I believed him. I trusted him. And for the first time in years, when I slid into bed beside my daughter and tucked her intomy arms, I closed my eyes without fear of what I’d find when I opened them.
CHAPTER 13
EVELYN
Dutch returned justas dawn broke pale and quiet over the rimrocks. I stood on the porch as his truck rumbled up the rutted path, the cold air sharp enough to sting my lungs. Behind me, the cabin was silent except for the soft creak of old timber settling. Sophia was still asleep, but sleep had been impossible for me after what happened between Trent and me. My mind kept replaying our conversation, his confession about his mother, the raw vulnerability in his voice. The memory of his hands on my skin, the weight of him above me—these sensations lingered, making it impossible to rest.
Dutch killed the engine and climbed out, moving slower than usual. His injured arm hung stiff at his side, the bandage visible beneath his rolled-up sleeve. He reached into the truck’s bed and pulled out two duffel bags.
“Figured you’d need these,” he called, mounting the porch steps with a slight wince. “Got into your place before anyone noticed. Grabbed what I could for you and the girl.”
I took one of the bags from him. “You shouldn’t have risked it.”
“Already risked plenty.” He handed me the second bag. “This one’s Sophia’s. Got her Mr. Hoppy, too. Found him on her bed.”
I unzipped the bag enough to see the worn stuffed rabbit, and my heart cracked open. “Thank you.”
Dutch grunted and moved past me into the cabin. I followed, watching as he headed straight for the coffee pot.
“How bad is it out there?” I asked.
“Bad.” He poured coffee with his good hand, the other arm held close to his body. “Maybe worse than bad. But it’s not everyone.”
Trent emerged from the back bedroom, hair still mussed from sleep, wearing the same black t-shirt from yesterday. His eyes sharpened the moment he saw Dutch. “You found others?”
“Found some.” Dutch took a long drink of coffee, downing half of it in one breath, then grimaced. “Jeb Harper’s got his own spring water. Never trusted the town supply. He’s fine. Tom and Lindsay Kline—those preppers who moved here last year—they filter everything through some complicated setup. They’re clear-headed.”
“How many total?” Trent moved to the table, his tactical mind already processing.
“Hard to say for certain. Maybe fifty, sixty people scattered around the county. Most of the folks who live outside town proper, the ones with wells or springs.” Dutch set down his mug. “But the ones who are affected? They’re organizing. Saw them moving through town in groups. All wearing the same damn thing. Blue shirts, khaki pants. Walking in formation like soldiers.”
My stomach dropped. “Formation?”
“Marching,” Dutch clarified. “Not walking. Marching. In perfect lines.” He looked at me. “They went to your house, Evie. Searched it. Systematically. One person per room, moving through like they were following orders.”
I thought of our little rental, the few possessions we’d accumulated over six months. The photos I’d tucked into a drawer. Sophia’s drawings on the refrigerator. “Did they take anything?”
“Not that I could tell. Just searched. Like they were looking for something specific.” Dutch’s jaw tightened. “Or someone.”
Trent’s hand found the small of my back. “You got out clean?”
“Yeah. But it won’t be long before they realize Evie and Sophia aren’t in town. When that happens—“ Dutch didn’t finish the thought.
The back bedroom door opened, and Sophia appeared, still in yesterday’s clothes, rubbing her eyes. She stopped when she saw the duffel bags, then her whole face lit up. “Mr. Hoppy!”
I knelt down and unzipped the bag, pulling out the stuffed rabbit. Sophia grabbed it and hugged it to her chest, squeezing so tight her knuckles went white.
“Dutch brought us some clothes,” I told her. “And Mr. Hoppy. Wasn’t that nice of him?”
Sophia looked up at Dutch with solemn eyes. “Thank you.”
The gruff old man’s expression melted like butter. “You’re welcome, little one.”
Trent was already moving, checking the perimeter monitors Dutch had set up. “How long until they figure out we’re here?”
Dutch refilled his coffee. “They’re organized, but they’re not thinking creatively yet. They’ll check the obvious places first. Store, school, motel. But eventually?—“
“They’ll expand the search grid,” Trent finished. He turned to me. “Get Sophia changed and fed. My team’s ETA is?—“
