Where were the cutters? Not here where she’d left them. Gone. Two steps back showed what she knew she’d see: eight feet of fencing topped with razor wire. The view from inside.
With a final glance behind her, she took in the cold, cold mountain, the miles of nothing. In front, frigid metal. Behind, Isaiah’s rule.
Please help me get Sammy out, she prayed. She’d looked for him tonight on her way out. He hadn’t been in the shed he sometimes used, nor had she been able to spot his sleeping form through the window at the Cruddups’ or at Benji’s cabin. She’d have risked going in if he’d been there.
Without hesitation, her fingers slipped over metal and pulled up, feet following suit, to no avail. The shoes had to go. She threw them over the top and started over.
She sucked back a sob, ignoring the strain and bite of chain link. Her body weight dragged her down, but she was driven by nothing but the need to survive. At the top, the galvanized coils, too high to be straddled, would slice her to bits if she didn’t cover them.
Without hesitation, she struggled to pull off the cotton nightgown—immodest!—spread it over the wire, tried to press it down a bit, and followed with her leg. But thin cotton was no match for apocalyptic paranoia.
Don’t think about it. Breathe through the pain. Breathe.The words pushed her to straddle the barrier that had held her prisoner for close to a lifetime. Up here, this high—closer than she’d ever been to the night sky, cradled by these mountains—Abby threw a long, aching look toward the compound. She said a silent good-bye to Mama, who didn’t know better than this place. To Sammy, whom she’d get out if it killed her.
It wasn’t until she’d made it all the way down that she remembered her near nudity—and the clear signs of escape she’d left in her wake. Barking sounded again, muffled by the snow. It was impossible to tell if it came from in front of her or behind. She ascended to retrieve the nightgown, torn to bits and stained in places. It was necessary but tedious and it took too long, too long with her dry mouth and tight chest.
Not one for details, our Abigail, echoed the voices in her head.Always in the clouds.
Always!she’d wanted to scream.It’s better than here! Anything is better than here!
Finally, she stumbled toward Luc’s cabin, leaving the fence behind for what she prayed was the last time.
* * *
Luc didn’t think about going to the neighbors’ place. He just went there, his truck barely making it up their drive, tires slipping all over the place. By the time he opened their gate, went up the drive, and pulled up to their main building—dark at this time of night—they’d been alerted to his presence.
But for now, he needed to know that Abby was okay.
“Help you?” came a voice from off to the right. A man. Possibly one of the guys who’d crowded onto his front porch last night. And like last night, the man held a rifle. Only now, it was pointed right at Luc.Should have listened to the sheriff.
“Yes.” Luc girded himself. “I want to see Abby.”
“Abby?” The man squished up his face. “Don’t have an Abby living here.”
“Abigail, her name is. I want to see her.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but this isn’t—”
“Neighbor!” came Isaiah’s voice. The leader. He stepped out from the shadows beside the building and ambled toward Luc’s truck. “What brings you here?”
“I want to see Abby. Where is she?”
Isaiah’s smile was visible in the night. The rest of his face was shadowed by the wide brim of his hat. “How is it you know Mistress Merkley?”
“She…” Luc paused, suddenly recognizing the mess he’d gotten himself—and possibly her—into. “From the market.”
“She hasn’t worked the market in ages,” said the first man.
“She was there last weekend.” Luc looked from one face to the other. “May I see her?”
“No, sir.” Isaiah’s voice was hard.
Silence. Luc’s hands ached from holding them too tight, his knuckles dying to connect with the bastard’s jaw.
“Why not?” he asked, trying his best to keep his voice steady.
“I don’t believe she is receiving right now, Mr. Stanek.” Isaiah moved closer, not quite in Luc’s face, but close enough for Luc to see the pores on the man’s nose, smell the rank acid of his breath. “But we will let her know you paid her a call.”
Isaiah lifted his hat and turned to walk away, dismissing Luc. After a few crunching steps, he turned back, eyes harder than they’d been a moment ago.
