Chapter One
Hannah
āDad, I need help,ā I whisper into the darkness as I rest against an oak tree. Iāve been living out of a tent for the past week, trying to keep myself and my three-month-old baby safe.
As a kid, I spent hours camping in the woods with my parents. My dad craved a simpler life and taught me how to survive in the forest by myself. Part of me wonders if he didnāt know I was going to need those skills one day.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I fight the wave of dizziness. Food has been getting harder to come by. The berries and plants Iām eating are barely enough to give me a good milk supply. Every day, Iām afraid itās going to dry up.
The sound of mocking laughter in the trees gives me pause. Itās a Yellow-breasted Chat, a bird with a nighttime call that often resembles a mocking laugh. My mom loved birds and taught me so much about them.
Looking up for the bird, I spot something through the trees. Thereās a faint light thatās coming from a structure not far from the tree line.
Breaking and entering isnāt my first choice. But since losing all of my supplies in a river yesterday, Iām getting desperate. I want a good meal and a warm place to sleep for a few nights.
I adjust the sling and check to make sure Noah is still sleeping soundly against my chest. When Iām certain he is, I creep closer to the huge building. Itās some type of workshop or barn. Itās common to find them here in rural North Carolina.
Peering into the window, it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the light. Once they do, I spot a shirtless man. I canāt see his face because his back is to me. But even from this distance, I can tell heās muscled. His biceps ripple as he slams the hood of a sports car.
He grabs an LED lantern and calls out to a dog that lumbers up from a cot in the corner. The stranger cuts off the lights and moves to the door. As he leaves the building, the dog barks.
My heart pounds as I crouch down and cover Noahās ears. Iām behind the building, not in the strangerās line of sight unless he decides to investigate whatās making his dog bark.
āAww, stop that,ā he says to the dog who continues to bark.
I send up a prayer to my father that Noah will sleep through this. One startled cry and Iāll be face to face with this big, half-naked stranger.
The dog finally quiets, and I listen to the sound of the manās footsteps as he retreats. But I stay crouched for an hour or more. By the time I think it must be safe enough to go inside the building, my legs are shaky from squatting and my muscles burn.
Inside the structure, itās pitch black other than the moonlight that comes through the window I was hiding underneath. Fortunately, the stranger left another lantern near the entry, and I turn that on.
The battery-operated device will probably go with me when I leave. I was taught not to steal when I was growing up. But my parents are long gone, and I have no one else.
My life is about survival now. The thought has me reaching into my pocket to feel for my hunting knife. I relax when I know itās still with me.
āWe may have landed on our feet,ā I say aloud, glancing around the space. Itās some type of car workshop. There are multiple cars in various states of repair in the building. I donāt know much, but I know theyāre the expensive sports kind.
The idea of selling one to a chop shop holds some appeal. I could get enough money to eat and maybe even get a night or two at a hotel. I havenāt had a warm shower in days.
Then I spot it in the corner. The small fridge.
When I open it, I nearly weep. Thereās almost nothing inside. I drink a cold water and eat the boiled egg. I canāt remember the last time I wasnāt hungry, and it worries me. Iām afraid there wonāt be enough nutrients in my milk if I continue this way.
Once Iāve eaten, the wave of sleepiness hits. But I know better than to pass up this opportunity. I may not have it again. So, I do what anyone in my situation would do. I survey the cars and try to decide which one Iām going to hotwire. I know nothing about driving, but I can figure this out. I have to. My survival and Noahās hinge on it.
***
Beau
Iāve barely drifted to sleep when the nightmare starts. Itās the same thing it always is. A ten-year-old boy trying to stop the unfolding horror. But just as my fatherās shotgun blast echoes in my head, I jerk awake.
Itās been twenty-five years and it still wakes me in a cold sweat. I sit up slowly and wait for the chest pain to subside. I remind myself that Iām not dying. Itās just the panic, my familiar friend.
On nights like this, I would get up and rock one of my twin girls. Something about holding them would soothe me, remind me that I had a normal life with a normal family. What a joke.
Forcing the thoughts back, I get out of bed and pad through my house to my office. I turn on my computer screen and something flickers across the security camera. I frown at the image of someone very small eating from my fridge. Is it a woman? A child? I canāt tell from the grainy image.
āHey, Red,ā I call out to my old Labrador whoās half-blind. āI figured out what you were trying to tell me earlier.ā
Grabbing my lantern, I decide to leave my canine companion in the house, so he doesnāt startle my midnight visitor. The workshop is only about a mile from the house and the intruder might even be gone by the time I get there.
When I get close enough, I turn off my lantern and slip into the workshop. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness and once they do, I see a figure next to my Ford Mustang.
Whoever the intruder is, theyāre tiny. I have to be at least a foot taller and have a lot of muscle on them.
I flick the lights. āWho are you, and what are you doing here?ā
I have to blink to make out the figure and thatās when I realize itās a woman. A petite little thing. With a baby strapped to her chest and a baseball cap pulled low on her head.
Thatās not the only thing that catches my attention. The flash of silver in her hand does too. Itās a small hunting knife and I could easily take it from her if the situation called for it.
My breath catches when she lifts her head and I see a glimpse of her face beneath the brim of the cap. She hasnāt just been tuned up. Sheās been fucking beaten. One eye is black and swollen nearly shut. Other bruises of varying ages dot her neck and cheeks. There are some light cuts and abrasions.
For one moment, itās like looking at my mother and I fight a howl of rage. I want to find the man that left these bruises and make it so that he can never lay hands on another woman in his life.
Iām sure the stranger knows by looking at my size I could overpower her and judging by her face, someone has done exactly that to her in the past.
I take a deep breath and raise my hands to show her that theyāre empty. āIām Beau. Youāre safe here.ā
If she registers the words, it doesnāt show on her face. She continues to hold the knife out, her shoulders taut.
I wait for her, trying to give her time to figure out her next move. But itās clear sheās not going to speak.
Finally, I think of her in front of the fridge where I sometimes keep snacks. I bet there wasnāt anything inside of it tonight. āAre you hungry? I can get you food.ā
Something flickers in her cornflower blue gaze. āYou have more food?ā
