by Alana Terry
“No, they get paid to make coffee. They get tips for looking pretty in their swimsuits.”
Willow was joking, but Kennedy didn’t think it was all that funny. “Isn’t that dangerous? I mean, it’s the middle of the night, totally dark. She’s out here all alone ...”
Willow laughed. “First of all, that’s a perfect example of rape culture right there. Second, she’s an Alaska chick. Probably packs more heat than that police detective back in Boston. Don’t be so uptight. In the past five years, there’s only been one barista kidnapping.”
“Only one?” Kennedy repeated sarcastically.
“Really sad story, actually. She grew up in Valdez, girl named Brandy. We knew each other from a few summer theater programs. Anyway, don’t worry, she didn’t even work at one of the bikini ones.”
Willow rolled down her window to grab the two drinks. Kennedy kept her eyes on the dashboard.
“Oh, stop being all weird about it,” Willow said as they drove off. “That barista’s probably a straight-A student like you, working one or two late nights a week and earning enough in tips to pay for her entire college education.”
They arrived at the theater two minutes before starting time. As they hurried through the parking lot, the air stung Kennedy’s face, and she wondered how she’d handle Copper Lake, which was regularly thirty degrees colder or more than Anchorage.
Kennedy had never seen her roommate get so engrossed in a film before, especially not one with such canned dialogue and stiff acting as this one. Forty minutes into the movie, Kennedy found herself nodding off as many times as the camera changed its angle. She shouldn’t have gotten a plain hot chocolate at the drive-up stand, not if her goal was to stay awake. She should either stop fighting her fatigue and squeeze in an hour-long nap or run out to the lobby and grab herself something more caffeinated. It didn’t matter which she chose. Either option would be preferable to sitting here jerking herself awake every two or three minutes.
The main character was explaining the rapture to the perky love interest when Kennedy leaned over and whispered to Willow, “I’m going to grab a drink. Be right back.”
Not surprisingly, the theater was almost empty. Kennedy didn’t have to worry about stepping over anybody’s legs or distracting any viewers behind her.
She stopped by the bathroom on the way to the concession stand and splashed cold water on her face. She could travel across twelve time zones a couple times a year and manage not to turn into a zombie. With a little gumption and a whole lot of caffeine, she could make it through the rest of this film.
She stared at her reflection, wondering what strangers thought when they saw her. She wasn’t like Willow, never was one to stand out in a crowd. Not that she wanted to. She thought back to her first international flight by herself two and a half years ago. Straight out of high school, never suspecting the trials she’d have to walk through. She still didn’t feel all that old, but she was definitely more mature than she’d been when she first stepped foot on the campus of Harvard University.
The same university that last semester had humiliated her, taken away her job as a teaching assistant, and threatened her medical school acceptance when all she’d done was write an article that certain people didn’t like. She might have never gotten her offer reinstated if it hadn’t been for her friend, Ian. The red-haired journalist had championed tirelessly for her before hopping on a plane to China to continue with his filming.
She hadn’t heard from him since, which shouldn’t disappoint her all that much. They’d only had a few breakfast dates together, not enough to know if there really was any spark or chemistry between them. Still, she’d thought he would at least text or email her from overseas, even just to let her know he was still safe.
She sighed as she made her way out of the bathroom. Standing in line to get a drink, she felt her pocket vibrate and realized she’d missed several texts from her dad during the first portion of the film.
Her mouth immediately went dry. She could taste the fear in the back of her throat. Her lungs constricted once. She did her best to swallow down her panic.
There wasn’t time to write her dad back. Praying Willow had forgotten to turn her phone off before the start of the show, she steadied her hands enough to send a simple text.
Volcano erupted about twenty minutes ago. We’ve got to leave.
CHAPTER 9
Past midnight, Winter Solstice
KENNEDY WINCED AS WILLOW’S fingernails dug into her arm. She wanted to ask what was going on, what Willow had found in the box that got her so freaked out, but she was paralyzed.
“Roger? You home?” The front door banged opened, bringing in with it a burst of cold and the foul smell of body odor.
Willow gave Kennedy’s arm one last squeeze and asked sleepily, “Someone there?”
“I’m looking for Roger. Where is he?” The voice was gruff.
“He stepped out for just a sec. I’m sure he’ll be back soon. Are you Buster, the guy with the radio?”
“Yeah, that’s me. Who’re you?”
“I’m Willow. Did you get hold of my parents?”
“Sure did. They were pretty worried, too.”
“Oh, good. Thank you so much for getting that message to them. Hey, did my mom mention my goat?”
“Goat?”
Willow’s voice was laced with concern. She sounded five years younger. “Yeah, she went into labor this morning, and I’ve been really worried about her. I thought for sure my mom would know how scared I’d be and give you a message to let me know how things went.”
Buster cleared his throat. “Oh, that. Yeah, she said everything went just fine. No problems. Happy mama, healthy baby.”
Willow let out her breath in a loud sigh. “I’m so glad. I’ve been worried sick.”
Kennedy couldn’t keep ahead of the conversation. What was Willow talking about?
Buster’s voice softened a little. He scratched his massive belly. “Where’s your friend? Roger said there were two of you here.”
Willow let out an airy laugh that held no indication of how tightly she’d been squeezing Kennedy’s arm just a minute earlier. “She’s dead to the world. That’s her way. She’s like Cinderella. Turns into a pumpkin after midnight, or something like that.” Another giggle.
Buster cleared his throat. “Roger say when he was coming back?”
“No. Should we sit and wait for him?” Something in Willow’s voice had changed. She wasn’t actually flirting with this mountain man, was she?
Buster lowered his weight onto the stump in the middle of the room. Now that he was closer to Kennedy’s corner, she tried hard not to gag from the smell.
“Is it still pretty cold out?” Willow asked. What kind of question was that? It was the dead of winter, and they were stuck here freezing in the middle of nowhere.
“You could say that.”
“I wonder if the stars are out. Want to step outside and see?” What was Willow thinking? Why would she go outside in the cold with this stranger? Kennedy thought about her roommate’s directive to run when she got the chance, but she wasn’t going anywhere by herself. Not without Willow, and not without a whole lot more answers.
What had Willow seen? What got her so scared? They were obviously in some kind of trouble, but until Kennedy knew what, until she found out what was in that box that spooked Willow so much, she had to be prepared for anything. What was lying around here that could make a decent weapon? There was a fire poker, wasn’t there? Which side of the stove was it on? Kennedy reached out her hand slowly, terrified of making any noise that would alert Buster and let him know she was awake.
“Come on,” Willow was coaxing playfully. “Take me outside so we can look at the sky. Don’t you love the stars?” She sounded like an eight-year-old begging for a ride on the merry-go-round.
“You can see the sky and the stars from here. Just look right out the window. Don’t even have to get cold.”
“Yeah, but
there’s a spot right behind the house that I bet has an even better view. See that tree branch? It’s blocking the view.”
Buster made some sort of indecipherable grumble.
“Please?” Willow whined.
Think. Kennedy had to think. Figure out what she was supposed to do.
“Come on, let’s go look. Just for a minute. We’ll go behind the cabin, see if the view’s better without the tree blocking it, and then we’ll come right back in and warm up. Ok?”
Buster continued to speak in grunts and monosyllables, but since he was getting up off the log, Kennedy guessed he was assenting. Now was the time to make her decision.
Willow giggled. “Just behind the cabin,” she repeated, glancing back once, “and then we’ll come back real quick.”
The door opened. The burst of searing cold nearly stole Kennedy’s breath. As soon as she was alone she jumped up to grab the shoebox from the shelf. She had to understand what Willow was doing. Why she’d told Kennedy to run.
She shined the light from Willow’s phone into the box. An old faded newspaper clipping lay on the top. Anchorage Barista Still Missing: Police urge anyone with information to come forward. Beneath the headline, a girl in a tank top smiled at Kennedy.
She moved the clipping aside. Beneath it were piles of photographs of a young woman in lingerie. Kennedy was certain that even from outside Buster and Willow could hear her pounding heart.
It was the same girl from the newspaper article.
She had to get Willow out of there. That was all there was to it. Even if Willow had made the sacrificial decision to distract Buster behind the cabin so Kennedy could make her escape, there was no way she was leaving here by herself.
She grabbed the fire poker then ran to the kitchen drawer, hoping to find something sharper than a butter knife. She shoved Willow’s phone in her pocket. Stupid cell phone reception.
She eyed the radio. If she could figure out how it worked, would there be a way to signal for help? Would there be time?
“Buster? That you?”
Kennedy froze. It was Roger. She had no idea where he’d gone for so long, but his truck hadn’t moved. Wherever he’d been, he’d gotten there by foot.
“It’s me,” Buster said. “Your cute little houseguest here wanted to see the stars.”
Kennedy didn’t have time to think about the girl in the pictures in Roger’s shoebox. The front door opened, startling Kennedy so much she dropped the fire poker, which clattered on the hard floor, stinging her ears through the silence of the winter night.
“Everything ok?” Roger asked. Was he suspicious?
Kennedy wished she could absorb her roommate’s acting abilities. She forced a smile. “Yeah, I don’t know much about these wood stoves, but I was feeling a little cold in here, so I was ...”
Buster came in behind Roger, leading Willow who gave Kennedy a small shake of the head.
Kennedy stared at her feet. “I’m sorry. I probably should have left it alone.”
Roger let out a laugh. He seemed far more jocular than he’d been earlier. Maybe the pack of beer he was holding with two cans missing explained why.
“Shut the door.” Roger slammed the cans down. It took up his entire counter space. “I hope you girls got a little rest. Buster and me were thinking we’d treat you to an early Christmas party.”
Kennedy was trying to find a way to politely decline when Willow sidled up beside her and grabbed her by the wrist. “Actually, I’m dying for a drink, but can you show us where the outhouse is first?” She shot her radiant smile. “We girls like to freshen up before a good party, right?”
Buster, all 250 stench-infested pounds of him, was leaning over Willow, grinning so widely Kennedy was surprised there wasn’t already a puddle of drool on her roommate’s shoulder.
Roger furrowed his brow. “I’ll show you where it is, but there’s not room for both of you at once.”
Willow gave Kennedy a very obvious nudge. “Sounds good. You go first.”
Kennedy understood what Willow was trying to do but refused to leave her roommate here alone. “That’s ok. I can wait.” She winced when Willow’s fingernails dug into her wrist.
Willow sighed but kept her voice cheerful when she said, “All right, then. I guess we’ll use the outhouse later. Who’s ready to get this party started?
CHAPTER 10
IF KENNEDY HAD HER choice, the last thing she’d want to see would be these two men drunk, but Willow kept on giggling and popping lids off their beer. Kennedy held her full can close to her body as if it might ward off leering eyes, reminding herself to raise it to her lips every few minutes so it looked like she was taking a drink. Willow, by contrast, was already on her second can and was acting even more boisterous than she’d been back in her former partying days.
The twelve-pack was gone by the time Willow put her hand on Buster’s shoulder and said, “You must be getting really tired. Think we should call it a night?” She glanced at Kennedy, who tried to guess what her roommate was thinking.
Trust me.
It wasn’t Willow’s voice she heard, even though she could sense that’s what her gaze was meant to convey.
Trust me.
Her heart was pounding. She’d never been the type who “heard God” like some Christians she knew. Dominic, the chaplain of the police department back in Boston, had been incredibly gifted like that. Sometimes he had called Kennedy to say something like, “Hey, I was praying about you and just felt like God was telling me to give you some encouragement.” Once, they’d been on their way to have dinner at Angelo’s Pizza, but Dominic had said, “You know, this is going to sound crazy, but I really feel like the Lord’s telling me we should go somewhere else tonight.” So they grabbed clam chowder served in sourdough bread rolls from a walk-up stand, only to find out several hours later there’d been a gunfight right across the street from Angelo’s.
Trust me.
Was that voice really God’s? How could Kennedy be sure?
Roger’s hand was on her shoulder. His breath stank and was hot on her neck. “You didn’t drink much.” He glanced at her beer, which Willow quickly grabbed.
“Let me take your empty can off your hands.” She set it on the counter and smiled at Buster. “So, what happens now?”
Kennedy didn’t understand why Willow was acting so friendly and eager, but she also couldn’t shake that voice she’d heard.
Trust me.
Buster groaned as he plopped onto the tree log and pulled Willow onto his lap with a slurred, “Come here, you.”
Willow giggled, but her serious eyes were fixed on Kennedy. What was she trying to say?
Trust me.
Kennedy took a deep breath. Tried not to shudder when Roger ran his hands up the back of her shirt and onto her bare skin. Kennedy was no actor. She wasn’t like Willow. She couldn’t pretend that any of this was right.
Willow was staring at her. What was she supposed to do?
Roger pressed his cheek against hers, the coarse hair from his beard bristling her skin and sending goosebumps up her spine.
She had to get him off. But how? Her entire body was frozen. She couldn’t find her voice.
If that had really been God telling her to trust him, why wasn’t he doing anything to stop Roger? Her body shivered.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked. “You cold?”
Kennedy tried to swallow past the shameful lump in her throat. She hated the paralysis she felt, hated the helplessness that held her captive.
She didn’t have to stand there like a statue and take this humiliation. She wouldn’t. If she could just snap her brain out of its stupor, she could get him to stop. She’d force him to stop. When his hand started traveling around toward her chest, reflexes kicked in. She made her hand into a fist and slammed it into his groin. He doubled over, then reached out and grabbed her by the hair.
Willow yelled something, but Kennedy couldn’t make out what was going on. It took all her
focus to try to pry herself away from Roger’s clutches.
“Get over here,” he growled.
She lunged forward. He grabbed her by the waist. She brought her leg up, tried to kick, and missed. He was standing behind her now, taller than she was. Stronger, but she wasn’t about to give up. Not without the fight of her life.
He wrapped his arms around her from behind. She snapped her head back and crashed her skull against him as hard as she could. She didn’t know if she hit him in the chin or the cheek or the nose, but he swore and let go. She lunged toward the fire poker.
“I don’t think so,” he snarled.
There was no room to run. By the door, Willow was struggling with Buster. Even if Kennedy got herself free from Roger, there was nowhere to escape.
She thought about all that beer. Maybe they’d be too tired to fight for long. Maybe that had been Willow’s plan all along. Kennedy recalled that still, small voice from just a minute earlier.
Trust me.
Ok, God, she answered back, I’ll start trusting you the minute you get us out of here.
Roger grabbed her sweater and was trying to tear it off. Kennedy was using everything she could think of — fingernails, fists, feet. From somewhere behind her, Willow yelped in pain.
God, get us out of here.
A rumbling. It started low and came from the ground, as if something buried far beneath the cabin floor was awakening for the first time.
Angry.
It was the distraction she needed. She grabbed the poker and when Roger lunged toward her, she swung it at his head. She hadn’t meant to hit so hard. Hadn’t meant to do any real damage. She just wanted him to leave her alone. He crumpled to the ground. Kennedy stared and realized the fight had made her completely dizzy. She could hardly support her weight, as if the ground itself were rocking back and forth.
And what was that loud noise?
“Earthquake!” Willow grabbed the metal bar out of Kennedy’s hands and whacked Buster in his massive gut. He doubled over, still conscious, and Willow grabbed Kennedy’s hand. “Let’s go.”