Page 64 of Cut Off from Sky and Earth
I push open the door and step out onto the porch. The sleet has turned to solid ice, and I grip the railing tightly with my free hand as I mince my way down the ice-slicked steps to the yard. The ice pellets sting as they bounce off my exposed skin. I wince and turn to watch her gingerly descend the stairs.
We follow the gravel drive for as long as possible. It provides some traction even though it’s not the most direct route to the barn where the truck is parked. Reaching the end of the drive, I step onto the wet grass and immediately lose my footing.
“Careful, it’s slippery,” I call to her as I right myself.
We shuffle across the yard like penguins. Our progress is torturously slow. My heart pounds and my hand aches from gripping the poker. We’re exposed and vulnerable. If he’s watching us, now, he might be tempted to charge us.
I swallow and force myself to resist the urge to run. That’ll only end up with me on my ass. Through the driving ice, the barn comes into view over the rise. We’re almost there. I push aside the thought that once we get there, we’re hardly out of danger. The drive to the valley is going to be hair-raising, at best. I don’t allow myself to think about the worst-case result.
I turn to check on Emily’s progress. She’s about ten feet behind me. Her head is lowered like she’s watching her step as she inches along. Every few steps, she stops and wipes the moisture from her eyes. Her mouth is set in a firm line.
She must feel the weight of my gaze because she looks up and flashes me a thumb’s up sign. I smile and hope it’s encouraging because it feels like a rictus. Then I turn back to the barn, checking for movement in the woods from the periphery of my vision.
Finally, we reach the barn. Breathing hard, I stretch out my hand to unlatch the door and freeze.
“What’s wrong?” she pants.
The words lodge in my throat and it takes a moment to choke them out. “The door’s not latched.”
“Maybe the wind blew it open,” she says hopefully.
“Maybe.” I doubt it, though. The door was secure. I checked before the storm began.
My pulse hammers in my throat as I push open the door. Raising my poker overhead, I creep forward, terrified of what—or who——might be waiting inside for us. As I step out of the ice storm and into the dim barn, I clutch the poker harder and wait for my eyes to adjust. When they do, I have to stop myself from sinking to my knees.
“No.”
Thirty-Three
Emily
* * *
“No,” Alex whispers.
I step forward to stand beside her in the darkened barn. I follow her gaze, but between the water running into my eyes as the ice on my hood melts and drips down my face and the darkness inside the structure, I’m not sure what we’re looking at. I can tell from the slope of her shoulders that whatever it is, it isn’t good.
I take another step closer to the truck, and my heart drops into the pit of my stomach as I see what Alex saw. The front tires are flat—completely flat. I walk to the back of the vehicle on shaky legs and confirm that the back tires are flat, too.
Alex is frozen to the spot, staring.
My mind races. I’m about to ask how this could have happened when I see the rubber flapping in the cold wind that gusts in through the open barn door. Someone has taken something sharp, probably a big kitchen knife like the one I’m holding, to the tires. Any hope that this is just bad luck vanishes.
“He did this,” Alex rasps in a hoarse voice.
Suddenly, the warm, dark barn feels less like a shelter and more like a tomb. I run around to the front of the truck to stand as close to Alex as I can.
“He could still be in here,” I whisper back.
The muscle in her cheek twitches, but she says nothing. Instead, she removes the flashlight from the pocket of her parka and turns it on. The beam is bright in the dark interior. She slowly arcs it across the wall and then back, stopping at each stall, every corner, before turning it up to the loft.
He could be hiding up there, I think, pressed down flat against the floor. But I’m not about to suggest mounting the ladder and climbing up to the hayloft to find out. I keep my eyes fixed on Alex’s drawn face.
She clicks off the light and pockets the flashlight. She closes her eyes for a moment and gives her head a small shake before raising her gaze to mine. “It was probably a suicide mission anyway.”
I thought as much, but at least it was something we could do, an action we could take, instead of sitting around waiting to be slaughtered.
“So ... do you have a spare?” I ask stupidly.
