“Rogan Balo. He owns some kind of logistics company. That’s what he says anyway. The men that work for him don’t look like any truck drivers I’ve ever seen before.”
“Right. Oh, would you mind walking back? I might take the ATV out to check on the herd.”
“Sure, just don’t forget to fuel it up when you get back.”
I nod my head, distracted as I try to remember the terrain and the best path to take between Eda’s land and the old Brewer property. As the sheriff passes by, heading north this time, she hands me the key and starts down the ladder. I wait until they’re both out of sight before I head to the ATV.
*
Taking a circuitous route, I end up in the tree line near one of the outbuildings on the neighboring property. Thankfully, there doesn’t seem to be anyone around as I enter the closest building.
Christ on a cracker. I’m going to get myself killed.
Clouds have rolled in this afternoon so despite the skylights, it’s hard to see much of anything but I’m well acquainted with the smell of blood and for the first time in a long while my stomach starts rolling at the metallic scent.
Pulling my phone out of my coat pocket, I pan the flashlight around the space and jump when I see movement in the back corner. Holding the light close to my chest, I head to the closest wall and stick to the shadows as I approach the back of the room.
While there are some closed doors along the way, I’m not seeing anything that looks like an alternative exit—which worries me. The last thing I want is to get caught in here. Taking a chance, I shine the light on the shape I saw and nearly cry out when I realize it’s a man.
Forgetting to be cautious, I hurry forward until I see the size of the padlock on the cage in front of me. Fuck.
“The key’s hanging from a hook on this beam.” I can barely make out the man’s voice but once I do, I cross to the beam and quickly find the small silver key.
“Can you walk?” I ask him as he slowly uncurls himself from the ball he had been rolled into. Besides being bloody, he’s soaking wet and shivering in these freezing temps.
“Do you have a gun?”
“No, look, we need to move. I have an ATV nearby,” I tell him as he uses the side of the cage to pull himself up and when we’re practically nose to nose and I can see past his swollen features and into his painfilled eyes, I know I’ve found the man I’ve been so worried about. “It’s you.”
The nod of his head nearly has him falling forward, so I catch him, swinging my arm around his back to steady him. He can’t stop the groan that escapes him which leaves me torn about holding him too tightly—even though he’ll need to lean on me if we’re going to get out of here.
“Let’s move,” he groans, and I move, shaking my head when I realize he’s barefoot.
Getting back to the vehicle takes significantly longer as I’m half dragging him. It’s when we make it to the tree line that he speaks again.
“Can you stop saying that?”
It takes me a second to realize I’d been repeatedly whispering, “I don’t want to die.”
And I can totally understand how that would freak out someone in his condition.
Once we’re moving on the ATV, I realize that I can’t just head back to Eda’s, the snow would point them in my direction. Zig-zagging at various points on the main road, I eventually make it to the old pole barn on my dad’s property.
Covering the biker in hay is the best I can do right now, so I make sure he’s well covered before I set out on foot to our house.
Luckily, Dad drove my truck back here this morning so after grabbing the leaf blower and a battery from the garage, I pull my work kit, a jug of water, and a blanket out of the backseat and head back to the pole barn.
Using the leaf blower in my wake, eradicates my footprints, but damn, I need to start working out. Looking ahead, I make a quick decision—I put the leaf blower down and carry the other things ahead to the barn, then I double back to clear my trail from my truck before heading down to the road to blow away any trace of the ATV’s tracks.
I’m exhausted but have no chance to take a breath. Bringing my things further inside, I quickly uncover the man before I use disinfectant on my hands.
“Can you hear me?” I ask, growing more concerned when he doesn’t seem to notice my touch.
He’s burning up, which is no surprise considering how I found him.
Although it goes against everything I know, the last thing I want to do now is wash him down. Cutting away what little clothes he’s been left with seem counterintuitive. I tentatively check his skull and quickly find a good-sized cut on the back of his head, not to mention several wounds on his arms and feet where the blood has dried over.
There are two things that I’m truly worried about right now. The first is what happens to my dad when those men find himhere. I know it’s selfish, but family is family. The second is what internal damage he has from the faint glimpses of bruises I see up and down his body.
