Chapter 24
Barb stepped into the morning with those boots that sank half an inch into mud softened by the night’s storm.
The air smelled of wet earth and broken wood, a dense heaviness that made every breath taste of damp leaves.
Clouds still hovered low, threatening more rain, although the worst of the storm had passed.
Water pooled in shallow dips along the pasture.
Branches lay scattered in tangled heaps across the ground.
The whole valley looked like it had slumped under its own weight.
She followed the faint trail toward the creek, boots sinking deeper with every step.
The storm had swollen the water enough to reshape the forest floor.
Places that had been solid earth just days ago now sank under the slightest pressure.
She stepped onto one patch she remembered as firm and felt her weight drop slightly. The mud nearly pulled her boot off.
Soft ground meant more paths. Anyone who understood land movement would notice those changes, too.
She reached the creek’s edge and paused.
The water rushed by, thick and brown, carrying twigs and broken leaves along its surface.
The banks had widened by several feet. The natural choke points in the forest no longer worked.
Fallen limbs created narrow platforms, stepping stones where none had existed before.
It made the property easier to infiltrate.
She crouched and studied the mud along the bank.
Tread marks were clear enough to identify the pattern.
The edges were sharp, unblurred by rain.
Someone had passed through during the storm, using the downpour to cover their movement.
She followed the prints a short distance until they vanished beneath a section of churned mud that had collapsed during the night. The intruder had headed toward the northern tree line. She straightened slowly and turned back toward the barn.
Inside, Cathy stood near the goats with a feed bucket, her hair still damp from the humidity. She looked up immediately when Barb entered. “What is it?” Cathy asked.
“Prints,” Barb said. “Not washed out by the storm. Someone walked the northern edge during the heaviest part.”
“During the rain?”
“They used it as cover.”
Cathy swallowed. “So that means…”
“It means people are watching us,” Barb said. “People who understand how to use the weather to conceal their movement. People who aren’t wandering.”
“What do we do?”
“We prepare for visitors who are smarter than the ones before. Come with me.”
They walked toward the forest edge. Barb selected a cluster of fallen branches near the halfway point between the barn and the creek. She kneeled and studied the arrangement. Broken limbs, thick brush, and a slope that allowed concealment without giving away the line of sight.
“This will work,” Barb said.
“For what?” Cathy asked.
“A blind.”
“Do we really need one?”
“Yes,” Barb said. “We need a place to watch without being seen.”
She moved branches into a deliberate pile, layering the heavier ones across the front. Cathy handed her smaller limbs to weave through gaps. In minutes, the blind blended perfectly with the natural debris the storm had scattered.
Barb stepped behind it and crouched. “From here I can see everything between the barn and the creek,” she said. “Anyone who approaches from the back will cross this view.”
Cathy nodded. “I’ll clear sightlines from above.”
Barb returned to the barn to check on the animals. The storm had stressed them enough that they still moved nervously. The goats paced in short bursts. The ducks remained pressed against the back of their pen. Even the cows seemed reluctant to stand near the lower pasture.
Cathy called down from the loft window. “I can see the creek from here. I trimmed the branches near the south corner.”
“Good,” Barb said. “We need overlapping coverage.”
She walked to the house next and checked the door bolts, windows, and the thin spots near the frame. The storm had swollen the wood in some areas and loosened it in others. She reinforced each point with efficiency, her mind moving faster than her hands.
The morning passed slowly. The ground squelched beneath their steps. The animals resumed their routines with caution. The sky stayed heavy, though no rain fell. Near midafternoon, Barb’s attention snapped to movement near the back pasture. She crouched behind the watering trough and watched.
A young man stood at the edge of the field, half-hidden by brush.
His posture was controlled. His eyes scanned the property with intention, not confusion.
He moved slowly, studying the fences as if calculating their strength.
Barb saw his lips moving faintly as he kept tally.
His clothes were clean enough to indicate he belonged to a larger group.
His boots left crisp impressions in the soft ground.
He wasn’t lost; he was casing the land. Barb held her breath and waited. She watched the shift in his weight, the way he measured distance from one structure to another. Every movement told her what kind of threat he was. Then another figure stepped out of the trees.
A woman. She was lean, with a presence sharp enough to feel across the field. She scanned the property with the same calm calculation. She stood taller than the man and carried herself with the quiet ease of someone who had done it before. She pointed at the barn, and the man nodded.
They moved together along the fence line.
They checked the rails. They observed how the goats reacted to sound.
They stepped near enough to the pigs for the sows to grunt warnings.
They noted where the cattle stood, how close they were to cover, and how the fields dipped.
It was reconnaissance. Barb pressed her back against the blind and controlled her breathing.
She waited to see if they were alone. Scouts often worked in teams of two or three.
The two behaved like the first group sent ahead to map out weaknesses.
The pair stopped at the creek bank and spoke quietly. The woman gestured toward the northern path, and the young man nodded. They lingered only long enough to imprint the land in their memory. Then they turned and retreated into the woods with quiet steps. They were planning something larger.
Barb waited until they were well out of sight before standing. Her legs ached from crouching so long. The mud clung to her boots like a second skin. She walked toward the barn, scanning for Cathy. Her sister climbed down the ladder as soon as she stepped inside.
“I saw them,” Cathy said. “Both of them. They weren’t like the others.”
“No,” Barb said. “They were scouts.”
“From where?”
“I don’t know. They moved like a group that knows how to count resources.”
“They were looking at the barn. At the animals…at everything.”
“They are planning something.”
“What do we do?” Cathy asked.
“We do what we have been doing,” Barb said. “We get ready.”
They talked through everything inside the barn, voices low. The goats bleated nervously, their calls echoing off the walls. The pigs shuffled in their pens. Even the cats paced along the rafters, their tails flicking.
“They’ll come back,” Cathy said.
“Not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but they will.”
“Do you think they will bring others?”
“At least five,” Barb said. “Maybe more. They looked like they were mapping entry points.”
“So, we secure everything.”
They spent the remaining daylight reinforcing every lock on the barn.
Barb hammered metal brackets into the thickest beams. Cathy tightened the bolts on the livestock pens.
They moved the most vulnerable animals—the quail and the smaller goats—into the stalls nearer the house.
Inside the house, she gathered rope, a small water jug, a flint striker, and a few tools.
She placed them in a canvas bag and set it behind the wood stove, where it would stay dry and ready.
“What’s that for?” Cathy asked quietly.
“A retreat pack,” Barb said. “If we need to move to the barn quickly.”
“Do you think we’ll have to?”
“I think planning for it could keep us alive.”
She walked to the front door and pressed her palms against the frame.
She listened to the wind moving through the trees.
The storm had stripped the land, reshaped it, and made it easier for trackers to hide.
The scouts had seen enough to mark the farm as valuable.
They stood together in the dimming light, listening to the forest settle after the storm.
The farm had been discovered, and the next move wouldn’t belong to them.