“I know this is overwhelming, but I need to ask, does anything you saw down there help identify which children were kept here?”
Vanessa thought about the wooden horse, the handwriting on the walls, 41 years of waiting for answers.
“I need to see everything,” she said. “Every item. Every piece of evidence. I’ve memorized details about those children that might seem insignificant to your team, but could be crucial for identification.”
The detective nodded.
“We’ll arrange it. Miss Kellerman, there’s 1 more thing you should know.”
“We found evidence that suggests not all 7 children died in the bunkers.”
Vanessa stared at her.
“What?”
“The calendar I showed you was maintained for over 8 years, but we’ve only recovered 4 sets of remains so far. We’re still searching, but there’s a possibility that some children survived longer than others, possibly long enough to…”
“To escape.”
“Or to be released. We found journals written by an adult documenting what he called the program. Miss Kellerman, Douglas Fairmont didn’t die in that ravine by accident, and I don’t think he was working alone.”
The forensic team arrived in force by Thursday morning. Vanessa watched from the perimeter as white-suited technicians descended into the bunkers like spelunkers entering a tomb. She had spent the night in her motel room, unable to close her eyes without seeing those children’s drawings, those desperate messages written on concrete walls.
Day 847. Still no signal.
Detective Hullbrook had set up a command center in a temporary trailer at the access road checkpoint. When Vanessa arrived at 7:00 in the morning, the detective was already reviewing preliminary reports with her team.
“Miss Kellerman,” Hullbrook said, looking up from her laptop. “I was about to call you. We’ve made significant progress overnight.”
She gestured for Vanessa to join her at a folding table covered with photographs and documents.
“We’ve now identified the remains of 6 children. The seventh is still unaccounted for.”
Vanessa’s pulse quickened.
“Six?”
“2 more were found in the 3rd bunker structure, which we fully excavated last night. All 6 show signs of death occurring over a span of several years. Different stages of decomposition. Different burial methods. The earliest death appears to have occurred approximately 6 to 9 months after the initial abduction.”
Hullbrook spread out a series of photographs.
“We are working with dental records and DNA when possible, but I wanted to show you some personal items we’ve recovered. Given your research, you might recognize something that could expedite identification.”
The photographs showed artifacts carefully cataloged and numbered. A plastic barrette shaped like a butterfly. A digital watch with a cracked face. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses. A baseball card in a protective sleeve. A small purple diary with a broken lock.
Vanessa’s hand trembled as she pointed to the glasses.
“Sophie Blake wore glasses like those. Wire frames, slightly bent on the left side. She had sat on them the first day of camp.”
She moved her finger to the baseball card.
“Jacob Morse collected baseball cards. He had talked about bringing his favorite ones to show the other kids.”
1 by 1, she identified items. The butterfly barrette belonged to Amy Winters. Vanessa remembered because Amy had worn it in the camp photo, proudly showing off the new accessory. The purple diary was Hannah Driscoll’s. She had written in it every night before bed, much to her cabin mate’s annoyance when they wanted lights out.
“This is incredibly helpful,” Hullbrook said, making notes. “We’ll cross-reference with the DNA analysis, but this gives us a preliminary framework.”
Vanessa stared at the photographs.
“Six children identified. Which 1 is missing?”
“We won’t know for certain until we have confirmed DNA matches. But based on the items you’ve identified and the remains we’ve found, we can make educated guesses about who the 6 are. The seventh, the 1 whose remains we haven’t found, is most likely the 1 who survived longest.”
“Or escaped.”
“Or escaped,” Hullbrook agreed quietly.
A young officer appeared in the trailer doorway.
“Detective, Dr. Chen is ready to brief you on the journals.”
They walked to a 2nd trailer converted into a temporary forensics lab. Inside, a woman in her 50s with silver-streaked black hair was examining a series of water-damaged notebooks through a magnifying lens. She looked up as they entered.
“Dr. Patricia Chen,” Hullbrook introduced. “Our lead forensic anthropologist. Dr. Chen, this is Vanessa Kellerman, sister of 1 of the victims.”
Dr. Chen’s expression was sympathetic.
“Miss Kellerman, I’m very sorry for what your family has endured.”
She gestured to the notebook spread across her workspace.
“We found these in a locked metal box in what we believe was Douglas Fairmont’s personal quarters, a small room separated from the children’s areas.”
She carefully turned the pages of the 1st journal.
“These are handwritten accounts documenting what Fairmont called Project Preservation. Based on the entries, he had been planning this for at least 2 years before the abductions occurred.”
Vanessa leaned closer, reading the spidery handwriting.
June 15th, 1981. The bunker construction is complete. Three chambers fully stocked for 5 years minimum. The children will be safe here when it happens. They’ll understand eventually. They’ll thank me for saving them.
“He was delusional,” Dr. Chen said. “The journals show a progressive descent into paranoia about nuclear war. He genuinely believed he was saving these children from imminent destruction.”
She turned to another entry.
July 2nd, 1983. The children adapted more quickly than expected. The radio broadcasts were convincing. Young Marcus cried for his mother the first week, but Lily helped comfort him. They’re forming a family unit. It’s beautiful to watch humanity’s resilience.
Vanessa’s stomach churned.
“He thought he was conducting some kind of experiment.”
“More than that,” Hullbrook said. “He believed he was ensuring the survival of humanity. Look at this entry from 6 months in.”
Dr. Chen turned to a page marked with an evidence tag.
January 1984. We lost Amy today. The fever took her despite my best efforts. I held a burial ceremony in Chamber 3. The other children sang hymns. They understand death now in a way surface children never could. They’re stronger for it.
