Riley Fitzgerald's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Riley Fitzgerald had tracked one name for eight months, and that name ended at this locked door. The facility sat low behind a wall of leaves and vines, built to look like a harmless garden shed. It was not. Behind that door was a room, and in that room was proof about the people she loved who died, and about the ones who killed them and still walked free. She had checked her research too many times to doubt it. But two guards stood at the entrance, and the lock needed a code she did not have. She crouched in the brush and counted. Both guards faced the path. Neither looked at the thick leaves draped over the walls. Good. She needed them looking somewhere else, and she needed enough time to work the lock. From her pack she pulled the distraction rig she had built for exactly this. It was a loud, ugly box covered in warning stripes and blinking lamps. Flip the switch, and it screamed like a machine about to blow. No one ignored a thing like that. She crept along the leafy wall, set the rig forty steps past the door, and ran the switch. The box lit red and yellow. A siren tore through the quiet. Both guards jerked toward the sound, hands on their radios, and moved fast to check it. The door stood clear. Riley slid to the keypad and went to work. Her hands shook, but her father had taught her locks before everything fell apart. She listened to the faint clicks. Four numbers. The light turned green. The door swung in. She stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind her. The siren still wailed outside, muffled now. She had done it. She was in. Then something moved in the dark corner, low and quick. Riley spun, ready to fight. A small black bear cub stared back at her. Its fur was fuzzy and dark, its eyes a strange bright blue. It did not run. It planted its paws and growled, a tiny furious sound, guarding the very room she had come for. She held still. "Easy," she whispered. "I'm not here for you." The cub did not move. Behind it she saw shelves, boxes, a locked cabinet. The evidence. So close. But the cub stood between her and all of it, and a cub meant something bigger was near, something that would come back for it. Outside, the siren cut off. The rig had burned out. Voices rose. The guards had found the box, seen the trick, and now they knew someone had gotten past them. Riley was inside the room at last. The door behind her was no longer safe, and the way out was closing. She had reached the proof. Now she had to survive long enough to take it.