No one’s there.
Cold air rushes past me like a warning. I step out, glancing down the wrap-around porch that leads around the side of the cabin. The snow reflects the porch light’s glow, casting everything in a pale, eerie shimmer. Fir trees sway in the distance, creaking under the extra weight pulling down their limbs. As the snow falls harder, it creeps closer to whiteout conditions. But there’s no sentient movement.
No footprints. No voices. No one.
A shiver climbs up my spine, but it’s not from the frigid temp. It’s something else entirely, hidden amongst the underbrush of the trees. Something that’s lit my internal warning system, telling me to hide.
From somewhere unseen, a cry cuts through the night, shrill and inhuman. Another follows, and another, before a crescendo causes an ear-piercing song around the cabin like they’re circling.
I slam the door shut, heart thudding in my throat.
“Just coyotes,” I tell myself. “Wolves, maybe.” The sound of my cracking voice helps calm my nerves slightly.
It’s not unusual to hear or see them this deep in the Chesapeake Forest. Nothing that hasn’t happened before. I’d rather have them than the bear we encountered a few years back.Those fuckers will break in like they’ve been personally invited to the party.
But at least nothing’s watching me. It was just the animals that call this forest home.
Still, I throw the deadbolt, then fumble for the rusted old chain lock. It sticks, screeching against the metal plate, but finally jerks into place. I back away, breath short, eyes sweeping the room like something might have slipped in with the wind while my back was turned.
I move quickly now, yanking shut the thin, sun-worn curtains. They’re useless for privacy, but at least they keep me from seeing every shadow that moves outside and imagining ones that don’t.
My phone rings, shattering the silence.
Jumping like a mouse caught in a trap, I race across the room where I left it charging in the kitchen. The screen lights like a beacon on a dark, foggy night. My fingers fumble the device and finally manage to hit the answer button, not bothering to check who it is.
“Hello?”
“Hey, sweetheart, it’s Mom.”
A sigh of relief passes my lips, and my eyes bloom with tears. “Mom! Where are you guys? I’ve been waiting for hours.”
“I know, sweetie. We got a late start after picking up Brady and Dalton, and then, you won’t believe what happened…”
Of course. She’s slipping into one of her long-winded stories. We don’t have time for this.
“Mom, just… just tell me when you’ll get here. I don’t know how long this signal will hold.”
“Ava? Can you hear me?” Her voice breaks up, fading in and out.
“Not… make… Scott… tomorrow… love…” is all that comes through before the line goes dead.
I stare at the phone.
Fuck.
TWO
AVA
Ihave no idea what my mom was trying to tell me, but even that fleeting contact from someone outside the cabin takes the edge off my frayed nerves. For a moment, the panic inside me wanes.
Until my brain realizes it’s just me again and the fear slithers back in, like the smoke of a house fire slipping beneath a doorframe. It coils in my chest and squeezes. Maybe I need a cup of tea, or hell, something stronger to take the edge off.
My hands shake as I reach up, rummaging blindly through the cabinet above the fridge. It’s the one place we sometimes stash alcohol, if anything’s ever left behind. Clinks and rattles tumble down from above my head as my fingers knock into dusty platters, ceramic dishes, and mismatched mugs. I wince at every sound, like I might disturb something.
Finally, my hand wraps around a tall, slender glass neck. I pull it down and squint at the faded and dusty label.
“Tennessee whiskey, my old friend. You’ll do nicely.”
