Chapter 11 - The Siege of Oakridge
-11-
The heavy autumn fog hung low and suffocating over the dense pine forests of northern Wisconsin, obscuring the wrought-iron gates of the Oakridge Behavioral Institute. Behind the towering brick walls and manicured evergreen hedges sat a sprawling, fortress-like sanitarium that looked more like a nineteenth-century penal colony than a medical facility.
My sedan sat parked half a mile down the winding mountain road, hidden beneath a thick canopy of pine branches. Beside me in the passenger seat, Marcus Vance tapped frantically against the screen of his encrypted tablet, tracking the real-time GPS coordinates of the federal marshal convoy currently closing in from the south.
“They’re three minutes out,” Marcus reported, his eyes darting between the tablet and the foggy windshield. “Federal tactical units from Chicago and Milwaukee are coordinating a synchronized convergence on the front and rear gates.”
I stared through the binoculars at the imposing oak double doors of the sanitarium entrance. A sleek, black municipal transport van—the exact vehicle Marcus had tracked from my suburban driveway two hours ago—was currently idling in the facility’s secure receiving bay.
The doors of the van swung open. Two private security guards in dark tactical uniforms stepped out, lifting a small, struggling figure wrapped in a pink woolen blanket out of the back.
Emily.
Even from half a mile away, I could see her small legs kicking frantically as one of the guards hoisted her over his shoulder, carrying her toward the heavy security doors of the institution.
A red-hot spike of fury tore through my chest.
“We can't wait three minutes, Marcus,” I said, dropping the binoculars onto the dashboard and grabbing the heavy brass door handle of the sedan.
“Richard, wait! If you rush the gates without federal cover, you’ll be arrested for trespassing before you even touch the property line!” Marcus shouted, reaching across the console to grab my shoulder.
“Let go, Marcus,” I snarled, turning to look him dead in the eye. My voice was no longer that of a desperate, grieving father; it was the cold, hollow voice of a man who had nothing left to lose. “That’s my daughter in those arms. If they cross those doors, I’ll tear this entire building down brick by brick with my bare hands.”
I shoved the door open, stepped out onto the damp asphalt, and broke into a dead sprint through the dense underbrush bordering the institute’s perimeter fence.
The chain-link fence topped with barbed wire loomed ahead. I didn't hesitate. I grabbed the cold wire mesh, hauled myself upward with a surge of adrenaline-fueled strength, vaulted over the razor-sharp barbs, and dropped heavily onto the manicured lawn on the other side.
Alroaring klaxon suddenly pierced the foggy mountain air.
WEE-WOO-WEE-WOO.
Flash-flood security lights snapped on automatically overhead, bathing the entire courtyard in a blinding, aggressive white glare.
“Hey! Stop right there! Federal property—stay back!” a loudspeaker blared from the roof of the institute.
I didn't stop. I sprinted across the open lawn, my sneakers pounding against the wet grass, ignoring the shouting guards pouring out of the side entrance. I reached the concrete loading dock just as the heavy oak doors began to swing shut.
I jammed my foot into the gap between the door frame and the heavy timber, ignoring the excruciating crunch of my boot heel crushing against the wood. With a savage roar, I threw my entire body weight against the door, shoving it inward with enough force to send the security guard standing behind it crashing backward into a metal supply cart.
“Get away from her!” I screamed.
The guard scrambled frantically for his sidearm, but before his fingers could wrap around the grip, the screech of heavy tires echoed from the main driveway.
SCREEECH.
Half a dozen black federal tactical SUVs smashed through the wrought-iron security gates, their emergency strobes flashing blinding blue and red across the white brick walls of the facility. Fully armored federal marshals poured out of the vehicles, weapons drawn, shouting commands in unison.
“FBI! Federal Marshals! Drop your weapons! Nobody move!”
The security guard froze, his hands shooting up into the air as two armed marshals tackled him to the polished linoleum floor.
I ignored the chaos unfolding around me. My eyes were fixed entirely on the end of the long, sterile hallway.
Emily was sitting on a wooden bench near the nurses' station, clutching her pink woolen blanket tightly to her chest, her big eyes wide with terror as she looked around the unfamiliar room.
“Daddy?” she whispered, her voice trembling as she spotted me standing in the doorway.
May you like
I broke into a run, dropping to my knees right in front of her, and scooped her up into my arms, burying my face in her dark hair as she threw her small arms around my neck with bone-crushing force.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” I choked out, tears finally breaking over my lashes. “I’ve got you. We’re going home.”
