Chapter Seven
White Ravens
Gage
Gage sat on an overturned bucket with his elbows on his knees and eyes closed. The knocking of a loose panel and the rush of wind across the tin roof were his only company.
The serum in his blood was a poison that wouldn’t let him rest. He could feel his surroundings vibrating and humming in his bones.
He’d waited a long time for Scar to come back, but he’d known the second he heard the footsteps fade, he wasn’t turning around…not for him.
Still, a stupid part of him had hoped.
Selfish prick.
He let out a hoarse laugh. “I’m going to punch you right in the face if I ever see you again.”
He wasn’t a violent man. His hostility could be stemming from how cold, thirsty, and hungry he was, so much so that he no longer knew what time it was.
The darkness behind his eyes hadn’t changed since the sun went down. He felt around the entire barn and outside for a water hose, sink, spigot, anything, but he’d found nothing.
He’d never felt as defeated and helpless as he did right then.
His father’s voice echoed in the back of his mind.
“You pray when there’s nowhere left to go, son, and the Lord will lead you where you need to be.”
He bowed his head and whispered until his lips went numb. For once, he wasn’t praying for forgiveness. He was praying for hope.
When the call to Roz had finally gone through, his chest ached so badly he thought it might cave in.
His friend hadn’t asked for proof of life or whether he was now an informant trying to set him up. He just promised he’d be on the next flight to North Carolina, and that they’d figure the rest out on the drive home.
After the call had ended, he’d begun to pace.
He’d walked the length of the barn a hundred times, mapping every squeak of wood and protruding nail with his steps.
He’d found a set of coveralls hanging from a peg and a long utility coat that smelled like hay and diesel. They scratched his skin raw, but at least now he didn’t look like he’d escaped an asylum. He pulled the coat tight and buried his face in the collar.
He was trying to figure out how he was going to find the main road into town where Roz could find him, when he heard it—
Someone was coming in fast, a dirt bike, tractor, or maybe an off-road vehicle. It was too soon for Roz, too loud for a car.
The hairs on his arms rose.
Instinctively, he grabbed a long-handled garden claw he would double as a spear if he had to.
He hurried to the front of the barn, pressed his ear to the cold wood, and listened.
He pushed the door open and stepped out into what felt like early dawn, the cold biting at his lungs. The air smelled like frost, crisp and cleaner than the barn.
The engine growled as it got closer.
He tensed, gripping the handle of the tool. Running was stupid unless he wanted to slam headfirst into a tree or break his neck falling down a jagged hill.
Realizing it was a bad idea to appear hostile on someone else’s property, he dropped the potential weapon, picked up a smaller stick, and stumbled out into view, shoulders hunched, arm half-raised, playing the part of a lost, helpless traveler.
The engine cut off a few feet away.
“You okay there, sir?” a woman called, voice carrying a rich Carolina twang. Young, warm, and non-threatening.
Her scent carried to him on the wind: floral soap, animal, and syrup.
“Sorry. I…uh…” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to trespass.”
She came closer, boots crunching over snow and ice. “Lord have mercy, you look half-frozen. Are you hurt?”
He swallowed, realizing she was probably staring at blood on his face or neck.
“No, ma’am. Just cold. Been walking a long while.”
“What in heaven’s name are you doin’ out here in the middle of nowhere?”
The lie formed fast.
“My brother and I were traveling. He’s…got some mental issues. I ran when he started hittin’ me again, and I hid in your barn last night. I’m really sorry, but I couldn’t find anywhere else. I didn’t take nothing except these clothes I found, swear it.”
The woman’s voice softened even more. “Honey, you don’t gotta apologize for stayin’ alive. I’m Abilene Willow. You’re on my land, the Windy Willow Pastures. You’re lucky I came up this way today.”
“My name is Rick.” He said the most common name he could think of that’d be too hard to research. “Rick Johnson.”
“Well, Rick Johnson, you picked the coldest darn night of the year to run off.” She paused, then asked gently, “That stick…are you…vision-impaired?”
He exhaled, rubbing his forehead. “Yeah, I am.”
“Oh, bless you.” Her compassion deepened thick as a quilt. “You can ride back to the house with me. It’s quite a ways to walk.”
“I can manage.”
“Sweetheart, it’s half a mile. Come on now. You can trust me.”
Her voice eased through him, kind, steady, impossible not to trust.
He heard the ATV’s motor click as it idled lower. The subtle vibration in the soil told him exactly where it was, and he walked straight to her.
“Well, shoot,” she said with a chuckle. “You said you’re blind?”
He smiled faintly. “Last time I checked.”
He climbed on, scooted as far back as he could and rested his hands on the seat edge, careful not to touch her.
The engine roared to life, and as Abilene took off, the scents in the air changed to the sharp, woody smell of pine and the muskiness of animals. The farther she drove, the stronger it got.
Abilene slowed, shouting over the motor, “Almost there!”
After a few minutes of bumping over uneven terrain, she came to an abrupt halt and shut the vehicle down. The buzz of the engine was replaced by the sound of hooves clomping on packed dirt, men talking, and barking dogs.
She helped guide him down, although he didn’t need it.
“What kind of farm is this?” he asked.
“We raise chicken, cattle, hogs, but primarily goats. We sell the best goat cheese on the East Coast, and we’re the only farm in northeast, North Carolina with organic, grass-fed cows.”
He could hear the pride in her voice and found himself smiling despite the cold. “Sounds nice.”
She led him into a blissfully warm house that still smelled like breakfast. The aroma of coffee, eggs, bacon, maple syrup—and was that cinnamon rolls—made his stomach roar.
“Sorry,” he murmured, embarrassed.
“Don’t be. I’m sure you’re starving. You sit yourself right here.” She guided him onto a stool in front of a counter. “Let me fetch my husband.”
“Okay,” he whispered.
It made sense she’d alert her husband to the strange man she’d found hiding in the barn and was now in his home.
He counted her footsteps as she crossed the hardwood floor and faded through another doorway.
The silence left behind tiny details he never would’ve paid attention to if he still had his sight.
The muted hustle and bustle of people working outside, the hum of a refrigerator to his right, wood crackling in a fireplace in another room, the ticking of an old clock over his head.
And even more strange, the beat of his own heart.
Minutes later, heavy boots stomped through the door. “Abi, why’d you holler for me to come all the way back up here? My breakfast ain’t even got to my stomach yet.”
“Because you need to meet our visitor,” she bit back. “And try to use some manners for once.”
The banter was easy, affectionate, and Gage could hear the smiles in their voices.
Determined steps came to a halt a few feet away from him, and Gage instantly read the man’s build from the way his breath drifted down on him.
He was tall, six-foot-two, maybe three. The low gravel of his deep, commanding voice made him envision a solid, barrel-chested man who could probably handle himself.
“Who do we have here?”
Abilene explained his made-up story, the abuse, and the blindness. When she was done, her husband gave a stifled grunt and murmured in her direction.
“I’ve told you about bringin’ home strays?”
I’m blind, not deaf, you jerk. I can hear you.
“Forrest,” she chastised. “Can’t you see he’s been through a lot?”
Gage sat straighter. “Sir, I won’t be a burden. I have a friend coming to get me. If I can get your address, I’ll be gone before you eat dinner.”
The man hesitated a long moment before he sighed, “We’re on County Road 12. Tell your friend to come to the front gate and ask for the boss, and he’ll be let in. Abi, com’ere. I wanna speak to you out back.”
“Yes, dear,” she said, her tone more amused than obedient.
Forrest called out in a booming voice, “Jesse! Show our guest the spare room. Get him some clean clothes and a plate to eat.”
Jesse came into the room reeking of seared meat and smoke. “Sure thing, boss.”
Gage stood when he heard the back door close.
“Spare room is upstairs, first door on the right.”
Gage followed the man down a long hall, counting the steps and memorizing every turn.
A knob unlatched and the door creaked open.
“Bathroom’s on your left. I’ll put some clothes on the bed for ya. There’s plastic bags under the sink for you to put your stuff in. Do you, um… Do you need help?”
“I can manage,” he said.
He could feel Jesse’s hesitation. Gage was quickly learning that people saw vision impairment as weakness.
As soon as the door shut, he pulled the stolen phone from the coat pocket. He had no clue how much battery was left, so he hurried and hit redial to call Roz, but he didn’t get an answer.
Crap. He’s probably still on the plane. He’d have to leave a voicemail.
He rattled off the address first, “I’m still on the farm. Hurry if you can. The owners seem nice, but I don’t think they want an overnight guest.”
After he hung up, he traced the room’s layout with his fingertips.
There was a full bed, two chests of drawers, a small closet, a bay window covered with sheer curtains, then he found the door to the bathroom.
He wasted no time shedding the stiff overalls and turning on the shower taps.
The water hit his back in a rush of perfect pressure and heat. The soap in the recessed shelf smelled like vanilla and lavender. Not his preferred scent, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
As he washed, he could only imagine the dirt and dried blood running off him.
For the first time since being touched and prodded in the lab, he scrubbed himself enough to feel human again.
There were toiletries lining the sink—lotion, deodorant, a new toothbrush still in the wrapper, and a hairbrush. He used them all, then tossed them into a plastic bag with his dirty clothes.
He found the lightweight sweatsuit left out for him on the bed, it was soft and smelled faintly of detergent. He hung the overalls and long coat in the closet and left the room.
When he got downstairs, Jesse was waiting.
“I made you a plate. There’s a small dining table a few steps in front of you, on the right.”
The sweet smell of pancakes dominated the room, making his mouth water.
“Right this way,” Jesse said, setting down a heavy plate in front of him. “You need help with that?”
Gage wanted to growl. What was Jesse offering to do? Feed it to him like an infant.
But he understood these people were just being nice, and he didn’t want to be rude.
Besides, it was himself he was furious at, for believing the Ravens’ lies. For allowing them to blind him. For thinking Scar would put aside his prejudices and not be an insensitive bastard who left him in the middle of nowhere…alone.
He couldn’t take his own screwups out on someone else.
“No, thank you.”
Gage leaned forward, breathing in the plate, organizing it by scent. The pancakes were on the left, meat on the right, eggs in the center, and some kind of fruit in a bowl near a large cup of orange juice.
He ate in silence, trying not to scarf his food down like a rabid animal.
His mind, though, wouldn’t slow down. He thought of home.
Did his parents know he was alive? Did they still pray for him, or had they stopped saying his name aloud because it was too painful? And Roz, would he still trust him and not think he’d cut a deal to get out?
He was following Jesse’s instructions to the sink to rinse his plate when the phone buzzed in his corduroys.
“I’m coming through the front gate of Windy Willow,” Roz said.
Gage’s pulse kicked hard. He thanked Jesse, grabbed his plastic bag, and walked through the house toward the front door by memory.
He moved toward the kitchen doorway, following the heat from the stove. He brushed his fingers along the counter’s edge until the texture switched from smooth tile to rough wood paneling.
At the entrance to the front hall, he turned right, counting his steps like heartbeats. The quick shift from warm to cooler air told him he’d reached the foyer door.
The sound of an engine idling about five yards away had him damn near hyperventilating. A door slammed, and Roz’s familiar drawl, half-laughter, half-disbelief, made him want to fall to his knees.
“Holy shit.”
“Roz.”
He didn’t realize he was running—still counting—until he’d slammed into Roz’s warmth, colliding with him so hard it knocked the air out of both of them.
Roz caught him and held him tight, strong arms trembling around his waist.
“Goddamn you,” Roz whispered against his ear. “You’re really fuckin’ here.”
“Roz, I’m so scared.” Tears burned hot down his face.
“You’re all right now. I’ve got you.”
Gage’s throat closed. He wished he could see Roz’s expressive dark-brown eyes.
They stood there embracing, breathing hard. He inhaled Roz’s familiar, sandalwood musk cologne, holding on to him as if he’d wake up in that barn still alone if he let go.
“They told us you were fuckin’ dead.”
Gage finally leaned back, heart pounding. “What? Who?”
Gravel crunched behind them and cut off whatever Roz was about to say.
“Didn’t wanna let you leave without sayin’ goodbye, Rick.” Abilene’s voice was as warm as the sun.
He smiled and turned toward the sound of her voice. “Thank you, Abilene, for everything. The food, the room…for finding me.”
“Oh, hush,” she said, her tone kind but firm. “You looked half-frozen and scared to death. Anyone would’ve done the same.” She hesitated, voice dipping. “You sure you’ll be all right?”
“I’ll be fine,” he assured her. “Roz is the brother I should’ve had.”
He heard Abilene sniff. “Safe travels, Rick.”
“Take care, man.” A rough, solid hand clapped his shoulder once.
“Thank you, Forrest,” he nodded and got into the passenger seat.
Roz began to massage the back of his neck like he’d always done in the past.
It almost felt normal…until it didn’t.
The hairs on his arms rose again, and he realized it was becoming a tell.
He knew—deep down, as sure as he was breathing—his escape from the Ravens was fleeting.
Someone was coming for him.
No matter how far he ran.