Her hands trembled, but she kept working.
The plastic creaked just a little.
Reed shifted on the porch, turning slightly, rain flattening his hair to his forehead. Fern stilled completely, heart pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it.
He didn’t look back.
She exhaled silently and twisted again, harder this time.
The zip-tie gave with a faint pop.
Fern bit back a gasp as her hands came free. She didn’t waste a second celebrating.
She rubbed her wrists quickly to get blood flowing, eyes darting to the chair near the table. It was solid and heavy.
Reed’s laughter drifted in again, distorted by the storm. “Come and get her, Wolf.”
Fern moved.
She wrapped both hands around the back of the chair and lifted it just as Reed crossed the threshold, rain dripping from his jacket, his mouth curved in something like triumph.
“You don’t get to—” he started.
The chair connected with his shoulder and head in a brutal crack.
Reed shouted, stumbling back, shock ripping across his face.
Fern didn’t wait to see if it was enough.
She ran.
She stumbled into the storm, rain instantly plastering her clothes to her skin. Wind slammed into her hard enough to steal her breath and nearly knocked her off her feet.
She kept moving.
She sprinted toward the trees, boots slipping in mud, branches clawing at her arms and face. Her lungs burned. Her heart hammered so hard it felt like it might tear loose.
The ground vibrated beneath her feet, and a low, ominous rumble rolled through the earth.
Oh god.
The mountain was shifting.
Panic scrabbled up her throat—but then she heard it.
Not thunder or wind but a deep, mechanical roar cutting through everything else.
A helicopter.
Fern skidded into the clearing and looked up.
The chopper hovered above the trees, dark and furious against the storm, rotors slicing the air as if daring it to fight back harder. Relief hit so fast and so hard her knees nearly buckled.
Crew.
A voice boomed from a loudspeaker, distorted by wind and rain but unmistakable.
“FERN! I SEE YOU! CHURCH IS COMING FOR YOU!”
