Chapter 45
Barb reached the farm just before sunset.
Her legs ached from the long walk, her shoulders burned from the pack, and her hands smelled of smoke and kerosene even after she wiped them on the wet grass near the barn.
She stood at the pasture edge and looked at the land that had become her world.
Mud darkened the ground where last night’s bodies had fallen.
The collapsed section of the barn sagged under its own weight.
The animals shifted nervously when she approached, still unsettled from the storm and the assault.
She pressed her hand to the fence post, grounding herself with the familiar texture of weathered wood.
The raider camp lay behind her now, burning itself into ash.
She had heard the cries echo through the trees during her retreat, the frantic voices shouting for buckets, for order, and for someone to take charge.
She had watched the flames engulf the tents and swallow the sawmill’s rotted floorboards.
Barb had left before the heat touched her skin, moving through the shadows with steady, quiet determination.
The threat was broken, not gone, but broken.
She exhaled and stepped toward the barn.
Cathy met her at the doorway, hands still dusted with hay.
Relief spread across her face so quickly that it stole the hardness she had carried all morning.
She threw her arms around Barb without speaking, clinging to her with a force that said everything words could not.
Barb wrapped an arm around her sister’s back and let herself lean into the moment.
Eli appeared from behind the stalls, eyes wide when he saw Barb. “You’re safe… you made it,” he said.
“I am,” Barb said.
He blinked several times. “Did you… Did it work?”
“Yes,” Barb said. “The camp is gone. They won’t regroup quickly.”
Cathy stepped back. “You’re hurt.”
“A few scratches,” Barb said. “But nothing serious.”
Cathy looked at her hands and arms, taking in the smoke smudges, the cuts along her knuckles, and the deep bruise forming near her elbow. “Sit. Let me clean those.”
“I can do it.”
“Sit,” Cathy repeated.
Barb obeyed. Cathy gathered water in a small basin while Eli fetched clean cloth from the house. They worked without chatter, moving with the practiced rhythm of those forced into survival mode. Barb sat on a wooden crate and rolled up her sleeves.
Cathy dipped the cloth into the basin and wrung it out, her fingers steady despite the tension that still clung to her shoulders. “Hold still,” Cathy said.
Barb stayed quiet while her sister cleaned the blood and dirt from her skin. The cloth stung where it touched a deeper cut near her wrist, but she didn’t flinch. Cathy focused on the wounds with a seriousness that made her seem older than her years, older than she had been even yesterday.
Eli paced the barn aisle, glancing toward the open door every few seconds. “Do you think they will try to come after you?” he asked.
“Yes,” Barb said.
He paused. “Tonight?”
“Possibly, but we aren’t going to panic.”
“I’m not panicking,” Eli mumbled. “I just know what that means.”
Barb nodded. “We stay alert, that’s all.”
The wind shifted outside, carrying the scent of wet earth and storm-soaked wood. The last of the daylight faded behind the ridge, pulling long shadows across the barn floor.
Barb felt a familiar tightness settle in her ribs, the instinct that told her danger traveled close behind her. She rose from the crate and stretched her shoulders. “We’re going to sleep here again tonight, in the barn with the animals. Let’s close the main door and leave the top half open.”
“You should rest,” Cathy said.
“I will in a little while,” Barb said.
She stepped outside again, scanning the yard.
The cold bit harder with the sun gone. Her breath fogged into small clouds that drifted upward before dissolving.
She looked to the north, past the pasture and past the tree line where the raiders had carved their symbols.
She returned to the barn and began cleaning her knife, rubbing the blade with slow, deliberate motions.
The steel reflected the lantern light in thin glimmers.
Cathy fed the small fire in the center aisle until the barn grew warm enough for the animals to settle. The cattle leaned into their hay. The goats curled near one another for warmth. The pigs were restless but calmer than before.
Eli climbed into the loft to check the barn’s outer wall, then returned with a stack of dry blankets. “I’ll sleep near the door,” he said. “In case something happens.”
“You should sleep near the fire,” Cathy said. “You’re freezing.”
“Nice try, but I’ll stay near the door,” he said.
Barb looked at him. “You can rotate with me later, deal? For now, just get some rest.”
“I don’t know that I can, honestly,” Eli said.
She understood all too well. The boy had lived under too many watches to sleep through the first night after an attack.
She nodded once, giving him permission to keep vigil if it helped quiet his mind.
Barb cleaned her arms with another cloth, then lifted the basin to pour it outside.
The cold bit her skin as she stepped into the yard again.
She tossed the dirty water onto the ground and scanned the tree line one more time.
Mere seconds had passed when, suddenly, the quiet felt wrong.
She took one step back toward the barn when a faint sound reached her.
It wasn’t wind or animals, but the sound of footsteps.
The movement was slow, heavy, and intentional.
Barb froze, immediately noting that the sound came from the west side of the property.
Not from the barn and not from the pasture, but from the direction of the house.
She moved instantly, sprinting across the yard, boots sliding in the mud, breath cutting through the cold air in sharp bursts.
The house loomed ahead, windows dark except for the faint glow near the kitchen.
Cathy had lit one small lantern earlier to find the herbs she needed.
Barb gripped her rifle tighter and moved toward the porch.
Her pulse rose, steady but urgent. She heard another footstep, then the sound of wood shifting.
A low grunt followed. Someone was inside the house.
She reached the porch and pressed herself against the wall, angling her body so she could see through the kitchen window without being seen.
What she saw made her breath stop. The raider leader was inside.
Kade. Broad-shouldered, with his face streaked with mud.
Machete in hand, he moved through the kitchen like a man hunting something he had been promised.
His eyes burned with fury, with humiliation, and with the sharp need to reclaim control after losing his camp.
Cathy stood three feet away from the man inside.
She hadn’t seen him yet. She was bent over the counter, sorting herbs into a small bowl.
Her hair fell over her shoulder as Kade lifted the machete.
Barb moved instantly, throwing herself through the door with enough force to break the latch.
Cathy gasped and stumbled back, pressing herself against the wall.
The raider spun around, raising the machete. His eyes locked onto Barb. “You…” he snarled.
Her fingers closed around the stock. Kade lunged just as Barb fired.
The shot exploded through the house, louder than anything Barb had heard.
The bullet struck Kade in the shoulder, spinning him sideways.
Blood burst across the floor, but he didn’t fall.
He roared in agony and swung the machete again, this time toward Cathy.
She stepped back, breath catching as she fumbled.
With no time to reload, Barb rushed him, slamming her shoulder into his ribs.
The impact drove him into the kitchen table, but he pushed off it with frightening strength.
He shoved Barb away and turned on Cathy with a snarl.
Barb saw that Cathy had now taken control of the rifle.
She didn’t hesitate; the second shot fired so close that the muzzle flash lit Kade’s face.
The bullet hit his chest as he staggered and dropped to one knee.
Barb reached him before he rose, kicking the machete from his hand.
He reached for her ankle, but she stepped back, breath thick in her throat.
Kade tried to stand as Cathy stepped forward.
Her third shot dropped him completely. Silence filled the house.
Cathy lowered the rifle slowly, her hands trembling.
Barb stepped to her sister and touched her arm. “Are you okay?”
Cathy’s voice cracked. “I didn’t…I didn’t have a choice…”
“I know.”
“I…I couldn’t stop him, not without killing him.”
“I know. You did the right thing. You saved my life,” Barb whispered.
Barb wrapped her arms around her sister and held her tight.
Cathy leaned into her, shaking. She knew her sister wasn’t broken, but she was changing and hardening.
When Eli reached the porch moments later, breathless and wide-eyed from the gunshots, he stopped in the doorway.
He took in the scene. The body, the broken door, and the sisters standing together.
Looking in the boy’s eyes, she knew that, at least for a little while, the threat was over.