Everly’s eyes, full of curiosity, swept around the room before finally resting on the wall directly opposite the main door.
Six electronic screens were mounted there.
The screens were constantly on, each connected to one of six hidden caras installed around the gas station and its surroundings. Everly scanned them one by one: two caras monitored the highway, one was mounted on the gas station’s roof, another in a corner of the supermarket, and the remaining two were inside residential buildings, pointing at the living room on the first floor and the hallway on the second floor, respectively.
With these monitors, even underground, one could have a complete grasp of the entire gas station’s situation.
“Although there’s still much to improve, sooner or later, I will create a perfect underground shelter. That way, even if the Third World War breaks out and nuclear bombs fall on our land, these thick, sturdy walls and doors will keep war and radiation at bay. With the supplies stored here, we will survive until the very end and successfully make it through the apocalypse!” Old John said passionately.
At that mont, Everly was simply struck with a mix of amazent and curiosity. She thought Old John’s ideas were unusual and his interests unique—he was willing to expend so much manpower and resources to build an underground shelter for a war that might never co.
It wasn’t until much later that she happened to hear from Shelly that a group like her grandfather’s actually had a proper na: “doomsday survivalists.” These were people who firmly believed the apocalypse was inevitable and actively prepared for it, ard with survival knowledge and skills, always planning ahead.
…
Because the underground shelter was so cluttered that there was barely any room to step, Old John stood with Everly at the entrance for a mont, sharing so of his grand vision, and then carried her back to the surface.
Ti had passed faster than she had imagined. It felt as if she had only walked around the gas station briefly, yet when she returned to the surface and looked at the clock, it was already noon.
Old John fed Everly so formula. Once her stomach was full and she had been coaxed to close her eyes and fall asleep, he went over to the garage beside the house and began hamring and tinkering to assemble the car.
Old John owned a vehicle himself. It was a black pickup truck with a high chassis; its bumper, tires, and rear end were reinforced with tal. The modified inline-six engine could exceed a thousand horsepower, giving it top-tier performance for towing, hauling, or high-speed driving.
Originally, when he heard the news that Everly had been kidnapped, he was supposed to drive his own truck to Sunken City to catch a plane. But, unfortunately, his newly ordered upgraded engine had just arrived. To install it, Old John had disassembled the pickup almost completely. So when Shelly’s call for help ca, he hadn’t even reassembled the truck yet. In the end, he had to catch a ride with soone else, barely making it to the airport before the flight took off.
Now that the child was safely back, he needed to work hard and get the truck assembled as quickly as possible. The area around the gas station was desolate, and the nearest town was ten kiloters away. Without a vehicle, everything was inconvenient…
Everly’s nap was interrupted by the constant banging and clanging from downstairs.
She had slept deeply, though. Lying in her crib for a while, picking at her feet and feeling lazy, she thought about how she might spend the boring afternoon. As she gazed out the window, her spirits lifted. She suddenly realized that she had arrived at her new ho. Her new guardian was Old John, a kind, patient, and responsible elderly man. Unlike Shelly, he would never leave a little baby alone in the house all afternoon.
Everly had rarely cried in the past. She had tried, only to find that no matter how much she sobbed, Shelly wouldn’t co; he would find her botherso and deliberately leave her in a corner, ignoring her entirely. But now was different. Old John loved her, and she was no longer a helpless burden.
Since she was awake, she might as well make so noise to get Old John’s attention. Her grandfather liked her—he would take care of her.
Thinking this, Everly excitedly wriggled upright in her crib, opened her mouth, and let out a loud “Waaah!”
A baby’s cry is incredibly piercing. Hearing it, the hamring and clanging from downstairs imdiately stopped. Soon after, the sound of footsteps “thump-thump” ca up the stairs, and Old John appeared at the doorway.
“Oh, my little Everly, don’t cry, don’t cry, I’m here… Co on, let’s go downstairs together. Grandpa will show you the big truck…”
The old man removed his oil-stained apron and gloves, scooped up the crying baby from her crib, and held her close, gently bouncing her up and down. Strangely enough, the little girl who had just been wailing nonstop imdiately stopped crying when she was in her grandfather’s arms. She stared at Old John with her big, watery blue eyes for a mont, then a smile lit up her red, chubby face.
“Pi… pi, pick-up…” Everly babbled in baby talk.
She wanted to see the truck.
“That’s right, the pick-up… Co on, Grandpa will take you downstairs to see it.” Old John’s heart almost lted at her soft, cute words. He held his granddaughter securely, repeatedly spelling out “pick-up” in English to teach her the word, while carrying Everly outside to circle around the half-assembled truck.
“Look here, this is the hood, this is the fender, this is the side mirror…”
The pronunciations were too complicated for her to mimic—for now. But the word “pick-up” she practiced a few tis and got surprisingly good at.
The grandfather and granddaughter circled the truck, reading and repeating together, having a wonderful ti—until, in the distance, the roar of an engine suddenly ca from the far end of the road.
Old John followed the sound and looked toward the far eastern end of Highway 466, where a plu of dust was rising. A vehicle was driving straight toward them along the road.
When the car got close, a shiny bald head appeared from the driver’s side window.
“Hey, Old John! Thank goodness you’re back! My car’s almost out of gas, and I was just worrying about how to make it the rest of the way!” The bald man raised a hand, greeting Old John enthusiastically.
“Hey, Pete, long ti no see. Still the usual R-grade fuel?”
“That’s right, fill ‘er up with R.” The bald man retracted his body, turned the steering wheel, and drove the car into the gas station, stopping in front of the R-grade pump.
He knew Old John. Since Old John was holding a small baby in his arms and couldn’t move easily, he just tilted his chin to indicate that Pete should get out and pump the gas himself. Pete understood, stepping down from the car with his round belly, inserting the nozzle into the tank, and while fueling, he turned his head and chattered away at Old John.
“Old buddy, you’ve been gone a long ti. My tank was half full yesterday, and I ant to top off when I passed here, but you weren’t around. I figured the fuel I had would last from the town to the motel if I drove carefully, but I forgot about Highway 466’s terrible road conditions! Damn it… how many tis have people complained? Why hasn’t the road departnt fixed it yet… On the way back, the car ran out of gas halfway—luckily I found half a barrel in the trunk for ergencies, or Lina and I would’ve been stuck out there… Oh, and this little one in your arms—is that your granddaughter? She’s adorable, tiny, and not like you at all…”
Old John clearly didn’t want Pete to keep talking about Everly. He spoke up, subtly steering the conversation elsewhere to cut off Pete’s rambling: “Did you go to Old Jones’s motel?”
Pete had just been rambling out of boredom. When Old John asked, he nodded casually and said, “Yeah. My daughter Lina works as a kitchen assistant over there, but recently I heard it’s not safe in that area—several girls have gone missing. I was worried about Lina, so I went to pick her up and we’re staying ho for a while.”
After saying this, Pete puckered his lips and pointed toward the back seat of his car.
Following his gesture, Everly finally noticed that a young girl was sitting in the back seat. Her features resembled Pete’s a little, but she was far prettier than her father—a striking blonde beauty who could easily catch anyone’s eye on the street. The girl seed upset with her father; she was sitting with her arms crossed, scowling, and staring at the wasteland outside, clearly sulking.
Catching the keywords in Pete’s words, Old John’s eyes flickered. “Are you talking about that recent case of a young girl going missing repeatedly?”
“Yeah,” Pete replied.
“But I heard those missing-person cases mostly happened along US-34. Old Jones’s motel is on Highway 466—that’s pretty far apart, isn’t it?”
Pete shrugged. “At first, the missing girls were all around Highway 34. Later, families with daughters along that road beca more cautious and didn’t let their kids go out at night. Maybe the culprit couldn’t catch anyone there anymore, so they just moved to a different area. According to my friends in the street world, the last two girls who disappeared lost contact near Highway 466.”
“Did anyone report it to the police?”
Pete shook his head. “Who would dare… You know that area is Redwood Society territory. They often do shady business behind the scenes. People worry about the cops snooping around. When girls go missing, everyone just goes to the gang for help—nobody notifies the police. But even the Redwood Society searched for a long ti and couldn’t find either of the two girls. The night before last, another girl disappeared. I got really worried, so I went and brought my daughter back…”
“So that’s how it is…” Old John lowered his head and stroked Everly, a thoughtful look appearing in his eyes.
Everly felt puzzled as well.
For so reason, the things Pete had just ntioned—the string of young girls going missing, the local gang that found nothing, and his reluctant daughter being brought ho—together gave her a very familiar feeling, as if she were on the verge of rembering sothing in the next instant.
But mory is a frustrating thing: when you don’t an to think about it, it intrudes uninvited, slipping into your mind without warning and giving a strong sense of familiarity. Yet when you rack your brain trying to recall, it’s like a pearl stuck in a straw—you can almost grasp it, but it stubbornly won’t co out.
After thinking for a long ti, Everly’s face scrunched up in frustration—she couldn’t rember anything at all.
Ugh, how annoying!
Pete continued chatting casually with Old John for a few more minutes. Once the tank was full, he paid and drove onto Highway 387, heading south toward the small town of Lemot at the far end.
After Pete’s car disappeared over the horizon, Old John returned to the house, took out his phone, and called Mike. He had intended to share his newly obtained information, but the call rang for a long ti—no one answered, and it eventually went to voicemail.
Old John frowned.
He thought for a mont and then called a contact at the state police, planning to reach Officer Sharon’s number. Still, there was no answer.
It could be understandable if one person missed a call, but two people not answering was unusual.
Worried about a possible misjudgnt, Old John tried several more tis, but both phones only gave a busy signal.
He was almost certain that the two officers had encountered an unexpected situation. The culprit, able to abduct so many girls in succession without being caught, was a particularly tricky adversary, and Old John was deeply concerned for the two policen.
He used his phone to call his forr employer at the Dwight State Police Departnt, as well as the St. Mona City Police, the station closest to the eastern section of Highway 466. He reported the situation and urged both to dispatch reinforcents quickly to investigate near the motel.
After hanging up, Old John sat at the table in heavy silence, staring off for a long while.
He had done everything he could… hoping that the two officers were safe.
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