Page 2 of Koha'vek
“Do you have a receipt?” He drawled. “Unfortunately, the records were burned in a fire at the town hall last month. You remember that, don’t you?”
I clenched my fists at my sides. “You burned those records yourself.”
Of course, he didn’t deny it. Jenkins didn’t need to deny anything. He owned the sheriff, the magistrate, the council, and every man he sent out to collect “debts.” They were the kind of men who didn’t blink at throwing a widow or a sick child into the snow if it meant pleasing their master.
This house, this ranch—my father had built it with his bare hands and carved a life out of hard soil and mountain winters. Now, Jenkins was doing it here, but he had no right to take it, to erase everything we had built.
I blinked back the burn of tears that threatened and lifted my chin.
“You won’t get it,” I said, mustering steel in my voice. “Not without a fight.”
Jenkins stepped closer, his breath hot with tobacco and stale whiskey. He was too close now, and I fought the instinct to step back.
“I think you misunderstand me, sweetheart,” he said. “You lost the land the moment your daddy died. But I’m a generous man. You can stay. All you have to do is become my woman.”
The words slithered through me like a chill of a bucket of ice water poured over my head.
I was so mad I wanted to spit in his face, but that would give them an excuse to hurt me. Instead, I said, “I’d rather burn this place to the ground.”
Jenkins’s eyes darkened, and the sleazy smile slipped from his face. “That can be arranged.”
He reached for me. I don’t know if he meant to grab my arm or if he intended to hurt me, but I acted oninstinct. I twisted away and lunged inside the house, slamming the door in his face and throwing the deadbolt with a satisfying click.
I could still hear his voice through the wood, “You’ve got three days, girl! After that, you’ll be out, feet first if I have to drag you.”
“Bastard!” I muttered under my breath, backing away with my heart pounding and my hands shaking. Stumbling into the kitchen, I braced myself against the old counter, the place where my mother baked bread and my father taught me how to sharpen a knife.
I was going to lose it all. The only thing I could do was leave. I sucked in a breath and stared out the window at the tree line where the wilderness stretched like a promise.
If I stayed, I would lose more than the ranch. I couldn’t even imagine being touched by that vile man Jenkins. Men like him didn’t stop or take no for an answer until they got everything they wanted.
My mare Dotty was already saddled. I was pretty sure it would come to this, so I got ready just in case. It was time to disappear.
Chapter Two
Koha’vek
The cold didn’t bother me anymore. I’d gotten used to it in the months since I left the Mesaarkan base. I’ve spent a lot of time outdoors in the cold.
I moved through the forest with the silence of a predator. With each step, my heavy boots barely whispered against the pine-needle-covered Earth. It was late winter, and snow dusted the ground in thin layers, not deep enough to slow me down but enough to cover my trail behind me. I was glad for that because I knew hunters could still come looking for me.
Since I left my old life behind, the wilderness has become my sanctuary. The solitude has been good for my battered soul. Up here, deep in the ridges of the Medicine Bow Mountain range, my routine of survival was honest and straightforward. I hunted mule deer and elk with a bow, and I only killed what I needed, but no more. The mountain streams were fresh and clear, and I drank from any that I came upon.
Early in my wanderings, I discovered an abandoned mountain hideaway, half-buried under snow and vines. I rebuilt it stone by stone, log by log. Sometimes, the roof leaked during heavy storms, but I did my best to patch it. If I forgot to check the flue, the fireplace sent smoke into the living area. It was nowhere near as nice as my home on Mesaark, but it was mine.
I was on constant alert for anyone looking for me, but so far, no one seemed to be. Occasionally, patrols would fly overhead, and I would hide so they wouldn’t see me. My hearing is exceptional. I could hear them miles away and hide before they came close enough to spot me.
I don’t know whether I was surprised or disappointed that my people never came to look for me. I believe the patrols flying overhead were cyborgs looking for our base to find the missing people. I kept my weapons charged with a portable solar panel from the emergency kit in the hovercraft and stayed alert. These were habits I’d learned early in my military career, an occupation that was chosen for me against my will.
I still had my stolen flyer, but I dared not take it out from the old barn where I hid it near my house. I’d dare not take it out because itcarried the greatest risk of being discovered by the wrong people.
I came to the edge of a clearing and stood crouched between the snow-covered cedars. The deer was still ahead, small, healthy, and alert. It sniffed the wind, its ears twitching.
I raised my bow, notched an arrow, and drew back the bowstring, feeling my muscles tighten as I poised, waiting for the precise moment to launch the arrow.
Then the wind shifted. A new scent entered my nostrils. I knew that scent well. Human blood. It was coppery and fresh, and my nostrils flared in recognition.
A twig snapped as I rose to my full height. The deer bolted at the sound as I turned toward the scent. By the strength, I could tell it wasn’t far. I followed the trail, dirt and snow slipping under my feet as I descended down a slope lined with jagged rocks and broken branches.
