The group put an end to their grim discussions about the depravity they had encountered and found a hotel in Charlotte to rest for the night. The next day, they set off again, heading back along Interstate 77.
While the attack on the community church and the injuries sustained by Pastor Jennings attracted little public attention, the shootout involving CMPD officers made national headlines.
Three officers were killed, and five were injured, making it one of the most significant law enforcement shootouts in recent years. The Charlotte police chief, whom Jack and his team had met the day before, used a press conference to vent his frustration, lambasting the local judicial system for corruption.
He pointed out a familiar problem: while district attorneys, courts, jails, and bail bond companies all benefited from certain "gray areas" of the system, local police departments reaped no rewards. Instead, they bore the brunt of the risks and faced budget cuts due to artificially low prosecution rates.
The three slain officers included two correctional officers from the North Carolina Department of Public Safety and one CMPD officer. Two federal marshals were critically injured, and three other officers sustained minor wounds.
Predictably, the President—known for his red necktie—seized the opportunity to criticize his political opponents, blaming "soft-on-crime policies" while promoting his "more guns, less crime" philosophy.
As a staunch supporter of the NRA, the President naturally opposed any form of strict gun control. However, his administration's tough-on-crime stance had significantly bolstered law enforcement capabilities, even benefiting the FBI. The surge in law enforcement funding had curbed the wave of thefts and riots that had previously plagued the country.
Despite these measures, the broader economy remained stagnant, and the number of homeless people and streetwalkers continued to grow.
Later that evening, the team received word from Pennsboro, West Virginia. The sheriff's office there had found an abandoned old Lincoln sedan near a gas station. It was confirmed to be the car stolen from Pastor Jennings.
Jack's team immediately headed to Pennsboro, as did Jubal and Alice, who drove the command vehicle from Marietta to join them.
The Lincoln was parked in a quiet, decaying neighborhood. Its windows were smashed, and the car was covered in scratches. By the time Jack and his team arrived, Jubal was speaking with the local sheriff.
"What's going on with this neighborhood? It looks like a lot of people aren't home," Jubal asked.
"Most folks here couldn't keep up with their mortgage payments. They've left to work at the new coal mine nearby, hoping to make one last gamble," the sheriff replied, his expression heavy with resignation.
The neighborhood was a textbook example of a blue-collar community. Streets were neatly laid out, and the houses looked relatively new. Two decades ago, it could have been considered a middle-class area.
Back then, while it wasn't quite the golden age when a single factory job could support a family of four, the community had still enjoyed a modest, comfortable life.
"Things will get better," Jubal sighed.
"At least the coal mines are back in business, right? They've got to give us a break at some point," the sheriff shrugged, clearly referring to the banks pressing for payments.
Jack wasn't interested in the economic woes of the town. He was more concerned about the logistics of searching a sprawling neighborhood with over a hundred empty houses and roads that connected in all directions. To make matters worse, it was already dark, and the sheriff's office had only two patrol cars and four deputies available.
"Block the routes leading to the highway. Then, we'll search house by house, checking for signs of forced entry," Jack ordered. "Jubal and the sheriff, patrol the area in your cars and be ready to assist. Don't turn on the lights."
There wasn't much else they could do. Reinforcements from the nearest state police unit would take at least an hour to arrive, and by then, the trail could go cold.
This neighborhood exemplified the decline of the Rust Belt: economic downturns leading to unemployment, population flight, worsening crime, and aging infrastructure perpetuating the cycle.
"Don't use flashlights. Pair up for safety; no one works alone. If you find anything suspicious, call for backup immediately. Remember, Ronnie has a Colt revolver," Jack reminded everyone.
The command vehicle, with its communication mast fully extended, ensured radio coverage across the entire area. Each team member was equipped with an earpiece and instructed to check in every five minutes.
Although it wasn't particularly late—just past 10 PM—the neighborhood was eerily quiet. Only a handful of houses had lights on, and many streetlights were broken, giving the area a ghost-town vibe.
This was unusual. In the U.S., it's common for residents to leave porch lights on, even overnight, as a deterrent to burglars. Homes that appeared dark and abandoned often attracted squatters.
Jack and JJ paired up, both wearing bulletproof vests. Jack carried a Sig Sauer P320-XTen as his sidearm and a Noveske N4 rifle equipped with a night vision scope.
The two moved cautiously, inspecting the yards and doors of each house. They paid particular attention to properties that appeared neglected, knowing that Ronnie and Raelyn, for all their madness, still needed shelter, food, and rest.
The case had now drawn the attention of law enforcement in neighboring states. The attack on a pastor and the kidnapping of his granddaughter had turned this into a high-priority investigation, spurring action from local police who had received FBI alerts.
"A Team, Malcolm Circle, House 50, all clear," Jack reported for what felt like the hundredth time. The silence was oppressive, broken only by their periodic check-ins. Even the usual sounds of summer cicadas were absent, making the area feel like the set of a horror film.
"C Team, Malcolm Circle, House 61. We may have found something," came Aubrey's voice over the radio, immediately sharpening everyone's focus.
"We found signs of forced entry at the front door," Hannah added.
Jack and JJ exchanged a glance and moved quickly, cutting through the narrow alley between two houses toward C Team's location. Across the way, another flashlight beam flickered—Clay and a local deputy from B Team were also converging on the house.
"Help! Help!" A young girl's voice suddenly pierced the air, coming from C Team's direction. It was followed by Aubrey and Hannah shouting commands.
"Stop! FBI!"
"Emma? Wait!"
"Westbound! She's heading west!"
Jack and JJ rounded the corner just in time to see Aubrey and Hannah stumbling out of a backyard, tripping over scattered debris in the dark.
"Did you see her?" Jack asked, helping them to their feet.
Aubrey nodded, panting heavily. "It looked like her—Emma. Green hoodie with a hood."
Seeing they weren't injured, Jack turned and continued toward the fleeing figure, shouting into his radio, "Clay, she's heading toward your three o'clock!"
"Help! Help!" The voice rang out again as a small figure darted from behind a house and into another backyard.
Jack vaulted a fence with ease, weaving through narrow passages. His flashlight beam finally caught the fleeing figure, confirming she wore a green hoodie. However, something about her gait seemed off.
"Careful! That might not be Emma!" Jack warned, but before he could say more, Clay emerged from a side angle like a predator, tackling the figure to the ground.
In one swift move, Clay pinned her down, wrenching her arm behind her back. A spring-loaded knife clattered to the ground.
Jack approached and pulled back the hood, revealing short brown hair. "It's Raelyn. Emma's still with Ronnie!"
(End of Chapter)
[Get +20 Extra Chapters On — P@tr3on "Mutter"]
[Every 50 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter Drop]
[Thanks for Reading!]