Chapter 2 - THE ROAD THAT ENDED ON PAPER
The trail narrowed beneath wet pines. Daniel walked ahead with his rifle pointed down, and Maya watched the blood appearing every few yards on the grass. The lion had protected the cub through gunfire.
If the wound beneath his shoulder deepened, the animal would slow long before they reached the observatory.
Maya was a wildlife photographer, not a veterinarian. She knew enough to keep her distance from a distressed predator and enough to recognize a badly placed dart wound.
The old puncture on the cub's side resembled an injection site; the fresh one could have been made by the shooter across the ravine.
Daniel checked his phone for service. Nothing. He knew of a retired fire lookout higher on the ridge with a battery radio, but reaching it meant crossing the exposed service road.
Maya suggested following the drainage canal instead. They could see the green roof before choosing whom to call.
"I should have told someone outside the park," Daniel said. His voice was barely louder than the stream. "I thought obeying them bought Alba time." Maya remembered the photograph.
"Who knew your report existed?" she asked. He named his supervisor, Luis Serrano, and the dispatcher who logged it.
At a bend in the canal, they found a metal transport crate caught under a fallen branch. One corner bore the crossed sun.
Inside lay straw, a torn veterinary glove, and a receipt marked Ebro Wildlife Recovery. The date matched Daniel's accident report. Maya photographed everything before either of them moved it.
A vehicle growled somewhere above. They crouched under the branch while an SUV passed over a bridge they could not see.
The driver's radio hissed through the window: "Serrano wants the tracker before nightfall." Daniel closed his eyes.
The name was an answer, though it did not yet reveal whether his supervisor had ordered Alba taken.
Farther east, the lion's footprints crossed the canal twice. Maya found where he had lowered the cub onto soft earth to rest.
Beside the smaller prints were a few pale hairs stuck to rough bark. She wondered how many animals had been moved through this valley while hikers admired its waterfalls.
At noon they reached the fire lookout. Its windows were boarded, but the battery radio still had power. Daniel called the regional emergency frequency and asked for the Civil Guard's wildlife investigation unit.
He gave his ranger number, described an armed attack and an abducted minor, and named Serrano as someone who might be compromised.
A woman answered after a long burst of static. Captain Inés Varela asked for the child's name, the coordinates, and the location of the nearest safe approach. Daniel gave them.
When he mentioned the crossed sun, silence held for a beat. "Keep the child alive," she said. "Our team is coming. Don't rely on park channels."
Maya used the radio's slow data link to transmit three compressed images: the collar code, Alba's photograph, and the crate receipt. The machine complained after each transfer, but a confirmation tone sounded.
The originals remained on her phone. They left the receipt where it was and marked its position on Daniel's paper map.
Through binoculars from the lookout, Maya finally saw the observatory. Its white dome had collapsed years ago, leaving a steel ring above the treetops.
Behind it stood a low green-roofed building with a fenced yard. A truck waited at a loading dock. Four men carried a covered cage toward it.
A girl's face appeared briefly in the building's upper window. Dark hair, yellow raincoat, one hand pressed flat to the pane. Daniel lurched toward the stairs. Maya caught him before he could fall.
"I saw her," she said. "She's there. We need to know how to reach her."
The lion emerged on a ridge below the building. He dragged his injured leg, yet his head rose at the scent from the covered cage.
A man on the loading dock fired into the air, driving him back among the rocks. The men accelerated their work. Whatever happened tonight, they would not wait for the authorities.
Maya studied the terrain. The old observatory had a water conduit running beneath the rear fence. Daniel remembered repairing its outer gate years ago.
If the conduit remained open, it could take one person to the service basement. It would also flood when the evening rain reached the high basin. "You're staying here," he said. "Alba is my daughter." Maya gave him the binoculars.
"Then tell me which window is hers and where the conduit ends." He swallowed his anger, pointed to the east wall, and traced the basement route on the map with a shaking finger.
They waited until a guard walked around the fence, counting the time between passes. Maya saw cameras at both doors, one above the loading dock, and one turned toward the waterfall trail.
She noted a short blind stretch where the roof gutter met the service wall. Inés had their coordinates, but they had no promise of when she would arrive.
A smaller shape moved under the pines beside the lion. The cub had kept up after all, though it favored its injured leg. The father nudged it into cover each time a vehicle passed.
Maya felt a sharp shame at having imagined she could command either animal. They were searching for their family, just as Daniel was.
The lookout radio crackled again. Inés warned of blocked access on the western road and said her team would approach from the south. "Do not enter if you can observe safely," she added.
Before Daniel could answer, a scream carried from the green-roofed building. A girl's voice. Then the upper window went dark.
Daniel was already descending the stairs. Maya followed with the camera, phone, and S-17 module sealed in a dry pouch.
By the time they reached the canal, the sky had turned the color of iron. Rain began to dot the map, blurring the printed road that officially ended a mile before the building.
May you like
The road on paper had been closed for years. The road beneath their boots showed fresh tire tracks, fresh straw, and a child's footprint beside a gate.
Maya lifted her camera and caught one frame of the window before the rain hid it. Alba had been alive five minutes ago. That had to be enough to keep them moving.
