Chapter 77: The Rescue

NARRATOR

Damián had been on the run through Calgary for two days. The engine of the stolen truck had started failing the night before with metallic rattling noises, and he had been forced to abandon it in an industrial alley on the eastern edge of the city. Since then, he had done nothing but run, hide, and drag fear behind him like a second skin he couldn’t shed.

The neighborhood he had slipped into was a forgotten urban dump: shacks of rotting wood, abandoned warehouses with broken windows, rusted industrial containers, and mountains of waste that reeked of old gasoline, spoiled food, and frozen urine. The kind of place no one looks at twice, where misery is so normal it becomes invisible.

Isabella and Sofía cried nonstop, soaked in their own urine, their little faces red from hunger and cold. Damián shook them with trembling hands, trying to silence them.

“Shut up,” he growled, his voice tight with desperation. “Shut up or they’ll find us, you damn brats.”

It was useless. They were eight-month-old babies. They cried because they were hungry and cold, because they didn’t understand why they had been brutally torn from their mother’s arms. Damián ran his hands over his face, caked with accumulated filth. His nails were black with dirt, his beard grown and matted, his mind completely unraveled by paranoia.

Through the broken window of the abandoned warehouse, he saw shadows moving methodically along the snowy street.

They were the men hunting him. He knew with absolute certainty they weren’t Canadian police. They moved differently—silent, coordinated like soldiers. Professionals of the kind that inspired fear.

“Bastards…” he whispered with hatred. “Who the hell is looking for me?”

He desperately searched for a back exit. There wasn’t one. Only a dead-end alley filled with industrial containers.

He thought fast with what little lucidity he had left. He opened one of the trash tanks, put Isabella and Sofía inside wrapped in filthy blankets, and covered them with damp cardboard.

“Shhh…” he told them, his voice trembling. “Just a moment. Daddy will be right back.”

The lie slipped out almost without thinking. Daddy. Even though their light-colored eyes screamed a different truth.

He closed the metal lid carefully and threw himself to the ground. He rolled his clothes in trash, covering himself with waste. From a distance, he looked like just another filthy beggar, unrecognizable amid the urban misery.

When the armed men passed in front of the warehouse, he stayed completely motionless, holding his breath until his lungs burned. He saw them approach—two of them with weapons under their coats—methodically searching with powerful flashlights.

One stopped right next to him, shining the light directly on his face. Damián didn’t blink. The man spat on the ground with contempt and moved on.

He held on until the shadows disappeared at the end of the alley. Then he ran to the trash tank, opened it with frantic hands, and pulled the twins out. Both cried with renewed strength.

“There, there…” he whispered, eyes wide with panic. “We’re leaving now.”

He knew he couldn’t keep running much longer. But he still didn’t plan to give up.

In the discreet Calgary hotel, Lucía woke abruptly from a nightmare. The light of the Canadian dawn filtered faintly through the curtains.

Beside her, Mateo sat on a chair, fully dressed, in absolute silence, reading messages on his phone.

“You haven’t slept at all?” she asked hoarsely.

“I can’t,” he replied without lifting his eyes from the screen.

“Neither can I,” she whispered. “I can’t stop thinking about them. About whether they’re cold, whether they’re hungry…”

He nodded, still focused. His face was deeply marked by exhaustion, but there was something new in his gaze—a firmness he hadn’t had before.

Lucía watched him in silence for a long moment.

“You never told me you had brothers,” she finally said.

Mateo looked straight at her.

“It wasn’t something worth telling.”

“Why not?”

He sighed heavily.

“Because that part of my life is a black hole I chose to bury years ago. A dark past that has no place in who I am now. Or in who I try to be.”

“But they’re helping you when you need it most.”

“Yes,” he admitted tiredly. “They live in a world where things are resolved differently. With violence, with money, with fear. It’s not something I’m proud of. But they’re family.”

Before Lucía could respond, someone knocked on the door. Three sharp, controlled knocks.

Mateo stood up immediately and opened it.

It was Sebastián. His expression was hard, focused, professional.

“We have a solid lead,” he said.

“Where?” Mateo asked, feeling his heart race.

“An abandoned vehicle southeast of the city. Inside there were baby blankets, children’s clothes, and a used bottle.”

Lucía covered her mouth with both hands, stifling a sob.

“Oh God… my babies…”

“We’re going now,” Mateo said without losing a second.

The place was discreetly cordoned off by Santiago’s men. The old truck sat on the side of an industrial road, half-covered in snow. The windshield bore marks of violent blows, and inside there were remnants of fast food and filthy blankets.

As soon as Lucía approached the vehicle, she immediately recognized one of the blankets.

She took it with trembling hands.

“It’s theirs…” she said, her voice breaking. “I knitted it myself when I was pregnant.”

Mateo placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

“We’re very close. We’re going to find them.”

Sebastián, speaking into an encrypted radio, turned toward them.

“Our men spotted suspicious movement four blocks from here. A man matching the description exactly. He was carrying something in his arms wrapped in blankets, but he was moving too fast to intercept without risk.”

“Are they following him now?” Mateo asked.

“Yes. He went into an old industrial neighborhood on the other side of the Bow River. Dumps, abandoned warehouses… a good place to hide if you know the area.”

Mateo felt a sharp stab in his chest.

Lucía cried silently, pressing the knitted blanket to her face.

“I’m going with you,” he said firmly.

Sebastián shook his head.

“Not a good idea, Mateo. You don’t know what you’re getting into. This could turn violent.”

“They’re my daughters,” he replied in a tone that allowed no argument. “I’m going.”

On the other side of Calgary, Damián staggered through frozen alleys.

The snow now reached his ankles. Isabella and Sofía cried again, and every sharp sound was like a siren announcing his exact position. His breath turned into white vapor. His hands ached from the extreme cold.

Suddenly he heard a noise behind him: an engine shutting off, doors opening with military precision.

“Shit…” he whispered.

He ran, weaving through piles of industrial waste and rotting wooden crates. Isabella began coughing violently.

He tried to silence her, to cover her mouth with his filthy hand, but the crying betrayed him.

A male voice shouted from the alley:

“There! I heard it! North!”

Damián ran without looking back, slipping. He fell onto the filthy snow, got up again with bleeding knees. His boots sank into snow mixed with trash.

Sebastián received the urgent call over the radio.

“We have him located. Industrial neighborhood, west sector. He’s moving toward the containers.”

Lucía, inside the armored SUV, squeezed the knitted blanket until her knuckles turned white.

Mateo turned to her.

“Don’t get out of the vehicle when we arrive. Promise me.”

“I’m not going to sit there while—”

“Lucía, listen to me,” he interrupted firmly. “If he sees you, he could hurt the girls out of spite. Let us handle this. Please.”

She looked at him with tear-filled eyes, then nodded.

“Just bring them back. Bring our daughters back.”

The industrial neighborhood was a maze of empty buildings and alleys. The engines were shut off two blocks away.

Santiago’s men moved in absolute silence, strategically covering every possible exit.

Mateo got out with Sebastián. They walked slowly, alert to every sound. The icy wind carried the sour smell of frozen garbage.

A sound guided them: a baby’s cry—weak, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable.

Sebastián raised his hand to signal a stop.

“There. Containers at the back.”

They ran toward a cluster of industrial tanks.

One of the men lifted the metal lid of a container. Inside, wrapped in filthy, soaked blankets, were Isabella and Sofía.

They cried weakly, but they were alive.

“My God…” Mateo murmured, dropping to his knees in the snow.

He took them into his arms with infinite care, trembling from head to toe.

His entire soul shook with relief.

“They’re cold, but they’re breathing fine,” Sebastián said, checking them quickly. “They need medical attention soon.”

Mateo pressed them against his chest, covered them with his coat, kissed their cold foreheads.

“Daddy’s here,” he whispered without realizing what he was saying. “Daddy’s got you. You’re safe.”

Suddenly, a gunshot echoed in the distance.

Everyone ducked instinctively.

“Movement to the north! The target is running!” someone shouted over the radio.

Sebastián cursed.

“The son of a bitch is getting away.”

Mateo, holding the twins safely in his arms, looked at his brother.

“Bring him in alive. I want to look him in the eyes.”

Sebastián nodded and ran off with his armed men.

In the distance, Damián ran through the alleys, blood streaming from his left arm.

The bullet had grazed him. He staggered, breathing with extreme difficulty.

He looked back one last time, saw the lights closing in inexorably, and understood clearly that this was the end.

But he still had one card left. He still had his hatred.

He pulled his phone from his pocket with a trembling hand.

He dialed a number.

The call was brief.

“Tell them to come,” he said in a broken voice. “I have information to trade. I know who the father is.”

And he disappeared into the industrial fog.

Mateo walked out of the dump with Isabella and Sofía in his arms. Lucía ran toward him from the SUV, screaming their names in desperation.

She took them, crying uncontrollably, kissing them again and again.

“My babies, my babies, my loves…”

He looked at her, unable to speak for several seconds.

“They’re alive,” he finally said, his voice completely broken. “Our daughters are alive.”

The snow kept falling—slow, silent—as if the world didn’t dare break that sacred moment.

But Mateo knew with certainty that it wasn’t over yet.

He was still missing. Damián was still missing.

And justice—divine or human—had not yet been fulfilled.