The Call from the Summit
James ran until his lungs felt like they were filled with fire and a metallic taste of blood coated his tongue. He only stopped when he reached a high, rocky crest. Gasping for air, he pulled his smartphone from his pocket. Just as he feared, there was zero reception in the valley.
He had to scramble up the jagged rocks to the very peak of the hill, risking a dangerous fall, just to get a single, fluctuating bar of cellular service. With trembling, dirt-caked fingers, he dialed 911.
The 911 dispatcher initially treated his frantic ramblings about a “secret doorless bunker” and “thousands of servers in the woods” with understandable skepticism. However, the genuine terror in James’s voice and the highly precise GPS coordinates he provided forced her to initiate standard protocols.
“Stay exactly where you are, sir,” the dispatcher ordered, her tone shifting to strict professionalism. “Under no circumstances are you to return to that structure or attempt contact. Help is on the way.”
The wait felt like an eternity. James sat on a cold boulder, jumping at every snapped twig, half-expecting the owner of that voice to step out of the treeline. But just thirty minutes later, the silence was ripped apart by the heavy thumping of rotor blades.
A police helicopter circled low over the treetops, kicking up a storm of yellow leaves. Shortly after, a convoy of black, armored SUVs rumbled to the base of the hill, deploying a heavily armed tactical unit.
