It’s obvious the cabin hasn’t been their home base for long, and other than dusty furniture and random odds and ends scattered about, there isn’t much in it. We find some paperwork, a couple of backpacks, and supplies like flashlights and a bunch of spare zip ties. There’s also a small cache of guns and ammo in the tiny bedroom, but nothing else of interest.
After loading up all the papers and weapons into a bag, we head back outside.
“Do you want to stay here while I check the cellar?” I ask, slipping the laptop into one of the backpacks.
He looks between me and the open cellar doors a few times, then shakes his head. “No, it’s fine.”
I hand him one of the massive metal flashlights we found and take a smaller, less powerful one for myself. There’s noelectricity running to the cabin, and no generator, so I don’t bother searching for a light as we descend into the room that was our temporary prison.
The space is completely empty, and the beams of light illuminating the dusty floors and concrete walls as we walk around the small area don’t do much to turn down the creepy factor.
Once the room is clear, we head back outside, and Damon puts the flashlights away while I close the doors.
“How do we get out of here?” he asks.
“They left their cars just past the trees over there.” I point to the area I mean. “We just need to get their keys, and we’re good to go.”
He flicks his gaze to where we were held at gunpoint, and where the bodies of our attackers still lie. “Did you find any keys when you were clearing the cabin?”
“No, but you can stay here and I’ll?—”
“It’s fine.” He zips the backpack he’s still holding closed and slings one strap over his shoulder. “It’s fine,” he repeats. “I can handle it.”
“Have you ever seen a dead body before?” I ask as he falls into step beside me. “When it’s fresh and not prepped and in a casket.”
“Does my mother’s body count?” he deadpans.
That’s pretty much the last thing I expect him to say, and I’m so surprised I almost trip over my own feet and have to do a weird shuffling step to right myself.
“She died when I was eleven. I found her,” he elaborates, his tone impassive, like he’s telling me about some random, inconsequential thing that happened to him as a kid and not finding his mother’s body.
“I’m sorry,” I say reflexively.
“Thanks. It was a long time ago.”
We stop a few feet from where the men lie, and some of the color drains out of Damon’s face as he looks around the scene.
It’s not as grisly as some of the ones I’ve encountered, and there isn’t nearly as much blood as there could be since I made sure to take shots that wouldn’t be too messy, but it’s still three dead guys next to a firepit, and that has to be shocking for someone who isn’t used to this kind of thing.
“You’ve done this before?” he asks as I kneel next to the asshole who had the gun and start rooting through his pockets.
“Search bodies, or be the reason there are bodies?” I ask and pull a phone out of his front pocket.
“Both.”
“Yes.” I tap the home button to flash the phone up, but I can’t unlock it because it’s passcode-protected. That’s fine, I know people who can. “Does that freak you out?” I power down the phone so I can toss it in the bag with everything else we’ve scavenged.
“Not really.” He lets out a soft chuckle. “I’m sure it should, but it’s not like I haven’t heard the rumors about you and your cousins. I’m guessing they’re true?”
“Most of them.” I pull a brown leather wallet from the asshole’s back pocket and flip it open.
“Who are they?” he asks, nodding to the bodies.
“Not sure,” I tell him as I look through the wallet. “Will it freak you out if I pull up their masks so I can see if their faces match their IDs?”
“Probably, but go ahead. I’ll deal.”
Carefully, I lift the asshole’s mask, then quickly pull it back down. He’s the same guy as the IDs in his wallet. Doesn’t mean that’s his real ID, but at least it gives me a starting point.
