Rowan’s heart beat erratically. The stitch in her side pinched viciously, and her lungs burned from exertion.
She darted into a thick stand of bushy pine trees, hoping she’d lost them. And if she hadn’t, Ro prayed the trees and the thickening darkness would at least make her difficult to spot.
Dropping her backpack, she fisted her hands on her hips and attempted to catch her breath. Damn, running sucked balls. Especially running for your life. Because Ro was pretty sure that was what she was doing. She studied the woods, watching for any hint of movement, ready to grab her bag and run again, but all she could see was the dim outline of trees. It was easy to forget how fast darkness fell in the woods. She focused, but heard nothing but the sounds of the forest bedding down for nightfall. Regardless, she wasn’t going to be getting any sleep tonight.
The events of the last hour, much like the last six days, had been surreal.
Avoiding towns and people as much as possible on her trek home seemed like the best choice on a short list of shitty alternatives. She’d stayed just off the roads, kept to herself, and ventured even farther afield to set up her makeshift camp each night. Sleeping with one eye open was hell on the REM cycle. Exhaustion seemed to double the weight of her pack and make every mile longer than the last.
The evening had started much the same as the last six had—Rowan walked until she wanted to cry at the thought of taking another step, and then started assessing her options for the night. She’d been in Michigan for a few days, and houses were becoming fewer and farther between. She figured she had to be within a few days from home, depending on whether she could continue the pace she’d set. And that was debatable.
With thoughts of home distracting her, Ro ventured deeper into the woods than she’d planned. Then she heard the scream. Not a help I’m a damsel in distress type scream, but a wild and desperate keening sound that was wholly primal fear and cornered animal. The kind of scream that sounded like someone was fighting for her life … or dying. The kind of scream that a sane woman, on her own and six days into what might truly be The Apocalypse, ran away from. Not toward.
But that scream ... even though it was irrational, Ro pictured her sister. When the second scream pierced the tranquility of the woods at sunset, Ro couldn’t help but move furtively toward the sound until she spotted what appeared to be the redneck trailer-hood in the middle of the woods. Four mobile homes, so rusted it was impossible to tell what color they might have been during their younger days, formed a square. Most of the windows were boarded shut, and one had a roof-type structure built over it that extended beyond the trailer to a workshop area. A long stack of neatly piled firewood ran behind the workshop and trailer. Ro ducked behind the pile and peeked over the top. Animal skins were stretched on frames, and a fresh carcass sat on a workbench, waiting to be butchered. Flies buzzed around the blood that pooled on the tabletop. Dead doe eyes stared back at Rowan. And then she saw her.
The kick of adrenaline that sent her running toward danger drained out of Ro like water cupped in the palm of her hand, leaving icy shivers of fear in its wake.
A man with greasy, gray and red streaked hair and a shaggy beard dragged a woman by her hair out of the trailer directly across from Ro and pulled her off the ground to her knees. His gut hung over the dark pants he wore, and his faded red plaid flannel shirt split between the buttons to contain his bulk. The screen door slammed against the rusted exterior as two other men burst out, one clutching his unzipped crotch with both hands, heading toward Red and the hysterical woman who was clawing at the hand he had twisted in her brownish blonde hair.
“Listen to me, you stupid cunt,” Red said, pulling a wicked buck knife from the sheath at his belt. He tugged her hair back and pressed the knife to her throat. The woman stopped struggling. “I will gut you like a fucking pig if you make another sound.” Her cries dropped to whimpers.
“Fuck that, Pa. I’m going to cut that bitch! She almost bit my fucking cock off!” This was from the crotch-cradler. Ro cringed. He sounded seriously evil. The man behind him shoved him aside.
“That fucking cunt ain’t worth the food it takes to keep her alive. I say we bury her and find us a more ... accommodatin’ female.” He spit a long stream of tobacco juice at the kneeling woman.