Chapter 12 #7
Inside the tent, I light a small lantern and spread a map across my sleeping bag. The cabin is marked with a red X, surrounded by notes about the terrain, the approaches, and the positions of the guards. I've been watching long enough to know their patterns.
Three men on the perimeter including the one with the cigarette, and two others who rotate every few hours. Inside, there are at least two more adults besides Morgan. And Charlie.
I trace my finger along the creek that runs behind the cabin. It's the weak point in their defense, they won't expect an approach from that direction. The water will mask any sound, and the dense undergrowth provides the perfect cover.
I've been patient for too long. The time for watching is over.
I reach into my pack and pull out the hunting knife, testing its edge against my thumb. It's sharp, razor sharp in fact. I've kept it that way since the first time I used it, when Sarah tried to take Charlie from me. She learned her lesson, just like the others.
Now Morgan will learn hers.
I pack my essentials: the knife, rope, zip ties, and the small bottle of chloroform I've saved for emergencies. I change into dark clothing, then apply face paint to break up the shape of my features in the darkness. When I'm finished, I'm barely visible even to myself in the tent's small mirror.
I douse the lantern and step back into the darkness. The forest embraces me like an old friend, the sounds of night creatures falling silent as I pass. They sense what I am—a predator in their midst.
I move silently through the trees, my steps falling where I know the ground won't betray me. The creek is my guide, its gentle murmur leading me toward the cabin. I can see the light in the window now, a beacon drawing me forward.
Charlie is in there. My Charlie. My daughter. My creation.
I think about her face. The fear in her eyes, the way she pulled away from my touch at the cabin before I left her for Morgan to find.
They've poisoned her against me, turned her into this weak and frightened child.
But I'll fix that. I'll make her strong again, the way I tried to make her mother strong.
The creek widens as I approach the cabin, the water rushing over stones. I step carefully into the cold water, feeling it soak through my boots. The sound covers my approach completely.
I can see the back of the cabin now, a dark shape against the star-filled sky. No lights back here, no movement. They think they're safe, hidden away in this mountain retreat.
They're wrong.
I climb the bank silently, water dripping from my clothes, my knife ready in my hand. The cabin is just twenty yards away now. I can see the back door, the small window beside it. No guards back here—a fatal mistake.
I crouch in the shadows, watching, waiting. A figure passes in front of the lit window, Morgan's mother, I think, based on the description the men gave me. She moves slowly, tiredly, carrying something in her hands.
I smile in the darkness. They have no idea I'm here, no idea what's coming for them.
I think about my Charlie, asleep in her bed, surrounded by stuffed animals and false promises of safety. She'll wake up soon, but not in this cabin. She'll wake up somewhere far away, where only I have her, where only I can protect her.
I move forward, one silent step at a time, the knife cold in my hand. The night belongs to me now.
And soon, so will Charlie and Morgan.
The knife weighs exactly right in my hand, balanced, familiar, like an extension of my arm. I've killed with this before; I can do it again.
A thought stops me at the edge of the tree line and an idea forms.
The back door is right there. Twenty feet of open ground and I'm inside. I could be in and out with Charlie in under three minutes if I move fast. The guards are all out front, pacing their predictable little circles, smoking their cigarettes, thinking they're soldiers.
But they'll hear her scream. They'll come running.
I've never been sloppy. That's why I'm still free.
I crouch lower, pressing myself against the rough bark of a pine tree, and I watch the window. Morgan's mother passes by again. She's older than I expected with gray in her hair, and a softness to her body that comes with age. She looks tired, vulnerable.
I don't need Charlie. Not yet.
Charlie is the thing they're all watching. Charlie is the prize, the center, the reason every gun in that cabin is loaded and every eye is on the door. If I go for Charlie, I run into a wall of muscle and steel and I might not get back out.
But if I go for someone else, someone they love just as much but aren't watching quite as closely, then everything changes.
Morgan will come to me.
Morgan will walk right out of that cabin and into my arms if I have the right leverage.
She'll leave the guns and the guards and the little mountain fortress behind because she won't have a choice.
She's that kind of woman. The kind who loves too hard, who puts everyone else first, who would trade herself for someone she loves without even thinking about it.
I know her type. I've always known her type. That's why she was perfect.
She is the perfect mother for Charlie, and we will be a happy family after we leave all of these dicks behind.