The emergency clinic was located in Zone C of the airport, at the opposite end from the waiting lounge in Zone A, the two areas sitting at either extreme of the terminal.
Old John ran the entire way with the baby in his arms, finally reaching the emergency clinic. The doctor stationed there took the infant, gave her a quick examination, then came to a baffled conclusion with a puzzled look on his face. “There’s nothing wrong with the child. She’s very healthy.”
“How is that possible? Everly has never spit up milk like this before!”
Old John refused to believe the doctor and urged him to examine Everly again.
However—heaven be merciful—Everly really had just spit up milk. No matter how many times they checked, the doctor maintained that she did not need to be hospitalized or given any medication. The two talked past each other for quite a while. By the time Old John was finally convinced and picked up the baby, ready to return to the waiting lounge, it was already too late.
They had missed the flight.
The good news was that the suitcase Old John had left in the waiting area had clearly been rummaged through, but since the contents were so worthless, nothing had been stolen.
After repacking the suitcase, Old John held the baby and slumped into a chair in the waiting lounge for a while.
After running back and forth all morning, even a man of iron would be exhausted—let alone someone in his sixties, long past the days of boundless energy.
After resting for a bit, the old man, holding the girl in one arm and the luggage in the other, was just about to leave the waiting lounge and head to the ticket counter to rebook a flight when suddenly, a deafening explosion sounded from outside the window. Old John spun around in shock and saw a dazzling burst of fire rise into the sky not far away.
It was a plane that had just taken off.
Orange-red flames, wrapped in thick black smoke, tore through the fuselage and erupted from the middle of the cabin, turning the sky a blazing red. The silver-white aircraft struggled to circle in the air for a moment, but in the end it could not hold on. Like something made of paper, it spun rapidly and came crashing down.
“Boom!”
When the aircraft hit the ground, it triggered an even more violent explosion. Amid the thunderous roar and blazing fireball, scorching shockwaves shattered the glass wall of the waiting lounge. As people screamed, tens of thousands of glass shards turned into razor-sharp blades, shooting straight toward those inside.
Old John reacted instantly. Holding Everly, he dropped into a crouch and yanked a nearby suitcase and chair in front of them, shielding them both.
After the explosion came chaos like never before.
Screams, sobs, and panicked crowds were everywhere. People ran like headless flies, slamming into railings and guard booths, shoving aside security personnel who were trying to maintain order, desperate to flee outside at all costs. Crowds surged in from every area into the main terminal. Compared with the massive number of passengers, the exits were far too narrow. Panic and congestion led to stampedes—many people who hadn’t been injured in the explosion were instead knocked down while fleeing, losing their lives to crushing, suffocation, and trampling.
Old John still held Everly. She was far too small, and he didn’t dare join the surging crowds.
While everyone else rushed toward the main hall, he followed the airport’s posted evacuation map and found another concealed exit far from the terminal. From there, he left the airport, which was filled with wails and cries.
It wasn’t until that evening, when he received a call from the FBI, that Old John learned the truth: the plane that had exploded earlier that day was the very flight he had missed.
As the only survivor of the flight, he was asked to go to the bureau to cooperate with the investigation. However, because Everly was unwell, Old John’s attention remained fixed on his granddaughter the entire time. He noticed nothing unusual, and the police were unable to obtain any useful information from him.
As for Everly—the only one who knew that the explosion was connected to the heretical cult—she was still far too young to speak.
The cultist had not boarded the plane and most likely had not died. Fearing further entanglement, Everly decided to treat the incident as a secret and bury it deep in her heart.
…
After several rounds of questioning and investigation, Old John was cleared of all suspicion and finally released.
The incident left him deeply distrustful of Masri Airport’s security. Once he left the bureau, Old John took Everly onto a long-distance bus, traveling through several transfers to another city with an airport. From there, he boarded a plane back to Dwight State.
It wasn’t until the aircraft landed smoothly and his feet touched the solid concrete of his hometown that the weight on his heart finally lifted.
After leaving the airport, the grandfather and granddaughter took a short rest. They had planned to continue by long-distance bus back to Micano City, but unexpectedly ran into one of Old John’s former colleagues from his days working at the police department.
Before retiring, Old John had served as a detective with the Dwight State Police. Law enforcement in the United States follows a three-tier structure—federal, state, and city/county. City and county police departments mainly handle daily law enforcement and community safety, while state police are directly overseen by the state government and usually deal with tasks such as highway patrols, traffic accidents, and coordinating cross-district cases, often requiring fieldwork.
This colleague of Old John’s was on just such an assignment. His name was Mike, a man in his forties with an average build, brown hair and brown eyes, a beard, and an easy, talkative demeanor. Accompanying him was Sharon, a newly recruited female officer at the department. It was their first time partnering up. They had been assigned to investigate a case involving the serial disappearance of women and were on their way to the scene.
The disappearances had occurred near U.S. Route 34, which connects Dwight State and Sunlia State. The drive there happened to pass right by Old John’s home.
After chatting for a bit, both sides quickly agreed. At Mike’s enthusiastic invitation, Old John, holding Everly, accepted a reassuringly safe ride in the police car. After a bumpy afternoon journey, the vehicle crossed the towering Iramore Mountains, passed through the vast Rocky Mountain region, and finally, at dusk, arrived in front of a small gas station.
They had reached Old John’s home.
…
In the southern part of Micano City, there are two state highways: SR-387 and SR-466.
These two roads intersect in a cross shape. SR-387 runs north–south, linking the urban area of Micano City with the famous Lemot Great Desert of Dwight State, and is a mandatory route for anyone traveling to the desert. SR-466 runs east–west: to the west, it leads to the mountain trails on the southern slopes of the Iramore Mountains, while to the east it connects with Saint Mona City, the easternmost city in Dwight State.
The US-34 highway that Mike and his partner were heading to investigate begins, on its western end, in Saint Mona City.
As a local resident, Old John was very familiar with the surrounding area. He knew that starting from the gas station and driving straight along SR-466, it would take at least five more hours to reach Saint Mona City. Along the way, there was only one place to stop and rest—a shabby roadside motel.
“Old Jones’s Motel is filthy and run-down, crawling with rats and bedbugs. It’s really not a place fit to stay,” he advised seriously. “If you don’t mind, why don’t you stay at my place for the night and set off again tomorrow?”
Mike thought it over for a moment, then nodded in agreement.
The three of them then divided up the tasks. Sharon, the female officer, was a newcomer—and a woman—so she was assigned to look after the baby, Everly. Taking advantage of the time, Old John tied on an apron and went into the kitchen to prepare dinner.
Mike had intended to help Old John, but the old man stopped him.
“You have other things to do. You’ve got a long drive tomorrow,” he said. “SR-466 hasn’t been properly maintained for years—some sections are full of potholes and loose gravel. Before you leave, make sure you fill up the gas tank and check the engine and tires… Oh, and the supermarket sells tire patches and sealant. Pick some up and keep them in the car, just in case you get a flat halfway there.”
Old John gave his instructions with meticulous care.
“Oh, John, have mercy… After all these years, I still can’t escape your nagging,” Mike said, raising both hands in surrender.
He and Old John were very close. Back when Mike had first joined the force, Old John had partnered with him for a time. As a result, their relationship was part mentor, part friend—exceptionally close.
Old John put on a stern face, lifted a cleaning rag, and made a shooing motion. Mike immediately turned around and scurried off to the car, obediently starting the inspection just as Old John had instructed.
After being away for a while, the refrigerator was completely empty, and there had been no time to buy fresh ingredients.
Old John fetched a few cans from the neighboring supermarket, heated them up in bowls, then made a thick soup by cooking corn kernels with butter and bacon. Paired with freshly baked bacon and slices of bread from the oven, he managed to throw together a passable dinner.
After hours of bumpy travel, all three adults were ravenous. The food on the table was quickly wiped out. Judging by everyone’s satisfied expressions, Old John’s cooking was quite good. Everly felt that her future self probably wouldn’t have to worry about “bland white-people food” being too hard to swallow at home.
It’s worth mentioning that after the meal, Officer Sharon improvised a baby food for Everly using potatoes and egg yolk mixed with yogurt—a lump that looked somewhat like vomit. Sharon had a little brother who had just turned two, and apparently this was the same recipe he’d eaten during his baby-food stage.
Even though the mash looked odd, it was a rare new food beyond formula. Everly ate it happily, smacking her lips and opening her mouth wide, polishing off the entire bowl in just a few bites.
There was no television in Old John’s house. After dinner, the three adults sat around the table and passed the time with card games. As they played, they chatted about this and that, and before long, the conversation inevitably drifted to the task Mike was on for this trip.
Mike had a lot of pent-up resentment about the assignment.
“…Honestly, missing-person cases are just far too common. On this land of America, hundreds—if not thousands—of people go missing almost every day: runaways, abductions, murders… The missing-person files at the department are practically piled into mountains, and each year only two or three cases get solved. Normally, something this minor wouldn’t warrant involving the state police, but this time it’s different. There are simply too many missing people. Can you imagine it? In just three months, in several small towns around U.S. Route 34, there have been five reported disappearances—and every single missing person is a young woman!”
“That sounds like a serial offender.”
“Exactly. Thanks to these cases, the entire highway corridor is on edge. Young women in Saint Mona City don’t even dare go out casually anymore. The department has been flooded with complaints, and so—as you can see—Sharon and I were unlucky enough to be sent out here… By the way, John, you’ve got more experience than I do. What’s your take on these cases?”
Old John lowered his head and thought for a moment, then said, “To carry out this many cases in such a short time without being discovered, the perpetrator is either a professional gang or a highly skilled, naturally criminal individual with strong counter-surveillance abilities. The first possibility is unlikely. If such an organized crime group had appeared, the local underworld would have heard about it long ago. So I’m more inclined to believe there’s only one perpetrator, acting alone.”
As he spoke, he took a notepad and began to sketch and jot things down.
“All of the disappearances occurred around Route 34, so the perpetrator’s occupation may be related to the highway. I think you should focus on freight truck drivers who travel this route—they have vehicles and cargo compartments capable of hiding people, making them prime suspects. I recall that parts of Route 34 are tolled. Ask the management authority for a list of vehicles that passed through, then narrow it down to drivers who experienced major upheavals in their personal lives about three months ago. With a bit of luck, the killer might be among them.”
Mike asked, “A major upheaval in their personal life three months ago?”
“That’s right. The missing-person cases began three months ago. Before that, nothing similar had ever happened around Route 34. That suggests the killer was likely restrained by some kind of force in the past—perhaps under someone’s control, or deprived of freedom in some way. Then, three months ago, for certain reasons, that restraining force disappeared. Freed from those shackles, the perpetrator cautiously committed the first crime. By stripping others of their rights, his sense of self swelled; he experienced intense gratification. He quickly became addicted to that feeling, and before long, the second and third cases followed…”
“I don’t quite understand,” the female officer joined the discussion. “Why do you assume the perpetrator only began committing crimes because some kind of restraint was lifted?”
“Because the disappearances are happening too frequently,” Old John replied. “At this pace, the perpetrator is clearly enjoying the crimes. He’s a congenital antisocial personality. People like that don’t refrain from crime because they respect the law—if they don’t offend, it’s only because they’re unable to. In other words, they’re being restrained…”
The three of them went back and forth, seriously analyzing the case.
There were quite a few professional terms used in the conversation, but Everly had been living in this world for over seven months now, and her English had improved by leaps and bounds. She was no longer the illiterate baby she’d once been. She could understand about ninety percent of what they were saying, and even when she ran into an unfamiliar word, she could usually guess its meaning from the context.
—Out-of-town investigators, a highway plagued by frequent disappearances, young women vanishing without a trace, a group of truck drivers who might be hiding the culprit among them…
For some reason, Everly found the combination oddly familiar, as if she’d heard a similar story somewhere before. But when she tried to recall it carefully, she couldn’t remember where.
Mm… never mind. No point overthinking it—she’d just keep listening to the story.
With that thought, the baby sucked on her fingers and rolled over on the sofa.