Rising, Britta folded her arms over her chest and cocked her head to one side. Clicking her tongue to the roof of her mouth, she murmured, “Davey, you keep Eddie here in check—I’m gonna search the girl.”
“Don’t… fucking touch… her,” I said, my fight renewed. Davey instantly tightened his hold, cutting off my air and forcibly turning me away from Willow. I kicked out, my legs hitting nothing.
“Calm the fuck down,” Davey growled. “Actin’ like a fool ain’t gonna help your girl.”
My blood thundered through my ears as I fought for both air and calm. The moment I stopped struggling, Davey’s grip on my neck loosened, leaving me sagging in his hold, gasping for breath.
“Oh, she’s real bad, alright—got an infected leg!” Britta called out.
“Bitten?” Davey asked.
“Not that I can see. Looks like a cut of some sort. Blood poisonin’, maybe. Eddie here wasn’t lyin’—she’s gotta see Doc, and fast.”
My racing heart stuttered. They had a doctor?
“You think takin’ them to camp is wise?” Davey asked. “We don’t know jack shit about ‘em.”
“I know this girl’s gonna die if we don’t. Fact is, she’ll likely still die even if we do.”
A moment later, I heard the sound of the kayak being dragged across the concrete.
My elbow found purchase in Davey’s gut, my boot in his shin. Grunting in pain, he faltered, losing his grip on me. I grabbed his arm, twisted it as I ducked beneath it, and roughly yanked it behind his back.
“Drop the gun,” I demanded, pressing on his arm. Hissing in pain, Davey’s firearm clattered to the concrete. “I go where she goes!” I called out to Britta.
Britta paused at the edge of the woods, tossing me a cursory glance over her shoulder. “Then you better stop your flirtin’ with Davey and hurry the fuck up.” Disappearing behind the trees, her voice echoed throughout the dead end. “Ain’t nobody gettin’ in after sundown.”
“She’s tellin’ the truth,” Davey growled. “You wanna be with your girl, we need to move. Once we’re outta sunlight, we’re outta luck. House rules. No exceptions.”
I considered his words, every passing second taking Willow farther from me. Finally, with no other options, I released Davey with a hard shove. Spinning around, he looked from me to his gun, but made no move toward either. Face to face with him, I recognized him as the paramilitary guy who’d been driving the Jeep in Elkins Point. Up close, he was a great deal older than I’d initially thought—with salt and pepper hair, a matching beard, and deep lines etched into his suntanned skin.
My gaze shot to the trees Britta had disappeared behind. “Are you going to shoot me?” I asked.
“Remains to be seen,” he said. “You gonna do as you’re told?”
“Remains to be seen,” I retorted.
Snorting, he shook his head at me and gestured toward the woods. “Either way, we best get a move on.”
Taking a deep breath, I nodded in agreement. Whatever happened next, whoever these people were, I was out of options and Willow was out of time.
The walk through the woods was more of a trek through a dimly lit maze; the forest here was thick, far denser and darker than it had been by the farmhouse. There were no pathways, no notable landmarks, nothing but a handful of game trails that led nowhere.
We’d been walking only ten minutes or so when I realized that Davey had no intention of allowing me to catch up to Britta and Willow. His pace was deliberately slow as he led me in wide zigzagging patterns, either to throw off my sense of direction, or for some more nefarious reason.
Eventually the forest began to thin, opening into a dirt and gravel parking lot, lined with old streetlights and concrete parking bumpers. There was a definite road here, too—a well-worn dirt roadway newly imprinted with numerous tire tracks. Staring down the empty road, I wondered if it led to the highway.
“You comin’ or what?” Davey stood at the far end of the lot, impatiently tapping his fingers on the stock of his gun.
The path descended a steep hill, branching out in several directions at the bottom. Davey directed me to the right, back into the rapidly darkening forest. Eventually the path began to widen, the forest opening into another lot. Beyond the lot, a ten-foot-high wall stood, made from a compilation of various slabs of wood, in a hundred different colors. The mishmash of colors and textures gave it an overall shoddy appearance, like that of an old quilt faded with age. A small guardhouse loomed behind the wall, towering a good six feet above the wall; two people stood inside, each of them holding a long-range rifle.
Both rifles were pointed at me.
Davey whistled and the wall jerked, revealing a rolling gateway. As the gate continued to roll slowly open, a man and woman were unveiled.
The woman I recognized as the short-haired motorcyclist I’d seen during my initial trip to Elkins Point, but the man I hadn’t seen before. For all intents and purposes, he seemed like an average man, of average build, with average features; however, his dark eyes told a very different story—a distinctly not-average story.
“Hello,” the woman said brusquely, clasping her hands together. “I’m sure you’re wondering about your companion, so let me first assure you that she’s with our doctor who’s been instructed to do whatever she can to help her.”
