Chapter 13 – The Red Room
01:56
The reinforced door groaned under the pressure of the hydraulic spreader.
Steel screamed.
Bolts snapped one by one.
"Again!" Detective Collins ordered.
The rescue team pushed harder.
With a deafening crack, the lock gave way.
The door swung inward.
The room beyond was unlike anything they had expected.
Its walls were painted a faded red, but not with fresh paint. Layers of peeling color covered decades of repairs.
Bright overhead lights illuminated a spotless medical bed.
Cabinets lined one wall.
Shelves held children's books, toys, and neatly folded blankets.
It looked less like a prison...
...and more like someone had tried to make one look like a bedroom.
In the far corner, curled beneath a blanket, was a small boy.
He couldn't have been older than five.
His knees were pulled tightly against his chest.
He didn't look up when the officers entered.
Collins slowly knelt several feet away.
"Hi."
"My name is Sarah."
"We're police."
The boy whispered without raising his head.
"You're too late."
Daniel's voice crackled over Collins' radio from the surface.
"We lost him."
"The SUV escaped."
Collins closed her eyes for one brief moment.
"Understood."
She looked back at the little boy.
"Are you Noah?"
A tiny nod.
"Can you walk?"
Another pause.
"My leg hurts."
A paramedic immediately rushed forward.
After a quick examination, she looked at Collins.
"No obvious fracture."
"He looks malnourished and dehydrated."
"We need to move."
01:12
The countdown continued.
One deputy searched the room.
"There has to be something."
He opened cabinet after cabinet.
Medical supplies.
Blank forms.
Disposable gloves.
Nothing identifying.
Then another officer noticed a thick binder lying on a desk.
Its cover bore no title.
Inside...
Page after page.
Photographs.
Children.
Names.
Ages.
Dates.
Some pages were stamped TRANSFERRED.
Others read RELEASED.
Several were marked simply:
FAILED
The room fell silent.
Collins carefully turned another page.
Then another.
Halfway through the binder...
She stopped.
A familiar face stared back at her.
Leo.
Age six.
Photo taken the day he disappeared.
Underneath, typed in black ink:
Subject 27
Daniel Alvarez.
High family attachment score.
Recovery probability: High
Status:
Observation Incomplete
Collins felt a chill.
This hadn't been random.
Someone had been studying the children.
Studying the families.
00:48
The lights flickered violently.
A computerized voice echoed once again.
"Evacuation window closing."
The deputy monitoring the generator shouted from the hallway.
"The explosives are tied to the power system!"
"Can you stop them?"
"I'm trying!"
His fingers raced across the control panel.
Suddenly, the countdown on the wall froze.
00:41
Everyone held their breath.
Then—
The numbers disappeared.
Relief swept through the room.
Until another screen illuminated.
A different timer.
Much shorter.
00:30
"What is that?" Collins demanded.
The technician's face drained of color.
"That's not the facility timer."
"It's... localized."
"Localized where?"
He looked directly at the Red Room.
Before he could answer, Noah suddenly screamed.
"No!"
Everyone turned toward him.
The little boy pointed beneath the medical bed.
"He put it there!"
A deputy dropped to the floor with a flashlight.
His face went pale.
"There’s a device."
A compact explosive, wired to the bed frame.
Its display matched the wall.
00:21
Collins didn't hesitate.
"Get the children out!"
As officers grabbed Noah and sprinted toward the door...
The bomb continued counting down.
20...
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19...
18...
