Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Goldie
Well, that worked better than I thought it would.
I’m on my way to the storage silos while Peter is passed out cold after an unfortunate bout of violent nausea and diarrhea.
Hm. Something in the spaghetti sauce must not have agreed with him.
Ah, well. I did my best.
I move silently over the rutted paths of the compound to storage silo 7, which is where the medicine and survival gear are all kept. I go over the list of everything I need. Ready-to-eat meals, matches, a bedroll, antibiotics, a canteen, a water purifier, a flashlight, batteries and, of course, backpacks.
I don’t expect to need all this stuff, but who knows how long it will take before I’m settled. If I have to live at a campground until I get a permanent address, that’s what I’ll have to do.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Elder Nevyn, my idiot uncle, is blocking my path just as I think I’ve gotten in without anyone seeing me.
I smile brightly. “Elder Peter ran out of his antacid, so he sent me to get some.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes. We’ve had a pretty busy night, this being our wedding day and all.”
“Maybe I should confirm that with him.”
I nod. “Normally, you should. But he’s all tuckered out. You don’t want to wake him up right now, do you?”
Nevyn glares at me and says, “Fine, but I’m going in there with you.”
“Fine.”
Well, crap. How am I going to get out of this?
He follows me inside the silo, and I can feel his creepy eyes on me as I scan the shelves. Everything I need is within reach, and this dude just won’t leave me the hell alone.
As if someone—finally—is looking down on me with favor, Nevyn’s phone rings.
He cusses and steps aside to take the call. I take the opportunity of his distraction to fill a backpack with the food and supplies I need.
“Now? It’s late,” I hear him say. Then, “Yeah, it’s a problem, Mark…wait a minute…are you calling me about this on your work phone…listen, dumbass, just tell me where Trace is, and I’ll consult the others on how to take care of the situation.”
Trace? That’s Louisa’s dad. Elder Trace disappeared over five months ago. They said he couldn’t handle all the pressure of all those kids.
Mark hangs up the call, then marches out of the silo, seemingly having forgotten all about me.
And just like that, I’m alone like a kid in a candy store.
In a frenzy, I start grabbing everything I need and shove it into my pack.
On my way out, a small frame with a cloud of curly hair is silhouetted in the doorway.
We both gasp, and I clutch at my galloping heart. “Georgie! What are you doing out here?” I whisper.
“I’m sorry, Goldie. I’m so hungry. I just thought I would take a chance that someone left a door unlocked to the silos. Sometimes it happens.”
I hold up my hand to make her stop talking, then gesture for her to follow me back inside. She opens up two small grocery bags she has crumpled up inside her dress pockets. I just start grabbing RTEs, snack-size peanut butters, jerky—anything she can carry in two flimsy bags. She sniffles and hugs me in the dark silo, lit only with my camping headlamp. She looks down at my stuffed backpack.
“What am I going to do without you, Goldie?”
“Come with me,” I say.
She shakes her head. “My mom needs me. She has too many kids to take care of besides me.”
I nod in complete understanding. “Take care of the greenhouse for me?”
She sighs. “I still have so much to learn.”
“You’ve got this. We’ll come and get you when I find Olivia and her brother, Zayden.”
Georgie doesn’t reply to this. I know she’s mentally unprepared to leave the church behind.
“Take care of yourself, Goldie.”
“I will.”
We leave together, making sure she returns home safely without being spotted. And then I kick the dust of this place off my feet forever. One minute, I belong here, and the next minute, I’m just another backpacker in the mountains.
I’m going to make it. I have to.
I stay hidden in the trees by not following the creek trail. Instead, I walk parallel to it, halfway between the creek and the winding logging road, always keeping both within earshot.
Based on experience, I’d say I walked over three miles, marking my own switchbacks up the side of Windgrave Mountain. The elevation is starting to get to me, and I’ll need to rest soon.
I ease my way down from my rocky path toward the creek. I’m out of water, and I need a drink.
I take a long sip from my canteen and refill it. I eat one of my RTEs, but it does nothing to refuel me.
I am bone tired and starting to think this whole thing was a mistake.
The idea of setting up a tent is dreadful, and I wonder why I chose to escape up a mountain instead of heading into town.
Who knows, I could be hanging out with Olivia, Louisa, and Zayden in some other state by now.
Still, I have to make the best of it. I have to try to find my brother, Theo. If he even wants to see me.
Maybe one of these empty ski chalets has an unlocked door. Right. Not likely.
Still, it’s worth a try, isn’t it?
And if I get a surprise, I’m a fast runner.
Worst-case scenario, I can throw myself at the mercy of local law enforcement, and maybe they’ll drop me off at a bus station.
I stole enough cash from Peter’s wallet to get me to the East Coast if I want to.
Most of the winter cabins that I’ve passed on the way here are empty. Ski season is over, and I haven’t heard or seen a car or another soul, for that matter.
Night is starting to fall now, and the thought of setting up camp and starting a fire sounds less and less appealing the colder it gets. So does the idea of eating beans warmed over a fire.
I guess I’m not the nature girl I thought I was.
It’s then that I make a bargain with myself. If I don’t see another cabin by nightfall, I’ll set up camp. If I do see one, I’ll take it as a sign that the universe is providing shelter.
There’s not a sound to be heard except for the winter birds and the rustle of a squirrel, plus the rushing creek in the distance.
As if someone heard me, a cabin appears within minutes of me leaving the creek behind.
I approach carefully. No sign of anyone nearby. No lights on. Maybe…maybe this will work.
I try the front door atop a set of wide front stairs and find it locked. I walk around to the back, past a closed garage, and discover that a sliding glass door on a sizable cliffside porch is open.
Outside, the place is nothing special—a dark wood box that blends into the trees. Inside, though? It’s a freaking palace.
I find myself in one big room with a combo kitchen and common area, with moss- and stone-colored blankets on expensive-looking brown leather sofas. The wall with the fireplace looks like one giant stone slab, as if this house has been built into the side of a mountain. It’s breathtaking and intimidating all at once.
The stone wall continues into the kitchen, making up the backsplash behind the countertops. Everything looks made out of rough-cut slabs, natural curves, and wood with live edges.
I turn on the lights and begin exploring. The glass panels that cover the fireplace are cold, giving me more confidence that this place is deserted. I don’t know how to work a thermostat, so I don’t attempt that contraption on the wall. Sitting on the sofa, I pull off my boots and rub my aching feet, when suddenly the back of the section I’m in slides back, and now I’m in a recliner.
Glory be. I’ve never sat in something so comfortable in my entire life.
All that creek water sends me looking for the bathroom, and I struggle to get out of this recliner.
When I find the bathroom, I’m not prepared to see the deep ceramic work of art that is the tub. Two people could easily fit in that thing, and they’d never have to touch toes. The tub is nestled under a window that looks out over the mountain peaks. Between the windows and a huge tile shower stall—talk about overkill—there’s a stack of plush towels, candles, and homemade soaps on a nearby wooden table. The most luxurious surprise of all is a TV on the wall within view of the tub. Oh, wait, no, the mini-fridge is definitely the biggest surprise.
The fridge is stocked with an assortment of flavored seltzer, which I’m not the biggest fan of…until I notice that it’s hard seltzer, not the stuff that tastes like a cheap scented candle.
“Oh, heck yes. To all of it.”
I strip down completely while the tub fills with water, then search for some bubble bath. I find some, along with an assortment of handmade soap and lotions in a cabinet under the double marble sinks.
I pour in a capful of the goat milk bubble bath and let the scent of lavender and pine work its magic.
After a minute of struggle, I figure out how to work the TV remote, then grab a hard seltzer. Lime? Nah. Pomegranate? That sounds promising.
I slide into the luxurious bubbles and crack open the hard seltzer, sighing as my aching muscles relax in the soothing, hot water.
On the TV, I navigate through some of the streaming options and finally settle on an action show with the biggest man I’ve ever seen. Seems he likes to beat up bad guys. A lot.
I never get to watch TV, and I’m tired as hell, so I may as well enjoy a hot guy beating up a lot of creeps. Alright, fine, there is a certain catharsis about this show.
The seltzer is strange and bubbly. This is the first alcohol I’ve ever tasted, which is exciting, but it’s not nearly as thrilling and intoxicating as I had always imagined. With the way The Prophet described the “devil’s juice,” you’d think I’d be instantly addicted at the first sip, but my current experience could not be further from the truth.
It definitely enhances my enjoyment of the tub, though. And of this TV show. I could get used to this.
It’s interesting. I always figured I was incapable of being interested in sex. But something stirs in me as I watch the big man exact revenge on his enemies. His face never changes, but he’s fascinating to look at. He also shirks attention and people’s gratitude but seems to have a soft spot for the vulnerable. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but I’m quickly developing a mad crush on this man.
Character, Goldie. He’s just a character on TV.
Still, if he were to crawl out of the TV and into my bed, I wouldn’t kick him out. I’d be the littlest spoon that ever was.
A thrill runs over my skin at the thought.
Sheesh. I really need to meet some actual humans, because I guarantee not one of them out there is as attractive as this guy.
I must be shivering because I’ve been in the bath too long. I add warm water so the temperature stays just right until I finish watching this episode.
I’m not eager to get out of the tub at all, but my stomach is starting to rumble.
Grabbing one of the fluffy towels off the rack on the wall, I get a shock when I realize it’s warm.
My first instinct is to assume the house is on fire, so I touch the wall, preparing to be alarmed at the temperature. Nothing is amiss. Then I see the switch on the wall and realize something. This is a towel warmer.
What in the world? Whoever owns this place must be dripping with money.
Too bad I’ll never meet them because I feel as though I’ve walked into another dimension entirely, and I’d love to ask a million questions about what life on their planet is like.
I am about to die of happiness when I wrap my wet body in a warm bath towel and try out some of the lotions from the cabinet.
Smelling like apricots, lavender, and pine, I pad into the kitchen and begin snooping through the cabinets.
For some reason, I’m craving oatmeal, so I grab a copper pot from the rack above the gas range and get to work. Fifteen minutes later, I have the best bowl of oatmeal I’ve ever had, complete with cinnamon and honey.
My tummy full and happy, I peek around in the bedroom closet for something to put on before I get some rest. I find a big, oversized flannel that hangs down to my knees. Okay, so maybe this place isn’t a vacation rental but a place that some owner keeps stocked as his own private vacation home.
I smile as I smooth my hand down the front of the soft flannel, thinking that this shirt belongs to someone about the shape and size of that action star on TV.
My insides tumble when I think about it. But I’m just being silly. What I need right now is a few quick hours of sleep before I set off again.
I have to keep going because I’m the only person who has figured out where The Prophet is hiding.
I’ve scoured every rental cabin in the area online. And judging by the videos that Prophet Orlyn sends to his flock, I found the one. The curtains and the background match one that’s on this same logging road but set back on a dense trail only accessible by foot.
I’m going to find my brother and together, we’ll find The Prophet. And then, we’ll bring him to justice.
Then again, if this place is as deserted as it seems, maybe I’ll stay until the next renters come and then make a break for it.
That sounds like a much better plan, I think, as I sink under the duvet with a smile on my face.