28. Bring Her Home
Bring Her Home
Fresh snow fell overnight, frosting fences and blanketing fields in white. Smoke drifted from the farmhouse chimney. Horses waited impatiently at the pasture gate, nickering when the back door opened.
Josie smiled, cold air filling her lungs. Some routines felt normal—a small mercy. She shrugged into her father's chore coat, grabbed leather gloves from a hook, and stepped into the crisp air.
Behind her, Layla finished breakfast. Liz poured coffee.
"I'll care for the horses," Josie said.
Liz nodded. "I'll feed the goats. Layla offered to help."
"I always volunteer," Layla said.
"That you do, kiddo."
Josie crossed the yard, boots crunching through snow, and slid open the heavy barn door beneath a pale sky.
The familiar scent wrapped around her—hay, leather, horse—the smell of every morning on this land.
The gelding nearest the entrance pushed his nose over the stall door. She paused to scratch between his ears.
"Morning, handsome."
She reached for a hay bale and started down the aisle, but stopped.
A tack room door stood open.
She frowned, certain she'd latched it. Liz might have looked for something after dinner.
Still, her body tensed before her brain caught up—shoulders tight, jaw set, weight shifting forward.
The barn fell silent—no rustle of horses, no stomp, no creak of old wood.
Animals froze, ears pinned, eyes fixed on shadows near the back.
Josie slowly lowered the hay bale, eyes sweeping the aisle inch by inch.
Then she saw it.
A fresh boot print, dark against straw. Large. Not hers.
Her pulse quickened. A cold dread—the kind that tightened skin and raised hairs—delivered a silent warning: You're not alone.
"Who's there?"
Her voice echoed and died without answer.
She took one careful step backward toward the open barn door, then another, heart hammering.
She almost reached the threshold when a hand shot from behind the tack room door, clamped her wrist, and yanked her sideways.
She cried out as her shoulder slammed into the wall, pain flaring down her arm.
A man stepped from shadows—heavy beard, dark winter coat, hunting knife strapped to his hip. Recognition seized her, cold and sharp. The man from the trees. The one who watched them siphon gas, who had given the signal.
"You," she gasped.
He smiled, slow and satisfied. "Finally. I grew bored waiting."
He lunged. She met him, driving her heel into his nose with all her force. His head snapped back; blood poured down his beard.
"You little—"
She didn't wait. Her knee drove into his thigh.
She twisted free, sprinting for the open door.
Three steps. His hand snagged her coat, the material choking her as he yanked her back.
She spun, elbow smashing his jaw. He staggered.
She grabbed the shovel and swung. The metal blade hit his shoulder with a sickening thud.
He roared, ripped the shovel from her hands, and shoved her backward into a stall door. Wood cracked against her spine. Pain stole her breath, but she fought—scratching, kicking, driving her boots into his shins. She held no illusions about winning. She only needed to escape.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her off the ground.
"I said, don't fight me!"
"Go to hell!"
She slammed the back of her head into his face and heard him curse. For one glorious second, she believed she'd broken free—then something struck her skull, sending the world spinning sideways. Before she could recover, he wrenched both wrists behind her back.
"I said..." His breathing came ragged through clenched teeth as he dragged her toward the door. "...hold... still."
Josie dug her heels into the packed dirt and grabbed the doorframe, catching it for an instant before he tore her loose.
"Liz!" Her scream ripped across the quiet morning. "Liz!"
"No." He clamped a hand over her mouth.
She bit down hard. He howled and jerked away, giving her one more breath.
"Liz!"
The name echoed across the ranch—then the farmhouse door flew open.
"Josie?" Liz called.
The attacker's head snapped toward the house. "Damn it," he muttered. "Move."
Abandoning stealth, he hooked an arm around her waist and half dragged, half carried her toward the tree line behind the barn.
Josie fought every step, clawing at fence posts, grabbing fistfuls of snow, kicking backward.
Branches whipped across her face as woods swallowed them.
Behind her, she heard Liz shouting her name, Layla crying, horses screaming in their pasture.
Josie fought. Screamed until her throat burned raw.
As long as she made noise, someone might find her.
Beast bounced over the cattle guard and rolled through the front gate, tires crunching across the snow-covered driveway.
He returned. A slow smile touched his lips as he pictured Josie's face—the mock glare for turning around, followed by a surprised laugh she couldn't hide. It had been worth every mile.
He eased Beast into the front yard and killed the engine. Silence pressed in.
His smile faded.
Something went wrong. Horses ran the fence line instead of grazing, tails high, heads tossing. Goats milled nervously near the barn, bleating. The farmhouse door hung partially open, swaying in the wind.
"Liz?" Seth called as he climbed out.
No answer.
His body went still before his mind caught up, a primal freeze faster than thought.
"Liz!"
The screen door slammed open. Liz stumbled onto the porch. The moment she saw him, her composure shattered.
"Oh, thank God..." She half ran, half stumbled toward him. "Seth!"
He met her halfway, catching her.
"What happened?"
"They took her." The words barely came out. "They took Josie."
His body went still. "What, WHO?”
Liz sobbed, struggling for breath. "A man—in the barn." She shook her head, a violent, desperate motion. "He... Seth, she fought him. God, you should have seen—she fought hard."
His hands tightened on her shoulders. "Where is she?"
"He dragged her..." Liz pointed toward the woods behind the barn with trembling fingers. "Into the trees."
"Layla?"
"She's inside—safe. I... I couldn't get her to stop crying."
Seth closed his eyes for a moment, letting one small mercy land. Then lines around his eyes tightened, jaw set like stone.
"Show me."
Liz nodded and hurried toward the barn. Seth followed closely. The closer they got, the more wreckage appeared. A shovel lay broken in the aisle. One stall door hung from a single hinge. Blood dotted the packed dirt floor. His stomach twisted.
"That's his," Liz said, voice a raw whisper, pointing at the shovel. "All that blood... it must be his."
Seth crouched and studied the dark red drops leading toward the open barn door.
Good. Probably his.
He rose without a word and ran back to Beast, yanking open the driver's door, reaching behind the seat.
His rifle came first. He checked the magazine with practiced hands—full—before chambering a round.
Then his fingers found the familiar leather sheath tucked beside his pack.
His KA-BAR. He pulled the knife free, inspected the blade, and slid it onto his belt.
Some things you didn't leave to chance.
He grabbed two spare magazines, shoved them into his coat pocket, and slammed the truck door shut. When he turned, Liz waited, pointing toward the back pasture.
"I lost the trail after the tree."
He followed her across the yard. Snow made the evidence impossible to miss. A churned path cut through untouched white—deep boot prints, and beside them a smaller set, dragging, with long furrows carved where heels dug in hard.
Josie. She hadn't gone willingly. Not a single step.
Seth knelt by the tracks. His breathing slowed, heartbeat steadied. The attacker favored his left leg. His stride shortened every few steps. Drops of blood stained the snow at irregular intervals—not much, but enough.
"He's injured," Seth said, voice low.
Liz blinked at him. "What?"
"He's still bleeding." He pointed at the trail. "She must have struck blows."
A fierce, proud smile flickered across Liz's face. "That sounds like my sister."
Seth's fingers brushed one of the drag marks. Understanding settled. She fought the entire way—digging her boots into the ground, grabbing at anything, buying time, making sure there was something to find. She knew someone would come for her.
She counted on it.
He looked toward the dense wall of pines, where tracks disappeared into shadows beneath trees. His jaw tightened.
"He's not getting far."
Liz reached out and caught his sleeve. "Seth."
He looked back. Her voice broke on the words.
"Bring her home."
For a moment, the soldier's mask cracked. The look in his eyes
his promise.
"I will."
He adjusted the rifle on his shoulder, settled his grip, and ran without looking back. The forest swallowed him, leaving only the sound of his boots pounding through snow.