Chapter 42 Autumn
AUTUMN
It was later than I thought. The sun had dipped just enough to shift the light. It was not evening yet, but late enough for time to matter. The water route had always been a gamble. Now it was more than that.
Maybe I should head back toward the lodge and take the path Big-Mouth and Pickle had used when they dropped me off. It was exposed with no cover, but dry. They’d driven that way, so it had to lead to a road. If I were careful and lucky, I might be able to hitch a ride. Just not with them.
But the decision was made for me.
Big-Mouth stood at the top of the embankment with one hand clamped to his head, probably still nursing that chair-shaped headache.
His eyes swept the slope, hunting. Someone had let him out.
That steel door had been bolted, I’d made sure.
Maybe Pickle was back. If so, I was in trouble. Two against one.
I darted from tree to tree, but they were too sparse to hide me for long. He spotted me, and to my surprise, he handled the incline better than I thought he would.
There was no time.
I turned and ran straight for the river.
The cold hit first, jarring but not paralyzing. I kicked off, letting the current take me. It wasn’t violent here, more pull than fight, and enough to carry me away from him.
I kept my strokes steady. The river widened, then turned. On the far side of the bend, the bottom vanished, and my body dropped lower. There was no resistance beneath my feet, just water, thick and still.
Then came a pocket, darker than the rest. Slower. I dove once, a clean cut through the surface, testing it.
It was ten feet, maybe more.
I surfaced beyond that stretch, shifted course, and kept going until the lodge disappeared behind trees and fog. The current surged faster, and the surface turned restless and broken. It took more effort to steer now.
When I spotted a way out—a shallow slope cut between the rocks—I swam hard for it. Reaching it, I crawled up, mud clinging to my knees. I was soaked, but I wasn’t dead. And I wasn’t caught.
I scrambled uphill, my shoes squelching, my clothes sticking to my skin. Wind hit me in bursts. Late summer or not, I could feel it burrowing into my bones.
I needed shelter.
Now.
Branches clawed at my arms as I pushed through the underbrush. The ground beneath me was compacted and seemingly worn by boots or paws or both. There had to be something out here. I pushed on until the path split.
To the right was a narrow trail, barely visible, threading uphill through the trees.
I took it.
A dozen frozen steps later, I nearly cried.
“Thank you, God!” I whisper-shouted.
It was a cottage with a slanted roof and wood siding gone gray with time. One shutter hung loose, creaking in the breeze. But the windows were intact, and the chimney stood straight. Someone had built this to last.
I crept closer and peered through the grime-slick glass. For the next few seconds, I stayed still and listened.
Nothing.
I tried the door, and it resisted. It wasn’t locked, just jammed a little from a warped frame. I yanked again. It gave and opened.
The space was empty, but not abandoned. A bundle of logs rested near the wood stove, a wool blanket was tossed over a chair, and a box of matches sat on the windowsill.
I peeled off my soaked clothes, my teeth chattering. The blanket I found was stiff with cold, but I pulled it around me anyway. It was better than nothing. My fingers fumbled with the matchbox until one caught. I lit the burner and fed it kindling until the flames held.
Heat. Real, blessed heat.
I wrung out my clothes and draped them near the burner, flipping them over every so often. The sudden warmth seared my skin, but I stayed put.
My stomach clenched from the cold and hunger. But hiding came first.
Once the heat filled the room, I stretched out on the bed with the blanket pulled tight around me. Somewhere in the middle of trying to plan my next move, I fell asleep.
I’d kept the fire going all night. By first light, the heat had done its job.
My clothes were mostly dry. My nylon pants were stiff but wearable, my wool socks rough but warm enough.
The shirt was still damp around the collar and cuffs, but it’d have to do.
With the blanket draped around me, I could make it work.
I stamped out the last of the coals and slipped out the door. There was no movement, no sound. I hoped I’d bought myself more time.
The sky was a washed-out blue streaked with early orange. There was just enough glow to make out the path ahead.
Not a minute later, I saw the flicker of lights through the trees.
“Hey!”
Big-Mouth.
Shit.
I took off, the blanket flying from my shoulders as I ran. He wasn’t fast, but his flashlight swung wildly through the woods, giving away his position. I zigzagged and dodged low branches and roots, pushing harder.
The light dropped off behind me.
I slowed to catch my breath, and my eyes strained to adjust. Still blinking through the thin dawn, I ran headfirst into something solid. And alive.
“Hello, little girl.”
That voice stopped my heart.
It was the giant Pickle.
I pivoted fast and tried to bolt, but he was already moving. I kicked and twisted, my arms swinging, trying anything to get free. He let me get in one hit, just enough to feel like I might stand a chance.
Then his arm clamped around my waist, the other forcing my wrists back. I slammed an elbow into his gut and bit at the sleeve of his jacket.
“You’ve got fight, girl,” he muttered, his breath hot against my neck. “I’ll give you that.”
“Let me go!” I thrashed, trying to break his grip, but he was done playing. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled, dragging me sideways until my knees hit the ground.
His weight dropped on top of me, and one knee pressed into my back, forcing me down.
“Let’s try this again.”
He hoisted me up, threw me over his shoulder without breaking a sweat, and carried me through the trees.
I twisted enough to catch a glimpse of an SUV idling at the edge of the clearing, the exhaust puffing white.
Pickle popped the door open and shoved me inside. I landed hard on the back seat. Up front, Big-Mouth sat behind the wheel. His face was a swollen mess—really, I did that? But more than anything, he looked pissed.
Seconds later, he shifted into drive while Pickle stayed next to me in the back.
I’d made it further than they expected. But for all the shit I’d pulled, it wasn’t far enough.
When we reached the lodge, Pickle dropped me like a piece of gear. He snapped at Big-Mouth near the porch, something about their boss not forgiving him if I got away again. Then he stormed off.
Big-Mouth didn’t say a word. He just grabbed my arm and hauled me back into the basement.
This time, there was a sturdier chair waiting, and just the sight of it made my wrists burn.
“Don’t,” I said, my voice cracking. “Don’t tie me up again.”
But he did.
My arms were forced behind me, the rope pulled tighter than before. My shoulders screamed.
This time, he tied my ankles too.
Then he crouched in front of me, his breath hot and heavy.
“What did your boyfriend find, bitch?”
“I don’t know,” I said, flat and defiant.
He slapped the back of the chair. Hard. The jolt cracked up my spine, but he didn’t hit me. Not yet.
“You’re wasting your time,” I snapped.
“Oh no. I’ve got time,” he sneered. “By now, your boyfriend knows you’re gone. And he’s out there. Looking.”
He smiled. Wide.
“There. I know psychology.”
He was right. Dom would come.
And if I couldn’t escape, I had to make sure he didn’t walk into this trap alone.