Police Escort - 01

The story of the capture of the two soldiers will continue later. Just want to introduce a new storyline.

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There wasn’t much to Port Buckley — just one main drag lined with sagging porches and sun-bleached signs, the kind of town where nothing happened fast and nothing stayed quiet for long. The sheriff’s department sat wedged between a crumbling feed store and a shuttered diner, both long out of business but still clinging to their signs like they hadn’t realized they were dead yet.

It had rained overnight, and the whole valley smelled like pine needles and wet asphalt. A thick mist hung low over the hills, clinging to the trees like it was trying to hide something.

Inside the station, Officer Mitch Keller was straightening his necktie, uniform crisp, boots clean, every piece of gear exactly where it was supposed to be. He was young — barely twenty-two — but he carried himself like a man trying hard not to be treated like a kid. Top of his class, fastest in drills, sharpest on paper. People noticed. But not everyone respected it yet.

He glanced at the wall clock: 6:42 AM.

The job was simple. Transport one inmate — Elias Voss — to Clearwater County Courthouse for arraignment. A two-hour trip on winding forest roads. Nothing flashy. Nothing complicated.

Supposed to be a two-man run.

He was halfway through checking the van keys when the chief stepped in from his office, coffee in one hand, clipboard in the other.

“Change of plans,” Chief Harlan grunted. “Roarke’s out sick.”

Mitch blinked. “What? Roarke never calls in sick.”

Harlan didn’t look up. “Well, he did. Woke up sick as a dog. You’re on your own.”

Mitch hesitated — barely a second. But the chief noticed.

“You good to handle it?”

“Yes, sir,” Mitch said quickly.

Harlan handed over the prisoner transfer file, flipping it open briefly. “Elias Voss. Holding Cell Two. Charges’re sealed above your pay grade, but he’s no gangbanger. Fraud, conspiracy… weird case. Just stick to the route. No stops. No delays.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Keller?”

Mitch looked up.

“Don’t talk to him. Just drive.”

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Holding Cell Two was quiet.

Elias Voss sat in the corner, hands cuffed. Clean-cut. Calm. Didn’t look dangerous. But something in his eyes made Mitch pause before stepping inside. Not aggression. Just… attention. Like Elias was already watching the gears turn in Mitch’s head.

“You’re early,” Elias said, his voice low and even. “I like that in a man.”

Mitch didn’t answer. But for the first time that morning, the back of his neck prickled.

He clipped the restraints, double-checked the cuffs. Everything by the book. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something about this wasn’t routine — and it wasn’t just the fog outside or the missing deputy.

It was the way Elias smiled.