Nearby, small chunks of wood had been gathered in a pile, evidently serving as kindling for a fire. The wood was charred and dusted with ashes.
Underneath the bedsheet roof, Amiya saw a dirty blanket full of holes.
“Someone’s been living out here, in the woods, like a homeless person,” Amiya said. She pursed her lips. “I’m trying to understand how this could be happening here.”
“I bet it was the same person I saw,” Nick said. His eyes looked haunted. He clutched the rifle against his chest. “But I don’t see them now. They’re gone.”
Using a long tree branch she’d picked up off the ground, Amiya turned over the blanket. She found a decapitated doll’s head underneath. The plastic face was smeared with dirt, the fake black hair full of dead leaves, and one eye was missing.
“This is a child’s home.” Amiya shook her head, trembling. “Probably a girl. My God. We’ve got to report this, Nick. This is terrible.”
“Yeah.” Nick lowered the rifle, breathing deeply.
With a scream, something dropped out of the trees and landed on Nick’s back. Nick yelped in surprise and collapsed to his knees.
Amiya realized that the shrieking, attacking creature was a child. Wild-haired and dark-skinned, wearing only a filthy blue housedress, she was trying to stab Nick with a sharpened piece of wood.
“Get off him!” Amiya shouted.
She seized a fistful of the girl’s dress. Baring her teeth, the girl swiped at her with the stake, drawing a searing cut across Amiya’s forearm. Amiya cried out and pulled back.
Nick got his bearings and flipped the girl over his shoulders. The child tumbled against a tree, but bounced back onto her feet.
Like a feral feline, she hissed at them and brandished the stake.
Amiya estimated the child to be eleven or twelve years old. The poor girl was emaciated. The sodden dress hung on her bony frame like a shapeless sack. She wore a muddy pair of low-cut sneakers with ragged shoelaces. A weathered, small purse with a thin, fraying strap was slung across her chest.
Runaway, Amiya thought, and felt her heart kick. So much of her counseling work had been with young girls like this, victims of abusive households who often wound up trapped in the sordid world of underground sex trafficking. Amiya had seen it so many times, and it was always heartbreaking.
Fear glistened in the girl’s penny-brown eyes, but there was a threat there, too. Amiya knew this child would not hesitate to strike at them again if she sensed danger.
“It’s okay,” Amiya said softly, but in a firm tone. She opened her hands to show they were empty. She was so focused on the girl she barely registered the bleeding cut on her arm. “We aren’t here to hurt you.” She glanced at Nick, who had already lowered the rifle. “You okay?”
“Yeah, got some nicks and scratches, nothing serious.”
Nodding, Amiya turned back to the girl. She noticed some type of raised welt on the child’s neck, a symbol that looked like a “W,” and her stomach twisted.
She’s been branded with a mark of ownership. Like property.
“My name is Amiya,” she said, and tapped her chest. “This man here is my friend, Nick. What’s your name?”
“The Overseer comes looking at night,” the girl said, in a tremulous voice so soft Amiya could barely hear it over the pattering rainfall.
Amiya frowned. “Who is the Overseer?”
“Stay away from the plantation,” the girl said, and cast a quick, terrified glance behind her.
“Plantation?” Nick asked.
“He has helpers.” A tear tracked down the child’s soot-filmed cheek. “If he catches you . . . you’ll never leave.”
“Have you seen my grandfather?” Nick asked. “He’s very sick. He was wearing overalls and a hat.”
Amiya thought she saw recognition spark in the child’s frightened eyes.
“The Caretaker can’t be touched,” she said, and shook her head.
“You’ve seen him?” Amiya asked. “Where is he? He needs our help, honey.”
