Years had passed since Gaby's singing filled the house's walls; now every morning the only sound was the drone of the heater and the flicker of the lights.

  Ines would trace the dust on our girl's empty bed, a ritual that had started as a desperate hope, now etched into the fabric of their days. Then, when weeks turned to months without a word of where she was, Ines began to sleep in Gaby’s bed, holding her stuffed bear as if it were our daughter. I'd sit beside her in the quiet, remembering stories I'd read to Gaby when she was scared.

  Ines would watch the old television screen, the commentator's face filling the frame as he spewed the same bullshit over and over. “These ‘errants’ are a blight, a drain on our society, a danger to our real children. We are protecting the nation by securing it.” Ines flinched every time he said 'real children,' her hand pressing the stuffed bear, as if it were Gaby herself.

  We'd stood on those cold Capitol steps, chanting, holding faded photographs, our voices raw. We'd written letters, made endless calls, and appeared on every talk show that would have us. Each plea hit the same wall: indifference, misdirection, or condemnation. We weren’t grieving parents anymore; we were ‘radical elements,’ ‘disruptors,’ ‘threats to national security.’

  Even we, who were seen as victims of Midwich, were cast out as pariahs the moment we wouldn't play their game. When our pleas grew too insistent for their sterile halls, they were spun as propaganda, our grief reframed as sedition. Any rational voice is drowned out by conspiracy theories and labels.

  Outside, CORE sirens blared, followed by distant screams of people being dragged from their homes. I wondered where all these 'real' kids were? Because all I saw were the ones they took. Maybe that asshole was talking about those curated faces on the CORE commercials.

  One day, Silas called me out of the blue. We had crossed paths during one of our group gatherings—activists determined to keep tabs on CORE, to document their abuses as they tore through our communities and took our children.

  But this call was different. "I need you to come alone," Silas said, his tone low and urgent." I'll meet you in a small town in southern Colorado. There's something only you can do, but it can't involve anyone else." Even through the phone, I could feel a shift, a prickle of unease that tightened my chest. Silas, usually measured, held a tremor of something I couldn't quite place...

  I didn't tell Ines. I couldn't. Not this time. Ines had a way of showing her fear, her anger, her fierce protectiveness. It was often a storm of words, a tangible presence of worry that could feel overwhelming, but it was a storm I knew how to weather. This was different. This was a precipice, and I couldn't drag her to the edge with me.

  If I told her, if I let her see the true danger I was walking into, she wouldn't have just argued; she would have tried to follow, to shield me in a way that would have put us both in danger. Her instinct to protect, usually a comforting anchor, felt like a potential disaster waiting to happen if unleashed on this particular path.

  Carrying this alone was the only way to keep her safe, even if it meant carrying the weight of her eventual hurt and anger. It was a calculated risk, a choice between her immediate pain and a potentially catastrophic shared fate.

  I packed light and left under the cover of dawn, heading to the unknown. This wasn't just a drive; it was a plunge into a fight that demanded everything, fueled by the sliver of hope that I could bring my girl home.

  The drive from eastern California to southern Colorado stretched ahead—more than ten hours of road. Each mile pulled me further from the life I knew, drawing me closer to a fight I couldn't ignore. It was the kind of journey that bled from one day to the next, pushing through the vast emptiness of Arizona as the miles unspooled.

  I watched as the landscape shifted from arid plains to painted deserts. A single, silent plea echoed in the confines of my mind: Get me closer to her. Each mile forward felt like a step deeper into danger, yet it also brought me closer to the hope that maybe, just maybe, this was the fight that could bring Gaby back to us.

  Eventually, the road won its battle against my will. My eyelids felt like they were lined with sandpaper, the road ahead blurring into white lines as my body felt like it was dissolving into the driver's seat.

  I pulled into a motel, its neon sign a broken promise against the bruised twilight sky, a skeletal outline with a single, flickering red letter mocking the darkness. The cracked asphalt was completely weed-choked. I killed the engine. The silence rushed in, heavy and absolute, broken only by the distant growl of the highway and the faint, insistent hum of the motel's ancient air conditioner.

  I was practically stumbling on the way to the office; the air inside was thick with the ghosts of a thousand stale cigarettes and a chemical cleaner that couldn't quite erase the scent of long-gone meals. In front of me, a man behind the counter fumbled with a worn ledger.

  "Just you?" he asked, his voice raspy and devoid of any real interest, his face etched with a weariness that seemed to predate the current era.

  Before I could answer, an old woman, presumably his wife, burst in from a back room, her eyes bright with an almost startling excitement. “Darling! Did you see? The couple in room seven! They have a child with them!"

  The man’s expression shifted, a flicker of surprise, then something akin to wonder. "A child? Really?"

  "Yes! A little boy, I think. So quiet—not like he's an..." She stammered out, turning to me to cast a weary eye. "You know, just a shy boy." The woman gestured vaguely, a knowing look passing between them.

  I paused, feeling a strange prick of unease as the words caught in my throat.

  Children were rare enough these days, especially ones who weren't labeled "errant" by CORE. The thought of a family with a child, not under the watchful, predatory eye of the authorities, was almost unthinkable. I wondered what kind of people would risk bringing a child into a world like this, or if this child was somehow special, somehow safe from the pervasive reach of CORE's purges.

  I shook the thought away and paid for the cheapest room, the woman's excited whisper about the child echoing in my ears as I headed to my own quiet, solitary space.

  As I entered the worn room, my legs buckled, and I crashed headfirst into the mattress. But as my weight settled, my phone vibrated against my thigh.

  It was Ines. The knot on my chest tightened a bit. I'd left her a note explaining I had to leave, not where. It was meant to keep her from worrying when she found the house empty, and now her name on the screen felt like judgment. A reminder of what I'd done.

  "Tomas. Where are you? I found the note. You just…left!? Under the cover of dawn, without a word to me!? After everything… and you just vanished!?" Her voice cut through the motel room's stale air.

  "Ines, I'm sorry," I said, swallowing hard. "I had to come alone." The weight of her words pressed down. "You can't be part of this," I repeated, the words feeling flat, another reminder of the space between us.

  "You're sorry, that's it!?" Her voice cracked, the words a frantic mix of anger and panic.

  "I woke up to an empty house, not knowing where the hell you were, not knowing if they... if they took you too!" She choked on the words, the thought of CORE snatching parents who were too vocal echoing in her mind. "After all we've been through, and all you can say is 'sorry,' and 'you can't be part of this'?" She spat the last part out, her imitation of my voice laced with bitter scorn.

  "It's… dangerous. But I'm doing this for us. For her." The plastic of the phone dug into my palm.

  I heard her catch her breath. "If you're doing this for her, then you'd better come back. Because if you don't, I don't know how I'll keep going."

  "You'll have to," I said softly. My arm felt rigid, the phone cold and heavy against my ear. "Someone has to be there when Gaby comes back."

  My words hung between us, silence stretching for a moment.

  "Just promise me you'll come back, Tomas. Promise me."

  "I'm tired, Ines. I need to sleep." I swallowed hard as I heard her cry.

  "We'll talk more tomorrow."

  The phone thudded onto the mattress as a heavy sigh escaped me. Tears pricked at my eyes, and for a moment, I didn't fight them.

  Gabriela's scream ripped through the night air. My body reacted before my mind could catch up, practically launching me from the patrol car. Dunlap was at my heels as a cold, heavy mass compressed in my gut, stealing my breath with its sheer dread.

  The hum rattled my skull, but Gabriela's screams cut through it all, calling my name. Then the hum began to warp, morphing into the shrill wail of CORE sirens—newer than those on my old cruiser, warning of coming destruction.

  Inside the house, I could still hear my mija calling for me. I heard her cries of "Mama!" "Papa!" as she was dragged off by masked men. I thought of running to her, but then I remembered Midwich, I remembered Dunlap—and the cat.

  That's how it always was; I watched them take her.

  The siren pierced through the motel room, a raw, insistent sound that grew until it vibrated in my teeth. I jolted awake, slick with sweat and lungs burning from a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  My heart raced as the wail of CORE's sirens was indistinguishable from Gabriela's screams, the dream clinging to me like a second skin. I grabbed my old gun, its familiar weight a cold comfort.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  If they found me here, knew about Silas, it would cost everything—any chance of finding Gaby, any hope of fighting back.

  Peering through the peephole, the CORE sirens intensified outside, their wail punctuated by the harsh glare of searchlights sweeping the cracked asphalt.

  Shouting and the metallic clang of boots on pavement echoed. They weren't just passing through. Questions gnawed at me: Were they here for me? Did they already know? Had they wiretapped my conversations with Silas? With Ines?

  Staying put meant capture, meant losing any chance I had. It was time to move.

  With practiced speed, I checked my small duffel bag, ensuring the essentials were within reach. The motel room, moments ago a refuge, now felt like a trap.

  I needed to get out. Now. But how? The front door was too exposed. Glancing towards the window, the cheap blinds offered little concealment.

  I heard them smashing into the room just below me, the sound echoing through the thin floor.

  Screams followed, sharp and choked. The weak struggles of parents trying to shield their child were quickly overwhelmed by the brutal efficiency of the CORE operatives.

  I couldn't help but flinch as I heard the sickening thuds of rifle butts against bodies. The parents' cries turned to whimpers of pain and despair. They couldn't stop them. The child, the little boy I'd heard about earlier, screamed like a calf caught by a bear.

  I quickly hid my gun, tucking it deep into my bag. Being caught with it now meant losing any chance I had. Then I slipped out of my room, moving silently down the narrow walkway of the upper floor. From this vantage point, I could see it all with horrifying clarity.

  The CORE members, their faces hidden behind tactical masks, hauled the child. He was like an animal, his tiny legs kicking ineffectually as they dragged him towards the waiting black SUVs. The words "Containment and Order Reclamation Enforcement" were starkly emblazoned on the sides of the vehicles.

  The child's wails clawed at my ears. Each desperate plea for "Mom!" and "Dad!" is a phantom limb of when my daughter was snatched away. I felt the same chill in my chest I had felt when they took her.

  By then, more and more motel guests had come out to see what was happening. Some screamed, some jeered, some recorded. But all kept their distance. One man took a hesitant step forward, then recoiled, turning his whole body back as he was pepper-sprayed. Another couple, clutching each other, edged further into the shadows of their doorway.

  Stop, you're hurting him! He's just a child!" The words tore from the throat of an older woman, the wife of the receptionist, as she burst from the motel office. She was a small figure propelled by a force that defied her age. Her face was a raw canvas of shock, her breath hitching, her hands outstretched as if to take back the child.

  But one of the CORE members, a broad-shouldered and thick-necked man, slammed into her.

  The woman cried out as she was knocked off balance, hitting the cracked asphalt with a sickening thud.

  Her husband, the receptionist, rushed to her side. His face went slack with terror, his hands fumbling uselessly at her sides as he tried to lift her.

  The child kept crying for his parents as he was unceremoniously bundled into one of the SUVs. The doors slammed shut, sealing his cries within. For a moment, the wails seemed to hang in the air, a desperate, thin thread of sound, before being utterly consumed by the solid thud of the closing doors.

  My hands clenched into fists. The image of the child’s terrified face, the parents’ utter devastation, the old woman’s futile plea… I had a weapon; I could use it. But then, who would help my daughter? Who else could do what Silas needed?

  So in the end, like everyone else, I just watched. We always just watched.

  The drive through the high desert was vast and empty, cracked asphalt stretching for miles. The child's cries still echoed in the quiet of the car. I did all I could to ignore it and pushed forward. Gaby was still out there.

  Small towns like Tuba and Kayenta blurred past. Faded paint, towering rock formations, I watched them pass as I crossed into Colorado. Silas would be waiting there, among the pines, his urgent words running through my head.

  I pulled into a diner with a sign that said 'The Jicarilla Cafe'. It had a faded red-and-white awning. A white wooden fence enclosed the place. I rested a hand on the gate; the wood was chipped, its paint worn thin.

  The diner hummed faintly as I approached, its windows fogged with heat. As I opened the door, the air was thick with pine and a sweet, heavy scent.

  Inside, a waitress wiped down a counter worn smooth by years of use. I bought a cup of coffee and a pastry, then stepped outside.

  The mesas rose silently around me, their flat tops catching the early light. I walked as casually as I could, passing clusters of pines that offered shade. Still, I felt it—a low vibration in my teeth.

  Beneath a broad tree, Silas sat still on a weathered bench. Dappled shadows lay across the grass. He held the newspaper in front of him, a large, obvious barrier that nearly blocked his entire face. A paper cup, filled with coffee, rested beside him. A faint ring of condensation had formed around its base.

  I sat on the bench next to him. Silas didn't turn to look, his gaze fixed on the print, still and unblinking. But I could hear his bench creaking slightly.

  "I know where your daughter is." A low rumble vibrated through the bench.

  The sopapilla felt dry and brittle in my mouth, its remnants crumbling in my hand. I forced myself not to snatch the newspaper away.

  "Where…?" I managed, my voice low and ragged.

  Silas, wearing a worn brown coat, turned his head slightly, his narrow, steady eyes sweeping toward the mesas in front of him. "To the southwest, in the border between Colorado and New Mexico."

  "Then what are we doing here?" The words scraped out of my throat. My gaze stayed fixed on Silas, his face etched with faint lines around his mouth.

  "And do what, cut a fence? Thats a good way to get yourself shot." Silas turned his face towards me, his hands lowering the newspaper.

  "There has to be a way in…" I said, picturing myself slipping past guards, ducking beneath surveillance cameras.

  "Tomas, this place... is built below." He said, pointing to the dirt beneath his feet. "Its like a bunker, you can't just get it."

  I looked away, shaking my head slowly. This is going to be harder than I thought. Maybe I could find a forgotten service tunnel, or a maintenance hatch hidden from sight? Or perhaps a blind spot in the perimeter, a momentary lapse in their watchful eyes?

  Silas placed the newspaper on the wooden table. "Lucky for you," he said, a faint smile touching his lips. "I do have a way in."

  My gaze swept over Silas's face, searching. "Is that right? So what is it you have some mining operation I don't know about?" A sharp scoff escaped me.

  "They have a train. An underground one. That's the only way in or out." Silas’s voice was a low rumble.

  "A train. Right." I ran my hand through my hair, "and were are just going to hop on it."

  "That's right," Silas said, meeting my gaze.

  "I have a cleaning contract with the base." There was a subtle shift in his eyes, a flicker of something I couldn't decipher. "How else would I know your daughter is there?"

  A dry swallow caught in my throat, my gaze locking on Slas. "You're saying you have a way in... and you'd use it to get Gaby out?"

  "No."

  The word punched the air from my lungs.

  "Why would I risk exposing my only established access just to get one girl out? And even if I did, what then? Where would your daughter go? Eventually, she'll get caught, and we'll lose one of our only sources."

  “If you’re already inside… then why didn’t you do something sooner?" A high-pitched tremor ran through my voice. "What’s stopping you?" My eyes narrowed, holding Silas gaze, my jaw clenched so tight that my teeth ached.

  Silas's steady eyes revealed nothing. His arms were crossed tightly in front of him, hands fisted, his posture square and defensive on the bench.

  "What's stopping me?" His voice was a low rumble, making the hairs at the back of my neck prickle. "To act now would be to lose the source I've gained, and the digital proof I'm collecting that exposes their entire charade."

  He paused. Then he spoke faster and louder.

  Charging in, even for Gaby, would tip them off. They'd tighten security, move the children, or worse, change their entire operation. My access is too valuable. And then who would even know Gaby's there? Who would know about any of them?" His question was as dry and flat as the miles I crossed.

  Silas took a deliberate breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

  "My 'contract' is a shield, yes, but it's also a trap. I'm monitored constantly. Any deviation from my cleaning duties and they'll know immediately." Silas voice was softer now, slower, tinged with the patience Ines used when explaining to Gaby why she couldn't have a toy. "Guards and cameras monitor us from the moment we enter. We get in and out through an underground train that CORE controls."

  A small, mirthless smile played on Silas's lips. "How do you suggest we sneak your daughter out? Conceal her in a mop bucket and hope for the best?"

  "Then why did you call me here for?!" I barked, practically shoving myself off the bench. "Pinche pendejo..." I hissed under my breath as I walked away. I took a deep breath and looked at the mesas in the distance.

  From behind me, I heard the faint crunch of grass underfoot.

  "As I said, we're monitored constantly when we're inside. It's a sterile environment for those of us who are 'contracted'," Silas paused, letting his words sink in. "But the children... they're treated differently. It's almost like a twisted form of schooling."

  I felt the tension build in my arm as I balled my hand into a fist. The asshole wanted to use my girl as a spy! I could see it in his face, in his tone.

  The sterile environment he described for the "contracted" was a stark contrast to the "twisted schooling" his words painted for the children.

  "You... you want to use my daughter?" My voice cracked, each word a struggle against rising panic. "You brought me all this way, told me you knew where she was, just so I could help you turn my own daughter into a fucking pawn!?"

  "Tomas," Silas lowered his voice, his tone softening as he looked me in the eyes. "It's not about turning her into a pawn, it's about giving her a weapon. A way to fight back. If we can get a device to her, something undetectable, she can feed us information. Information that could expose them and, yes, change things. It's the only way to get her and the others out, potentially. To save them."

  "You're asking me to risk her like that? For your intel!?" My hand went to Sila's coat on its own, fingers digging into the rough fabric. I held his lapel tight as I moved closer, my voice low and guttural. "There has to be somebody else."

  Silas remained utterly still, his eyes fixed on my hand gripping his coat. "There is no one else, Tomas," he said, taking a slow breath as his gaze shifted, meeting mine directly. "Gaby is the only candidate we have. Her abilities make her uniquely suited for this, and I know you—her parent—and that trust is crucial.

  His hand took my grip on his lapel and gently released it. "Her electromagnetic abilities are precisely what we need to access those servers undetected. She's not a pawn; she's the key, a perfect fit for dismantling this charade and revealing the exploitation for what it is."

  I recoiled slightly. I looked down at my hand, then back at Silas. My hand, no longer gripping Silas's coat, felt strangely empty. "A perfect fit?" My words come out as a hiss. "She's my daughter, Silas, not some damn key!"

  Silas leaned forward, extending a hand as if to place it on my arm, but then, after looking into my eyes, he let it fall back to his side. "Tomas, you don't understand the environment she's in. Halden doesn't just 'take' children; they identify specific talents, like Gaby's, and change them. What they're doing to those children... It's an abomination."

  I paced for a moment, shaking my head. "What if I say no… what then?" I said, turning back to stare at Silas. "You get someone else? And I pretend I never heard this, never seeing my daughter again?"

  "If you say no, then nothing changes," Silas stated, offering a small shrug as his gaze locked on me, unblinking. "You go back to your wife. I keep watching every child, including your daughter. The suffering continues."

  Despite the twisting in my gut, I knew I couldn't turn away. Not this time.

  I couldn't go back home, watch Ines sweep Gaby's dusty bed, or endure another useless march, another tear shed for cameras that captured nothing but my brokenness, while my girl was out there, somewhere, lost. Not knowing if she's breathing, warm, or even okay.

  I was about to lie to the one man who might know the way to her, and I didn't care.

  I took a breath, forcing my shoulders to relax. I schooled my face into a carefully blank expression, settling into the impassive look I'd perfected during countless interrogations.

  "Fine... I'll help you," I conceded, the words tasting like ash. I wasn't about to help him put my daughter in harm's way. But it was the only way to find her. So I pretended to agree. I would figure something out once I was inside with her.

  "Your daughter is our only chance to expose that rot from within," Silas said with a nod. “We'll go to the next town over, Durango." His eyes scanned the mesas on the horizon. "From there, we will take the train to Halden."

  We started walking to our respective cars. The road ahead, Silas's summoned destination, felt like the point where my journey's weight, the motel's terror, and my hope to see Gaby might finally converge.