“Make it quick. We’re moving.”
Ro grabbed a wet wipe from the package in her bag and dabbed at the dried blood. It felt like sandpaper against her raw skin. Once her wrists were relatively clean, she dug deeper into her pack and pulled out two folded bandanas and her first aid kit. She smeared on the antibiotic ointment and wrapped the bandanas around her wrists before tying them off. Apocalypse-chic first aid. Len gave her a mocking look and ordered her to put on her backpack before he retied her wrists in front of her and fastened them to his belt.
Almost home. Almost home, Ro chanted silently.
The cushion of the bandanas blunted the bite of the narrow cord, and the ever-lightening morning sky allowed Rowan to see where she was walking. Staying just off the county road, the landmarks were all familiar now. There was the crooked silo that had looked like the Leaning Tower of Pisa since Ro was kid. She spotted the obnoxious blue metal roof of the Johnson’s house. Above it, the sky was a vibrant work of art, all reds and pinks and oranges smeared like oil paints across the horizon. They turned down an empty dirt road lined with row after row of corn, and Ro finally let herself wonder about Zach and Graham. Were they disappointed to find her gone? Did they even consider coming after her? Or did they just write her off as a failed experiment and move on with their lives? It was hard to swallow the idea that she could be so easily forgotten, especially since she wouldn’t be forgetting them anytime soon. If ever.
They made a final turn and a half-mile later, a peeling green and yellow mailbox came into view. Ro wanted to drop to her knees and kiss the ground. She was home. Finally.
“It’s that one. The driveway on the right.” Ro gestured with her bound hands. Len grunted and paused at the end of the gravel drive. Unsheathing his knife, he sliced the paracord off his belt and from between her wrists.
“Don’t want your pa gettin’ the wrong idea,” he said. Or the right idea, Ro thought. Looking behind her, she took in Ronny’s grinning face.
“Can’t wait to get set up with all new shit and a new place. It’ll be like fuckin’ Christmas. Especially with you under me tonight, sweet thang.”
Ro curbed her disgust and faked her smile, looking over his shoulder to avoid meeting his eyes. And that was when she saw it: a flash of light from the cornfield. It reminded Ro of sun reflecting off a mirror … or a riflescope. Ro rubbed her bandana-covered wrists against her jeans and glanced over again. The flash was gone, but she could make out a dark figure crouched low in the yellowing stalks. Her heart pounded. It was possible. It could be them. But that would mean … they left the ranch—even after Graham told her they couldn’t spare the men—and had been trailing her the whole time. Ro casually turned toward the house, digesting the information and considering what kind of plan they might have. Adopting a normal mien, she took the lead when Len gestured for her to go first. As they headed up the driveway, both men studied everything in front of them and nothing behind. Ro’s breathing picked up. Don’t look back. Just pray to God they’re really back there and you’re not hallucinating.
Six-foot tall stalks lined both sides of the gravel drive for a quarter-mile before it veered to the right, leading up to a patchy yard dominated by a giant oak with a frayed rope dangling from a thick branch—the remnants of a long ago tire swing. The house was built in the traditional farmhouse style, with white clapboard siding, peeling black shutters, fronted by a wide covered porch held up by spindly columns. The wooden barn, painted red with white trim, sat off to the left of the driveway. A John Deere tractor was parked half-in and half-out of the sliding barn door. Ro could picture her dad, comfortable in the cab with a giant thermos of coffee, getting ready to drive out to the field when the electromagnetic pulse had hit. She hoped like hell her dad and Erica were okay and she wasn’t too late. The telltale sound of a pump action shotgun being racked halted their trek toward the house.
“Stop right where you are,” a very familiar baritone called out. “Don’t take another fucking step and put your hands in the air.”
Ro had just started to raise her hands when Len yanked her in front of him. Neither man moved to comply.
“I’m hoping you’ll roll out a warm shotgun welcome for these two gentlemen here, Dad,” Ro called.
Len jabbed her in the back as the warped front door creaked open and the barrel of the shotgun slid out.
“That really you, Rowan Elizabeth?”
Ro dropped her hands. “In the flesh.” She could almost hear her dad repeating the first words she’d spoken. Hell, that was about as clear as she could make it.
“How about you grab my ball cap out of the cab of the tractor, sweetheart.”