"…and the Reverend," I caught the tail end of Mitchell’s sentence.
"But why? What’s his motive?" June asked.
"For one, he could be one of them," her brother said.
"One of whom?"
"The cult members. It’s the only thing that makes sense."
His sudden agreement with Nick startled me. All the same, it was a relief to see his earlier irritability had lifted. Mitch was now on a more productive path. A cult would explain almost everything—the organization, the secrecy, the missing people. Even the connection to the Harvest Moon. The symbols weren’t just landmarks. They carried meaning.
"But what’s the endgame? And why do they need all these people?" I shook the pack of photos in my hand.
"Recruiting new members or," Nick suggested, "human sacrifice."
"Are we seriously looking for a secret cult that specializes in human sacrifices?" I asked, incredulous.
Mitchell shrugged, his expression confirming the unthinkable.
"It still doesn’t explain how people just... vanish," I said.
"Well, we know of at least one Sheriff who covers up crimes," Nick said. "What if they have more?"
"But Sammy didn’t go missing on the Harvest Moon," it suddenly occurred to me.
"And that’s why there’s a chance he’s still alive," Nick said.
When I was sixteen,my dad taught me how to drive. He used to say, "Stay away from morons on the road," and that advice stuck with me. So, when an old Cherokee caught up with us on the narrow one-lane road, tailgating aggressively, I hugged the road verge to give them space to pass, even though I was driving five above the speed limit. The other car’s windows were tinted,obscuring the driver’s identity, but instinct whispered it was a man.
We reached a stretch of road where passing in the opposite traffic lane was permitted. The Cherokee suddenly accelerated, cut me off, and then adjusted its speed. I expected it to speed away, but instead it slowed down, and now I found myself tailgating.
Behind us, another car approached, and I was suddenly sandwiched between the two vehicles. I tried to put more distance between me and the Cherokee, but the car behind me nearly rear-ended me.
"Why pass if you’re not going to drive, asshole?" I muttered.
The Cherokee began weaving between the left and right sides of the lane, accelerating and decelerating with menace.
"What the heck?" Nick muttered, turning back.
The car in front of us turned on its hazard lights and started moving to the side of the road, giving me space to pass. However, there was no passing lane.
The car behind me signaled aggressively.
"What’s wrong with people here?" Taking a leap of faith, I spotted a long enough stretch of road before the next curve and sped up, passing the Cherokee in the opposite lane.
"Nellie, don’t!" Nick’s warning came too late.
Two things happened.
The Cherokee sped up, not letting me pass, and the car behind it did the same, maintaining a tight distance from the Jeep, making it impossible for me to squeeze back into my lane. I tried to slow down, letting them both go, but they slowed down too. The SUV swerved to the side, side-swiping us. The impact almost shoved us into the gutter along the opposite lane, but I managed to regain control.
"Don’t stop, go!" Nick ordered, and I floored it. As I struggled to maneuver back into my lane, the huge 4x4 swiftly pulled upbeside me, maintaining our speed and effectively trapping me in the oncoming lane.
"Don’t panic," Nick said, his voice oddly composed. "Let’s hit the brakes in three, two, one..."
I followed his instructions. The SUV hit the brakes too and turned violently into us, scratching our side. And there we went again, side by side. Only now it also tried to swerve left and bump us again. My hands trembled on the steering wheel as I veered left to escape the clash. The Jeep and the SUV still shadowed our moves.
Up ahead, a car hurtled towards us, careening around the turn at an alarming speed. Its horn pierced the air, but its driver remained oblivious to the full extent of our desperate plight.