He was right, of course. Six months of carefully built safety in Garnett had collapsed in a single day. Our quiet life, our tentative roots—all of it swept away in hours. We were running again, hiding again. Back where we started, only this time with an entire town as the threat.
And yet, looking at Trent carrying my daughter, at Dutch standing guard at the door despite his injury, I realized we weren’t entirely back where we started. This time, we weren’t alone.
“Let’s go,” I said, finding strength I didn’t know I had left. For Sophia, I could keep going. I always would.
CHAPTER 10
TRENT
Dutch’s cabincame into view as we rounded the final bend in the trail. A weathered structure of stacked logs and corrugated tin, it hunkered against the rimrock like it had grown there naturally over decades. My tactical assessment kicked in automatically—elevated position, clear sight lines to the valley below, multiple egress routes through the rocks behind. Defensible. I adjusted Sophia’s weight in my arms, feeling her small body still trembling against my chest. Her eyes were open but distant, seeing things no five-year-old should ever have to see.
My left shoulder throbbed where I’d dislocated it earlier. The joint felt loose, unstable, each shift of Sophia’s weight sending fresh pain down my arm.
“Home sweet home,” Dutch announced, fishing a set of keys from his pocket. The ring was attached to a faded rabbit’s foot that had seen better days. “Ain’t much, but it’s off the grid and built to last.”
Evelyn moved closer to me, her hand automatically reaching to stroke Sophia’s hair. The little girl hadn’t spoken since we’dleft the school, her voice locked away somewhere behind the trauma of her teacher holding scissors to her throat.
“How long have you had this place?” I asked Dutch, my eyes cataloging the solar panels angled on the south-facing slope, the rainwater collection system, the carefully stacked firewood under a protective overhang.
“Going on forty years.” He unlocked the heavy wooden door, which I noted had been reinforced with metal plating. “Started building it during the Cold War, kept adding to it every time the world went crazy. Turns out the world goes crazy a lot.”
The door opened into a main room with a wood stove at its center, a kitchen area along the eastern wall, and a worn couch and table marking out the living space. Gun cabinet. Radio equipment. Shelves lined with canned goods and supplies. Two doors on the back wall led to what I assumed were two small bedrooms. Dutch had been preparing for the end of the world for decades. Had he imagined it would look like this? Not nuclear war or natural disaster, but an entire town of blank-eyed neighbors moving in unison. Probably not.
“Water pump’s out back,” Dutch explained, lighting a kerosene lamp that cast warm shadows across the walls. “Propane stove works. Got a composting toilet in the lean-to. Solar runs the essentials.”
Essentials being security, from what I could see. A small monitor displayed feeds from strategically placed cameras around the perimeter. “Motion sensors?”
“You know it.”
“Careful. My boss might try to recruit you,” I said, actually impressed by his setup.
Dutch snorted. “Military wanted me back in ’73. Told ‘em to fu—” He broke off and glanced at Sophia in my arms, then corrected, “Told ‘em I work better alone.”
Sophia whimpered against my neck, her small fingers digging into my sore shoulder.
“She needs food. And rest,” Evelyn said softly, her own exhaustion evident in the shadows beneath her eyes. “And to get cleaned up.”
Dutch nodded, moving to what passed for his kitchen area. “Got some canned soup. Crackers. Water’s clean here. No worries about that.”
I moved to set Sophia down on one of the wooden chairs, but she clung tighter, panic flashing across her face. “No, Vigi, no,” she whispered, the first words she’d spoken since the school.
“It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere,” I assured her, settling into the chair with her on my lap. Pain flared through my shoulder as I shifted her weight. “Just giving my arms a break. You’re getting pretty big, you know.”
She didn’t smile, but some of the tension left her small body. Evelyn’s hand found mine over Sophia’s back, a brief point of contact that communicated more than words could have.
While Dutch heated soup on the small propane stove, Evelyn found a basin and filled it with warm water, adding a splash of biodegradable soap she’d found on a shelf.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweet pea,” she said, bringing the basin over. With gentle hands, she washed Sophia’s face and hands, talking softly the entire time. “There we go. Doesn’t that feel better? I know it’s been a scary day, but you’re safe now. We’re all together.”
The girl’s lower lip trembled. “Not Mr. Hoppy. He’s not with us.”
The name hit me square in the chest. Mr. Hoppy. The stuffed rabbit I’d picked up at a gas station somewhere in Nevada, knowing she’d lost the original somewhere in the chaos of our escape from Hope’s Embrace. I’d handed it to her withoutceremony, just set it on her lap in the backseat while Evelyn slept.
She’d named it immediately. Mr. Hoppy. Had talked to it for the next three states, asking it questions and answering in a squeaky voice she assigned to the toy.
Six months, and she still had it. Still remembered.
My throat went tight.
