Page 12 of Thunder Pass

Luke is dangerous. We’re not safe here. I’m not safe here.

Urgency raced through her nervous system. If Luke was saying openly that he didn’t trust her, she was in trouble. Mentioning Daniel—that was a threat. He was also trying to turn Sarah against her. He probably already had a husband lined up for her and didn’t want to have to deal with Ruth’s opinion about it.

Maybe that was the real reason he’d sent Ruth to the potato cellar—so she couldn’t interfere with his plans. “Sarah, I think we should?—”

She broke off. Could she trust Sarah? They were all trained not to keep secrets from Luke and Naomi. She wouldn’t blame Sarah if she panicked and ran to Luke with Ruth’s rebellious impulse.

So be it. If this backfired, she’d suffer the consequences. But she couldn’t just go along anymore, and she couldn’t let Sarah get married off without her consent.

“I think we should leave here. Tonight.”

In the darkness, she heard Sarah’s quick indrawn breath. “You do?”

What would happen if they left? Ruth wasn’t a prisoner here—she was over eighteen. But Sarah? That was different. Would they come after her? Where could she and Sarah go? How would they get there? What about the other kids?

The glittering ballroom hovered at the edge of her imagination. Oh, how she wished she could disappear into that fantasy. Those imaginings had helped her survive until now. But she mentally dismissed the ballroom, and it vanished.

In this moment, survival required something else. Action.

“I do. And here’s how we’re going to do it. Are you with me?”

6

They would have to hike out of the compound; the sound of a vehicle would wake people up. For that, they needed supplies.

Ruth waited in the cellar while Sarah disappeared back into the longhouse. When she returned, she carried two backpacks filled with food and water, and boots for both of them.

“Did anyone see you?” Ruth whispered.

“I don’t think so. Everyone’s asleep. It’s three in the morning.”

This time of year, it never got fully dark, so at most they’d have predawn grayness in their favor. The longhouse was smack in the middle of the clearing. Could they cross the entire property without being noticed?

“We need to be prepared in case the dogs raise the alarm,” Ruth said in a low voice. “If they go off, we’re going to need a distraction. Something that will draw everyone’s attention.”

“Like what?”

“I’m thinking. All we have to work with is potatoes.” The two of them giggled, and for a moment, all of this seemed like a lark, an adventure. “Did you pack any matches?”

“Of course. Never go anywhere without matches. I also packed a first-aid kit and some toilet paper,” Sarah said proudly. Toilet paper was one of the things they’d begun trading for after Luke left; before that, they’d used leaves and rags.

“We can work with that. I have an idea.”

Who would ever have thought that potatoes and bandages would create the perfect firebomb? Well, maybe not perfect…it took a little practice to get the right amount of bandage wrapped around the potato to create a slow smolder. Once they’d refined their method, they stuffed as many of the little firebombs as they could manage into one of the packs. If they had to do something drastic, they were ready.

Around four, they stole out of the potato cellar, moving like ghosts through the dim, misty morning. No one was awake at this hour, not even the roosters or, lucky for them, the dogs.

They crept across the expanse of scrub grass and gravel toward the forest’s edge, the most dense and mossy part of it, with a creek not far away. If they could make it to those woods, they’d have a good chance of disappearing.

Every moment felt like a year as they tiptoed through the grass, barely daring to breathe for fear of waking the dogs. As they passed the men’s dorm, giving it as wide a berth as possible, Ruth’s nose wrinkled. A strange aroma drifted from it, something she’d only smelled at The Fang before. Was someone drinking alcohol on Chilkoot property? To her knowledge, that had never happened before. Chilkoots never drank. Her first glass of wine at The Fang had been a major act of rebellion. Maybe the new men moving in didn’t have to follow the same rules.

When they were still at least a hundred yards away from the forest, with only an old storage shed between them and freedom, the sharp bark of a dog shattered the quiet. It was Grump, the most unfriendly of the pit bulls. They froze, waiting to see if he’d sensed something was going on and would trot out to investigate.

“Should we just keep going?” Sarah whispered.

Ruth chewed on her lower lip. If the dog kept barking, someone would wake up, and if they let the Grump out, he’d chase after them. A fire would keep everyone occupied, but it was risky too. It would take precious time, and draw attention.

But the dogs were already awake. Two of them were now barking, and soon all would be.

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