Chapter 6: The Watchtower
The hike from the access road to the watchtower was brutal, a steep, rocky incline shrouded in darkness. They used the flashlights on their phones, the narrow beams catching the fog rolling off the mountain. When the silhouette of the wooden tower finally loomed against the night sky, it looked entirely abandoned. No lights, no movement.
"Arthur?" Julian called out, his voice swallowed by the wind.
They climbed the rotting wooden steps, the wood groaning in protest. Clara pushed the heavy trapdoor upward and hoisted herself into the main observation deck. The room was freezing, smelling of dust and pine needles.
Julian swept his flashlight across the small space. "He's not here."
But Clara noticed the details. In the corner sat a cooler, perfectly pristine and out of place in the derelict cabin. Next to it were the remnants of the catering order she had packed—wrappers of cured meat and a half-eaten loaf of sourdough.
"He was here," Clara said, kneeling beside a small, makeshift desk constructed from a wooden pallet. Spread across it were topographical maps of the state border, a burner phone with its battery removed, and a stack of financial documents heavily redacted with black marker.
"Look at this," Julian said, picking up a photograph pinned to the wall. It was a picture of Arthur, but he looked older, exhausted. Beside him stood a man Clara recognized instantly—it was the local sheriff, Sheriff Brody.
"Why does he have a picture of the Sheriff?" Clara asked, a knot tightening in her stomach.
Before Julian could answer, the crunch of gravel echoed from the access road far below. Clara rushed to the window, peering down through the fog. A pair of heavy, duty-issued headlights was cutting through the trees, parking right behind Julian’s SUV.
A spotlight flared to life, sweeping up the mountain and hitting the watchtower, blinding them for a split second.
"Get down!" Julian hissed, pulling Clara to the floor.
Over the distant roar of an engine, a megaphone crackled to life, echoing ominously through the valley. "Julian Pendelton. Clara Hayes. This is Sheriff Brody. You are trespassing on condemned property. Come down with your hands empty."
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Clara looked at Julian, panic rising in her throat. "The Sheriff... he's in on it. He's the one who rigged the casket."
"And now he's found us," Julian whispered grimly. He grabbed Arthur's burner phone and the redacted documents, shoving them into his jacket pocket. "We can't go down those stairs. If we do, we're not making it back to town."
