Chapter 9 - The Ghost Station
The wind howled through the skeletal branches of the pine trees, creating an eerie, haunting melody that echoed across the desolate mountain ridge.
It had been over two hours since I left the cabin. My legs felt like lead, my fingers were completely numb inside my wet gloves, and a terrifying exhaustion threatened to pull me down into the snow. Every step forward was an act of pure, agonizing will.
Keep going, I whispered to myself, tears freezing on my cheeks. For him. Keep going.
Ahead of me, cutting through the dense curtain of swirling white snow, a faint, flickering amber light pierced the gloom.
I pushed through a thicket of snow-laden fir branches and stopped dead in my tracks.
Rising out of the white wasteland was the weather observation station—a derelict, concrete-and-steel tower surrounded by rusted chain-link fencing. Parked a hundred yards down the access trail were two black SUVs, their engines cut, half-buried in drifts.
There were no guards outside. The heavy metal security door of the station stood slightly ajar, a warm, yellow glow spilling out onto the snow-covered ground.
My heart skipped a beat.
I crept forward silently, hugging the rusted chain-link fence until I reached the entrance. Slipping inside the narrow stairwell, I climbed the winding metal steps toward the control room on the top floor, keeping my footsteps light against the grated metal.
As I neared the top, voices drifted down the stairwell.
"—you can burn every legal document in the state, Logan, but the boy's DNA is already registered in the corporate biobank," a smooth, cultured voice said. It wasn't Marcus. It was a voice I recognized instantly from my hospital room.
Arthur Sterling.
"You're a monster, Arthur," Logan’s voice rasped, sounding weak and strained.
I peeked cautiously around the edge of the stairwell landing.
The top floor was a circular glass observatory overlooking the frozen ocean below. Logan was tied securely to a heavy metal chair in the center of the room, his face bruised and bleeding from the scuffle at the cabin. Standing over him was Arthur Sterling, adjusting the cuffs of his expensive bespoke suit, while two armed guards stood impassively by the door.
"We aren't monsters, Logan; we're pioneers," Arthur sighed, walking over to a stainless-steel medical case resting on a steel table. He popped the latches, revealing a series of high-tech cryogenic vials and a specialized needle array. "Your father understood that true progress requires sacrifice. And now, your son will fund the next fifty years of medical breakthroughs."
Arthur reached down, picking up the pneumatic extraction device.
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"Step away from him," I said, stepping out from the shadows of the stairwell, my voice ringing out with a cold, terrifying clarity that made every man in the room spin around in shock.
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