THE MENDEL INHERITANCE

The Hunt Begins

Branches whipped across Ethan's face.

He didn't feel them.

Adrenaline had numbed everything—the cuts, the exhaustion, the fear.

Behind him, lights swept the forest. Dogs barked. Men shouted.

"Split up! He can't have gone far!"

Ethan ducked behind a fallen log. Pressed his body into the mud.

His heart pounded so loud he was sure they'd hear it.

Flashlight beams passed overhead. Close. Too close.

"He went this way!"

Footsteps crashed through the undergrowth.

Ethan held his breath.

A boot landed inches from his hand.

Then moved on.

The footsteps faded.

Ethan waited. Counted to sixty. Then crawled out from behind the log.

The forest was dark. No moon. No stars. Just blackness and the occasional glimpse of light in the distance.

He had no map. No phone signal. No weapon.

Just survival.

He stood up. Chose a direction. Walked.

---

The gas station was three miles away.

Ethan knew because he'd seen the signs on his way in. But in the dark, without a road, distance meant nothing.

He walked for an hour. Maybe two.

The sounds of the search faded behind him. The lights disappeared.

But he didn't stop.

Couldn't stop.

If they caught him, they'd lock him in the Quiet Room. Or worse.

His father was proof of "worse."

Finally, headlights appeared ahead.

A road.

Ethan stumbled onto the shoulder. Looked left. Right.

No cars. No guards. Just asphalt and trees.

He recognized the road. The same one he'd driven to reach the Facility.

The gas station was half a mile east.

He walked.

---

The bell dinged when he pushed through the door.

The counter man looked up. His eyes widened.

"You again."

"I need a phone."

"You look like hell."

"I feel like hell."

The man slid a phone across the counter. "Use mine. The payphone eats quarters."

Ethan dialed Marcus.

Two rings. Three. Four.

Voicemail.

"Marcus, it's Ethan. I'm out. But things are worse than I thought. My father is alive. They're keeping him in the basement. I need help. Real help. Call me back."

He hung up.

The counter man handed him a bottle of water. "Drink."

Ethan drank.

"Sit," the man said. "You're shaking."

Ethan sat on a plastic chair by the window.

Outside, the parking lot was empty. The road was dark.

"What's your name?" Ethan asked.

"Henry."

"Henry, the woman who came through here three years ago. Elena. Did she say anything else? Anything about where she was going?"

Henry leaned on the counter. Thought.

"She said something about a tunnel. Under the facility. Said it was the only way in and out without being seen."

"I know the tunnel."

"She also said there was someone on the inside. A woman. With a keycard that opened everything."

Charlotte.

"She said that woman was going to help her escape. But then the call changed everything."

"The call from Liam?"

Henry nodded. "She talked to him. Got angry. Said something like 'You promised you'd leave with me.' Then she hung up and walked back."

Ethan processed this.

Liam had known Elena was trying to escape. Had known she was waiting for him.

And he'd never come.

Why?

"Did she mention any names? A child? Nora?"

Henry shook his head. "Just the woman with the keycard. And a man named Peter. Said he was the only one she trusted."

Peter.

Of course.

Peter had been helping people escape for years.

And now Peter was free. Hopefully.

Ethan's phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

They know you're at the gas station. Get out. Now.

He stood up. "Henry, I need to go."

"Where?"

"Anywhere but here."

He ran out the back door.

---

The forest swallowed him again.

But this time, he had a direction.

North. Away from the Facility. Toward the highway.

If he could reach the highway, he could hitch a ride. Get to a town. Find a police station.

But the trees were thick. The ground was uneven.

And somewhere behind him, headlights appeared on the road.

Facility vehicles. Black SUVs. No markings.

They pulled into the gas station.

Ethan watched from the tree line.

Four men got out. Uniforms. Flashlights.

They talked to Henry. Pointed toward the forest.

Then they started walking.

Toward Ethan.

He ran.

---

The chase was different this time.

No dogs. No searchlights.

Just four men with flashlights, moving methodically through the trees.

They weren't running. They didn't need to.

They knew the terrain. Knew where he'd go.

Ethan realized why.

The Facility had tracking devices. Bracelets for residents. But Ethan wasn't wearing a bracelet.

Unless...

He stopped. Checked his pockets.

His phone. The prepaid phone he'd bought at the gas station.

Had it been compromised?

He didn't know. Couldn't risk it.

He threw the phone into a bush. Kept running.

---

The highway appeared at 3 AM.

Four lanes. Empty. No cars in either direction.

Ethan climbed over the guardrail. Stood on the shoulder.

He needed a ride. Anyone.

Minutes passed. Nothing.

Then headlights. Eastbound.

A semi-truck.

Ethan stepped onto the road. Waved his arms.

The truck slowed. Pulled over.

The driver rolled down the window. Older man. Gray beard. Baseball cap.

"You lost, son?"

"Something like that. Need a ride. Anywhere away from here."

The driver looked at Ethan's torn clothes. Muddy face. Bleeding scratches.

"Get in."

Ethan climbed into the passenger seat.

The truck rumbled back onto the highway.

"Name's Carl. Where you headed?"

"Portland."

"That's four hours."

"I know."

Carl glanced at Ethan. "You in some kind of trouble?"

"Not anymore."

They drove in silence.

---

Ethan watched the rearview mirror.

No headlights following.

No black SUVs.

Maybe he was safe.

Maybe.

His mind raced.

His father was alive. In a coma. Being used as a battery.

Nora was a prisoner. A weapon.

Liam had lied about Elena. Or at least, hadn't told the whole truth.

Charlotte had a keycard that opened everything.

Peter was on the run.

And the voice behind the static was getting louder.

"What's that?" Carl asked.

"What?"

"The sound. Like static. Coming from you."

Ethan's blood went cold.

"You can hear it?"

"Faint. Like a radio between stations. You got something in your pocket?"

Ethan checked his pockets. Empty.

The static was in his head.

Nora had unlocked something. The memories. The Frequency.

He was Receiving.

"I don't hear anything," Ethan lied.

Carl shrugged. "Must be the truck's radio."

But Ethan knew the truth.

The Frequency was real.

And it was inside him.

---

They reached Portland at 7 AM.

Carl dropped him near a bus station.

"You take care of yourself, son."

"You too."

Ethan walked to a diner. Ordered coffee. Sat in a booth.

His reflection in the window looked like a ghost.

He needed a plan.

First: find Liam. Nora said Liam knew where the surgical kit was. The one that could remove her bracelet.

But Liam was still at the Facility. Probably under surveillance.

Second: find Charlotte. Her keycard could get him back inside.

But Charlotte was also being watched.

Third: find Peter. Make sure he was safe.

Marcus had sent help. Hopefully.

Ethan pulled out his wallet. Found a scrap of paper with Marcus's home number.

He used the diner's payphone.

This time, Marcus answered.

"Ethan. Where are you?"

"Portland. Bus station diner."

"Stay there. I'm coming."

"Marcus, I need more than a ride. I need a team."

"A team for what?"

"To break into a maximum-security facility and rescue half a dozen people."

Silence.

"You're crazy."

"Probably. But I'm also right."

Marcus sighed. "I know some people. Off the books. Dangerous people."

"Send them."

"Meet me at my office. Noon. Don't be late."

The line went dead.

Ethan hung up.

---

At 11 AM, he walked into a thrift store.

Bought clean clothes. Jeans. A hoodie. Boots.

Used the bathroom to wash his face and hands.

His eyes stared back from the mirror.

Different than before.

Harder.

Older.

He'd seen his father in a coma. Seen Nora's white eyes. Heard the static.

He wasn't the same person who'd answered that phone call three days ago.

At 11:45, he walked to Marcus's office.

The building was old. Brick. A sign on the door: "Webb Investigations – Private."

Marcus was waiting inside.

He was in his fifties. Bald. Stocky. A former journalist who'd been blacklisted for exposing a corrupt politician.

Now he ran a small PI firm. Mostly divorce cases. Occasionally something interesting.

"Sit," Marcus said.

Ethan sat.

"You look like hell."

"You said that already."

"Now I mean it."

Marcus poured two glasses of whiskey. Pushed one across the desk.

"You're sure about this? Your father is alive?"

"I saw him, Marcus. Tubes. Machines. White eyes."

"White eyes?"

"Like Nora's. They're both Receivers."

Marcus drank his whiskey.

"I made some calls. People who owe me favors. One of them is a hacker. Can get into the Facility's systems. Disable cameras. Unlock doors."

"That's good."

"Another is a former military extraction specialist. Done this kind of thing before."

"How many people?"

"Three. You, me, the hacker, the specialist. And whoever you bring from inside."

Ethan shook his head. "You're not coming, Marcus."

"The hell I'm not."

"This isn't your fight."

"Your father was my friend. Before you were born. We went to college together. Drank beer. Chased women. He was the smartest person I ever knew."

Marcus's voice cracked.

"When he died, I didn't believe it either. But I was too scared to ask questions. Too comfortable. You're doing what I should have done."

He poured another whiskey.

"I'm coming. End of discussion."

Ethan nodded.

"Then we need a plan."

---

They worked through the afternoon.

Maps. Timelines. Entry points.

The hacker's name was Derek. Not the same Derek from the Facility. A different one. Young. Brilliant. Wore hoodies and never made eye contact.

The extraction specialist was a woman named Sonya. Late thirties. Muscular. Short hair. No small talk.

"Facility has thirty guards," Sonya said. "Twelve on night shift. Eighteen during the day."

"We go at night," Ethan said.

"Agreed. The hacker disables cameras and motion sensors. We enter through the service tunnel."

"You know about the tunnel?"

"Marcus told me."

Ethan looked at Marcus. He'd been thorough.

"Once inside, we split into two teams," Sonya continued. "Team One goes to Sub-Basement Three. Extract the girl and the father. Team Two creates a diversion on the upper floors."

"I want Team One," Ethan said.

"Obviously."

They worked out details. Backup plans. Emergency extraction routes.

By 6 PM, they had a framework.

By 8 PM, they had a date.

Tomorrow night.

"Get some sleep," Marcus said. "You'll need it."

Ethan nodded. Walked to the small cot in the corner of Marcus's office.

He lay down. Closed his eyes.

The static returned.

But this time, it wasn't just noise.

It was words.

Come back, Ethan.

I'm waiting.

Nora's voice.

Or something pretending to be Nora.

He wasn't sure anymore.