16. The Other Shoe #2
They hadn’t been gone long — possibly an hour. The fire still burned low, the warmth faint against the growing chill. She moved through the small space, tidying up the dishes they’d used for breakfast, anything to keep busy.
Outside, the woods looked still. Too still.
She stopped mid-motion, listening. Something had shifted, faint, nearly lost in the wind.
A crunch.
Addy turned toward the window, her heartbeat suddenly loud in her chest. The forest beyond was pale and quiet, but that sound hadn’t been her imagination. Another crunch followed, deliberate this time, closer.
Her breath caught.
She set the mug down with a silent click and lunged for the handgun Sawyer had left her. The metal burned ice-cold against her palm as she thumbed off the safety, her pulse hammering in her throat.
Creak. The porch boards outside flexed under weight.
” Who’s there?” The words scraped out of her desert-dry mouth.
Nothing but wind.
The back window exploded inward. Shards of glass sliced the air like crystallized screams. Two shadows crashed through the jagged frame, the same men who’d been watching them.
Addy’s finger convulsed on the trigger. The gun kicked back, deafening her.
A dark spray erupted from one man’s shoulder.
He howled, stumbling but surging forward, eyes wild with rage.
She bolted for the kitchen, slamming into a chair. It crashed to the floor as boots thundered behind her. The scalding pot still hissed on the stove; she seized it and hurled the contents backward. The man’s scream pierced the cabin as his skin blistered red, steam rising from his beard.
The second attacker tackled her from the side.
His weight crushed the air from her lungs as calloused fingers dug into her wrist, twisting until bones ground together.
The gun clattered away. She drove her knee upward, connecting with something soft.
He grunted but slammed her skull against the wall. Stars exploded behind her eyes.
” Fucking hurry!” the scalded one snarled through clenched teeth. “They’ll be back any minute! “
Addy clawed at his eyes, ripped at his ears, bit down on flesh until she encountered the metallic flavor. The man cursed and backhanded her. Her teeth cut into her cheek as the door crashed open, winter air knifing into the cabin.
His name tore from her throat—a desperate prayer hurled into the void as they dragged her thrashing body across frozen ground, blood from her split lip painting crimson constellations in the snow.
Until darkness swallowed everything.
* * *
The truck’s tires skidded as Sawyer turned off the main road, gravel spraying behind them. The cabin came into view through the trees, too still, too quiet.
Jay leaned forward. “You see that? “
Sawyer’s stomach dropped. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low. “No smoke. “
The chimney stood cold against the pale morning sky. Addy never let the fire go out. Ever. But perhaps she had drifted off to sleep? Or stepped outside for a moment?
Jay shifted his rifle across his lap. “Something’s off. “
Sawyer’s hands clenched the wheel, then loosened, then clenched again. “We stop here. “
He killed the engine thirty yards out. The silence that followed was almost deafening. They got out, boots crunching on frozen gravel. The air was still. Sawyer wanted to run toward the cabin, but forced himself to move slowly and methodically.
They approached on foot, rifles drawn. The closer they got, the worse it looked. No movement inside. The door hung half-open, one hinge broken.
” Addy?” Sawyer called, his voice tight. No answer. He tried again, louder this time, hoping desperately she’d just wandered off. “Addy! “
Jay moved past him, crouching near the steps. “Tracks,” he muttered. “Fresh ones. Two, possibly three sets. “
Sawyer pushed into the cabin, heart hammering between hope and dread. The air was freezing. The fire had gone out completely. A chair lay overturned, and one of Addy’s blankets was half-dragged toward the doorway.
He knelt beside it, fingers brushing the fabric. Part of him wanted to clutch it to his chest; another part wanted to throw it across the room in rage. “She fought,” he murmured.
Jay joined him, scanning the floor. The coffee mug Addy had used that morning was shattered. Blood—just a smear—streaked the doorframe. “Yeah,” Jay said. “She didn’t go without a fight. “
Sawyer stood, breath ragged, eyes darting toward the broken window. Outside, tracks led away from the cabin and down toward the frozen lake.
” They took her that way,” he said, voice trembling. He wanted to charge after them immediately, but knew that would be suicide. Yet waiting seemed impossible.
Jay studied the prints. “Two men. One’s hurt. They’re dragging her; see how deep the snow’s pressed? She’s conscious, fighting. “
Sawyer’s jaw worked. “Then she’s alive.” The words came out half-statement, half-question.
Jay nodded. “For now.”
Sawyer was already grabbing his pack and checking his rifle. “We go now.”
Jay caught his arm. “Hold up. If they were bold enough to come here in daylight, they’re not just a couple of scavengers. They’ve got backup somewhere. You go charging after them, you’ll get her, and yourself, killed.”
Sawyer’s glare could have cut through steel. “You think I’m sitting here while she’s out there?” His hands clenched, unclenched, then clenched again.
“I think you’re not thinking,” Jay shot back, stepping into his path. “We need a plan. Ammo, gear, and a route. We don’t move blind; blind gets you killed.”
Sawyer turned away, then back, pacing three steps before stopping. His fingers brushed the gun at his hip, then moved to the door, then fell uselessly to his side.
“Every minute we wait—” he started, voice breaking. He swallowed hard. “But every minute we rush—”
For a moment, the only sound between them was the wind whistling faintly through the broken window.
Then Sawyer exhaled through his teeth, a tremor running through his jaw. “Fine,” he said. “Ten minutes. We prep. Then we move.”
Jay nodded, already turning to check their supplies. “Ten minutes,” he agreed. “Then we hunt.”
Sawyer stood in the center of the ruined cabin, staring at the spot where Addy’s blanket lay. His throat burned as he whispered under his breath, words only he could hear.
“Hold on, 2B. I’m coming.”
* * *
The forest swallowed them as soon as they left the clearing.
Sawyer moved first, rifle raised, boots sinking into the thin crust of snow. Jay followed close behind, scanning their flanks with practiced eyes. The cold was sharper here, the kind that clawed at skin and lungs, turning breath to mist.
The footprints were easy enough to follow at first: two sets of heavy boots and a third, lighter, uneven trail between them. Addy’s. The sight of it made Sawyer’s chest constrict.
Jay knelt by the uneven trail between the boot prints, his fingers hovering just above the snow. “Look at the depth here. They’re forcing her along, but she’s on her feet. Still fighting.”
Sawyer nodded once. “She’s fighting them. That’s good.”
They moved on in silence. The world was unnervingly quiet, the kind of stillness that pressed against the ears. Even the birds had gone. Now and then, a branch snapped somewhere in the distance, echoing like a gunshot.
The trail wound through the trees, down toward the edge of the frozen creek.
Sawyer’s heart slammed against his ribs when he spotted it: a scrap of gray wool snagged on splintered bark, fluttering like a surrender flag.
He lunged for it, ripping off his glove with his teeth to feel the threads between bare fingers.
Addy’s sweater. The one she’d been wearing this morning, when he’d kissed her goodbye.
He shoved it into his pocket, his hand trembling. “She’s fighting. Leaving breadcrumbs.” His voice cracked. “Goddamn brilliant 2B.”
Jay’s face hardened with grim admiration. “She knows we’re coming.”
They charged across the creek, boots breaking through ice, frigid water soaking to their ankles. Neither man flinched. On the far bank, Sawyer dropped to a crouch, his breath catching at the sight of boot prints filled with pink slush. Blood.
“One’s bleeding pretty badly,” Jay whispered, crouching beside him. “They’re bleeding out.”
“Good,” Sawyer snarled, a sound barely human. “I want them to suffer when I find them.”
His eyes had gone cold, the thousand-yard stare Jay recognized from men who’d crossed into that dark place where mercy dies. Jay said nothing. Some fires you don’t try to put out.
An hour passed. The forest thickened as they climbed higher up the ridge. The wind hissed through the trees, carrying the faint metallic scent of smoke. Sawyer stopped dead.
“Do you smell that?”
Jay lifted his head, nostrils flaring. “Campfire. Faint, maybe half a mile out.”
They crouched low, moving slower now. Every crunch of snow felt too loud. As they crested the next rise, Sawyer dropped to one knee and peered through the trees.
Below them, tucked into a shallow ravine, was a small camp.
Two men, just as Sawyer had seen before, one with his arm bandaged, pacing restlessly, the other crouched near a low-burning fire.
Between them, near a stack of gear, Addy sat on the frozen ground, wrists bound but her head lifted.
Even from here, Sawyer could see her chest rise and fall.
Alive. His finger twitched against the trigger guard.
“There she is,” he whispered, his throat tight. “We could take them now. Clean shots.”
Jay scanned the rest of the camp, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t see anyone else, but something feels off. Why just two? Where’s their backup?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Sawyer said, his eyes locked on Addy. One of the men moved toward her with a canteen. Sawyer’s aim followed. “If he touches her—”
“And if they hear the shot? If the other one gets to her first?” Jay placed a hand on his arm. “Do you want her safe, or do you want revenge?”
Sawyer’s grip on his rifle tightened, then loosened. “Both,” he admitted, his voice raw. “God help me.”