger door open.
“Mikey, please.” His eyes met mine, fierce and protective.
I shot out of the car, sprinted to the front door, and tore it open.
I raced through the small house and opened the closet in my bedroom. Doing exactly what he told me to do, I shoved aside the panel and pushed the security door inward. As soon as I opened the door, the light in the panic room blared on. I spun around, closed the wardrobe from the inside, slid the panel back, and locked the security door, latching it with the big red handle.
Silence. Utter and complete silence.
I fell to the floor and sobbed quietly.
It gutted me to leave him there. I wanted to go back and drape myself over his body so he wouldn’t get hurt. But he’d said “go.” So, I went.
My stomach clenched, and I crawled to the toilet at the end of the narrow space. I dry-heaved, but I had nothing in my belly to throw up.
Pop.
Soft. Muffled. An innocent little sound but audible. Another. Then a third. And quiet again.
Gunshots in the distance, muted by the thick walls of the panic room.
Call the emergency contact.
My hands shook so hard I almost dropped the phone, but I managed to dial the second of the two numbers in my phone.
“Hello,” a female voice answered on the first ring. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Tell me the code of the panic room.”
The code. I crawled back to the door and lifted my eyes.
“Seven nine six five zero zero.”
“Describe the situation.”
“My bodyguard, Vincent Nowak. He’s outside, and I can hear gunshots… He told me to stay here,” I forced out, and choked again. “You need to help him. Please.”
“Your security has already contacted us. Help is on the way. Do not, under any circumstances, leave the panic room. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Once the area is secured, we’ll call you on this number.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Do you see the charger?”
“Yes.”
“As soon as you end this call, put the phone on charge. You are safe, sir. Help will come in fifteen minutes. Do not leave the panic room.”
“Yeah, I get it.”
“You are safe,” she repeated. “We’ll call you soon.”
The woman hung up.
I didn’t remember much from the following half an hour. I only knew it was thirty minutes because the exact times of the phone calls and messages were saved on the device and later transcribed into the FBI report. Waiting there, powerless, not knowing if Vincent was hurt or dead, was the most horrific experience of my entire life.
By the time the phone beeped in my hand, my face was drenched with tears and sweat, my lungs burned, and my headache was so intense I continued to dry-heave in waves. Frantic, I opened the message, trying to decipher the blurred letters.
All is well, Mikey. You’re safe.
The message filled me with terror. It sounded… final.
I love you, Vincent. I typed and hit Send. I swallowed another sob.
Finally, muted voices outside broke the silence, then the engine of a vehicle. And another. A whooshing, humming noise shook the walls subtly around me—a helicopter?
My phone vibrated again, this time with a call.
“Yes?”
“Panic room seven nine six five zero zero.”
“Yes.”
“The area is secure, sir. You can leave the panic room. Federal Agent Madsen is waiting for you outside.”
“Th-thanks,” I rasped.
“No problem, sir. Thank you for staying calm.”
Finding Vincent was the only