by Kyla Stone
It was her second candy bar of the afternoon; she was still hungry. Leaves rasped beneath her sleeve as she stuffed the trash in her pocket and returned her focus to the cabin.
Impatience gnawed at her. The cabin was deserted. No one was here. It was silly to be afraid. Besides, who knew how much time she had before someone did come? She was wasting precious seconds, her chance to find Cody before it was too late—
The cabin door swung open.
Shiloh stilled. Every muscle went rigid.
A man stepped onto the porch. He wore the same green sweater vest from earlier. His sleeves were rolled up. A pair of binoculars hung on a strap around his neck. He had a bland face and thinning blond hair.
Dizziness washed through her. She knew him. In the photo, he’d been much younger. At night, it had been too dark. In town, he’d faced away from her. But now she knew exactly who he was.
Walter Boone looked like he’d stepped from Munising Middle School into a foreign planet. He looked so normal, so average. The indulgent uncle. The quiet next-door neighbor. The polite guy you never gave a second glance.
He didn’t belong here. Nothing about this felt right.
Instinctively, she lowered herself belly-first to the ground and peered through the leaves. Her gaze lowered to his feet. Black leather. White stitching. Red laces. Mud crusted the soles.
It was him. No mistake. The man she was certain had taken Cody.
Boone stepped down to the overgrown grass. Weeds scraped his shins as he moved across the clearing toward the rutted path that traced the right boundary of the property.
A later, the distant sound of an engine roared to life. It rumbled for a few minutes before fading into silence. Boone must have hidden his vehicle somewhere with another exit point.
Shiloh waited five minutes. Answers were inside that cabin. Not just answers, but her flesh and blood brother, alive and breathing, eyes bright as he shot her his lopsided grin. What the hell took you so long?
She could give up. Turn back. Get help. But how long would that take? Hours?
Especially without phones or a way to contact Eli. The miles’ long hike to Eli’s campsite from here, then the hike back here. Even if she trusted Jackson, she’d have to return to town and wait for Jackson to call in back-up and roll in with the calvary.
Every second she wasted on indecision was a second less that she had to rescue Cody. Boone could come back and squirrel Cody away to a place she would never find. Or maybe he’d just kill him.
Either way, she had to make her move. She thought of her mother. How a man like this had taken her life, had stolen her from Shiloh and Cody forever.
This monster wouldn’t do the same. He wouldn’t get away with it.
Adrenaline drove her more than her fear. She straightened from her crouch, the crossbow shifted on her back. Standing, she felt exposed, vulnerable.
The scent of pine and jasmine was strong in her nostrils. Leaves crunched beneath her feet as she crept from the concealment of the underbrush out into the open yard. Her eyes darted to and fro, mindful of a trap.
A blue jay chattered angrily at her from a jack pine, as if she were invading its private space. She felt the invader in every fiber of her being.
She reached the door and twisted the door handle. Locked. Slipping her lockpick set from her pocket, she inserted the tension wrench into the bottom of the keyhole and applied a slight pressure, then inserted the rake pick at the top of the lock.
It was an old lock. An old cabin. Her hands trembled. Sweat slid down her spine. She cursed under her breath and wiped her damp palms on her pantlegs.
She torqued the wrench as she scrubbed the pick back and forth, repeating the process until the pins were set.
She could do this in her sleep. Easy as stealing candy from a baby. She’d done that, too. Just to see if it was that easy.
It wasn’t. Babies cried.
No babies crying now. Just her own fear thudding in her ears. Akron, Ohio. Lansing, Michigan. Indianapolis, Indiana.
The familiar refrain calmed her, steadied her nerves. She clenched her jaw, listened for the faintest click of the spring. The lock opened. The door creaked open.
Shiloh stepped into darkness.
54
ELI POPE
DAY SEVEN
“We’re here,” Eli said in a low voice. “Be quiet and do as I do.”
Jackson nodded.
“I’m serious. Out here, I’m in charge, not you.”
Irritation crossed Jackson’s features, his mouth tight, eyes narrowed. An internal war waged in the shadows behind his eyes. Like any cop, he was used to giving the orders, civilians falling into line.
Eli was no civilian. And out here, he was the expert, not Jackson.
Jackson’s shoulders remained squared, but something softened in his stance, the skin around his eyes. He knew it was true. “Fine.”
As much as Eli resented him, he respected Jackson’s strength. It was no easy thing for a man to put his ego aside.
His AK-47 in the ready position, Eli approached the cave from the east, not along the overgrown trail the way Shiloh did. He’d told her he wouldn’t follow her, but he’d lied. He made it his business to know the details, to know who visited him and where they came from.
With Jackson trailing after him, Eli circled the perimeter twice, ears straining, senses on full alert, checking for signs that anyone had been here other than Shiloh.
They moved slowly, quietly, each footstep placed with care. As they moved, Eli looked for broken twigs, torn leaves, footprints in the dirt, disruptions in the pattern of the fallen leaves and forest floor detritus.
Every minute or so, he stopped, took a knee, and listened. He scanned not just the ground but the dense woods around them, searching for shadows, for any strange movements. Twenty yards to the east, a startled doe exploded from the underbrush. Other than that, there was nothing.
Once he’d ascertained that the area was clear, he approached the cave. He noted the trash bag that she’d tied up in a tree to keep the wild animals from reaching it.
Inside the cave, her sleeping bag was made but empty. He didn’t smell any residual smoke. The coals at the bottom of her Dakota fire pit were cool to the touch.
She’d been gone for a while.
“We missed her.”
Eli angled his chin at a glint of metal leaning against a nearby boulder. “My bike is here. Means she left it. Wherever she went, she’s on foot.”
“You gave her your bike?”
“She stole it.”
Jackson snorted. “No one steals from you. You see everything coming a mile away.”
Of course, he’d known. And of course, he’d let her slip away. If she needed it, he was glad to give it. “Guess I’ve lost my touch.”
“Doubt it.”
“I’ll find her.”
Jackson fell silent, letting Eli do what he needed to do. He stood still and didn’t get in the way. It was a rare skill.
After scanning the trees again, Eli lowered his gaze to the ground and focused on the story the dirt, disturbed leaves, and matted grass told him. He detected the slight drag of her left foot; she still favored her injured ankle.
Eli followed her trail in a southwesterly line from the cave across a patch of rock-strewn dirt into the woods. The forest was dense with little underbrush. Leaves, pine needles, and fallen branches littered the ground.
He found a broken spider’s web, partially rebuilt. Someone or something had passed that way within the last few hours. Twenty yards later, the slight indentation of a partial footprint.
Soon after that, the trail went cold.
He retreated to the last sign he’d spotted—the broken spider web and half-footprint. He made increasing circles in five-yard swaths, looking for some sign of her.
There was nothing. He’d lost it.
Thirty minutes later, he returned to the cave. “I lost the trail.” Frustration laced Eli’s voice. “I can keep loo
king, but we’re losing light.”
“We need Lena,” Jackson said.
Eli’s chest tightened. “What?”
Jackson eyed him. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Eight years in prison keeps you out of the gossip loop.”
Jackson ignored the sarcasm. “Lena does search and rescue with her Newfoundland, Bear. They’re quite the team. She’s good. If anyone can find Shiloh now, it’s her.”
“I thought she was in Tampa.”
“She’s not in Tampa. I asked her to come back before the grid went down. She got in last night. She spent the night at my parents’ house, but she went home this morning. To the Easton place.”
Eli went rigid. “Lena is here? Why?”
“Because her father was murdered. Because her niece and nephew have disappeared. Because the UP is safer than most places she might run to. And she’s smart enough to know she needed to run, to get out of the city before it implodes on itself.”
Eli said nothing. Emotions he’d thought long dead warred within him. Guilt and longing. Shame and desire.
“She didn’t come back for you,” Jackson said.
Eli knew that. Lena must hate him like everyone else. Though she’d stood by him the longest, more than any sane person would have.
In the end, she’d left him, like they all had. Every last one of them.
Just as he’d deserved.
He said, “Then let’s get Lena.”
55
SHILOH EASTON
DAY SEVEN
Inside, the cabin was heavy with shadows.
Shiloh repressed a shudder and took a step inside. Then another. The shadows pressed in with a physical weight.
A chill touched the back of her neck as Shiloh made a quick search of the cabin. The narrow living room on one end, the kitchen against the other, a tiny bedroom tacked onto the living room, with a back door next to the rickety bed.
The walls and floor were constructed of rough wood planks. The kitchen consisted of plywood countertops set over a couple of cabinets. A camp stove and tin wash bin sat in one corner with water jugs standing next to it.
There was no bathroom, no electricity, no plumbing, the outhouse in the back yard.
A sickly green sofa sagged in the living room. There was a rickety end table and a glass-topped coffee table over a faded oriental rug. Black curtains covered the two windows, as if Boone wanted to keep out everything, even sunlight.
A lamp with the base in the shape of a hawk stood on the end table next to a battery-operated LED lantern. Puzzle pieces were laid out on the coffee table, about seventy-five percent finished. It was a picture of a bunch of glossy Petoskey stones, Michigan’s state stone.
Every minute or so, she paused to strain her ears, listening over the rush of her pulse. Nothing under the bed or beneath the mattress or in the nightstand or dresser, which were filled with items like cold medicine and Chapstick, a couple of plaid shirts and khaki pants folded neatly in a drawer.
She needed some sign of Cody’s presence. His drawing notebook. His backpack. A lock of blond hair. His black hoodie. Anything.
There was nothing here. What if she was wrong? Had she made a terrible mistake?
There was a wrongness about this place. So wrong it penetrated deep into her bones.
The white-stitched boots. The pictures beneath the bed. No, Boone was hiding something. And that something was here. Somewhere. She just had to find it.
Thump.
Shiloh seized her crossbow and spun around. Shouldering it, she braced the stock against her cheek and sighted the windows, the front door, the sofa. Nothing.
She moved swiftly to the closest window and nudged aside the curtain. Outside, nothing moved. The tall weeds. The rusty birdbath. The rain barrels. The trees.
The sound had come from nearby. It had sounded close. So close.
Like it was inside the cabin itself.
Thump.
Shiloh stiffened. Adrenaline poured through her system, lit her nerves on fire. Turning slowly, she scanned the room.
Thump.
There was no one here. She’d seen Boone leave. She’d checked the bedroom. There was nowhere to hide.
Thump.
It was coming from beneath her feet.
Her gaze lowered to the floor.
The muffled sound came again. Something bumping against the underside of the floorboards. Something…or someone.
Anxiety scrabbled over her skin. The desire to flee so powerful, her legs nearly buckled. Instead of running, she approached the center of the room.
Thump.
It was coming from beneath the rug.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she set the crossbow on the floor beside her, using both hands to shove back the coffee table—careful not to disturb the puzzle—then the end table.
The lamp nearly toppled over. The base was heavy, made of iron. It wasn’t even plugged in. Not that it mattered with zero electricity out here. Or anywhere.
The Asian rug was threadbare. Shiloh rolled it out of the way, exposing rustic pine wood floors. Big heavy iron nails. Nothing to explain the dull thumping—
Her eyes snagged on a rectangular outline. Ridges in the floor where they shouldn’t be. An iron handle.
A trapdoor.
Her heart caught in her throat. She stopped breathing. Here it was. The secret she’d been hunting for. Cody had to be behind that door. He had to be. She’d finally found him.
Dropping to her hands and knees, she slid her fingers through the iron hook and pulled it up. It was heavy and cumbersome. Teeth gritted, her muscles straining, she yanked with all her might. Come on. Come on. Come on.
The trap door swung open. It squeaked on rusty hinges, revealing a rectangle of pitch blackness. Shiloh grabbed the LED lantern, switched it on, and peered into the depths.
The fetid stink of urine, feces, and rot assaulted her senses. A glimpse of hardpacked dirt walls. Wood beams crusted with spider webs. A five-gallon bucket in one corner, dirty mattress on the floor in the other.
A pair of eyes gazed up at her.
Horror seized her. With a gasp, Shiloh fell back.
The white oval of a face. A wild fringe of red hair. Mouth opened in a red O.
A girl. She wore a filthy tank top and shorts. Her pale body too skinny, ribs poking out, belly concave, dirt crusting her skin. A pair of dark eyes. Once shiny red hair tangled and matted. She gripped a knotted rope in both hands.
“Ruby,” Shiloh whispered. “Ruby Carpenter.”
“Don’t leave me,” Ruby rasped. “Please don’t leave me.”
She must have screamed herself hoarse. Screamed and screamed and no one came. No one to hear her but the birds, the squirrels and foxes. They weren’t telling; the wild things kept the forest’s secrets.
“I’ve got you.” Shiloh stretched out her hand but couldn’t reach her. Their fingertips just brushed.
There must be a ladder or something, but Shiloh hadn’t found it.
“Get me out!” Ruby gasped. Her voice was ragged. Eyes wide and frantic. More wild animal than human.
Shiloh fought to control her own panic. “Use the bucket to get higher,” she instructed. “And toss me the rope.”
The girl turned away from the square of the trapdoor above her and darted from Shiloh’s
view. A heartbeat later, she reappeared with the five-gallon bucket and dumped it on the floor.
The rancid stench of piss, feces, and vomit struck Shiloh fresh. She gagged as Ruby flipped the bucket and stood on it, then tossed Shiloh the rope.
Her teeth were smeared red. Her lips bruised and cut. Raw oozing wounds encircled each of her wrists. Rope burns. Ropes that had shackled her hands, bound her helpless and trapped here.
Bracing her feet, butt against the floor, she lowered the rope into the pit. “Take it and pull yourself up enough to reach the trapdoor. You can grab the handle here to pull yourself the rest of the way.”
“I can�
�t—”
“Climb! If you want to live, you gotta climb.”
Ruby’s gaze cleared. Some deep down glimmer of willpower flickered to the surface. Who Ruby was. Who she’d been before this, and who she would discover again after.
If she was strong enough. If she could survive this terrible moment, then she could survive the next. Shiloh had been doing it her entire life.
Standing on the bucket, Ruby seized the rope. She was only a foot or so below the trapdoor. What would’ve been easy for Shiloh took monumental effort from Ruby, who was weak and dehydrated.
With a groan, her muscles straining, Shiloh managed to pull her up enough to get her arms and torso above the hole. Shiloh dropped the rope, grabbed Ruby’s skinny arms and jerked her backward.
Grunting, Shiloh dragged the girl to her feet. She stood, swaying unsteadily, blinking in shock like she’d just landed on another planet.
Shiloh looked again at her teeth. One was chipped. Fibers were stuck between her front teeth. Fibers from a rope. This girl had chewed through her own restraints.
Then she’d tied a knot on one end of the length of rope and used it to smack the underside of the trapdoor again and again and again.
For how long? Hours? Days?
Had Boone heard her? Had he listened, sitting on his moldy couch doing his damn puzzles, knowing she was the mouse caught in his ultimate trap?
Rage pulsed through her. Rage and fear, but the rage was stronger. People like Jackson promised to keep them safe but how could he with these monsters lurking in the dark. A windigo with a human face.
Ruby was babbling, her legs sagging, a stunned, slack expression on her face.
Pity washed through her, but so did urgency. Urgency won. “Ruby, where is Cody?”
Shiloh seized her bony shoulders and shook her. She quivered like a rag doll. “Where is my brother? Cody Easton? Five nine, blond hair. He is supposed to be here. He has to be here.”