The Outskirts (The Outskirts Duet #1)

I shook my head.

“Well, then. For the time being. It’s a crime scene.” She winked. “You got a name or do I just call you lost girl?”

“Sawyer,” I offered.

“I’m Deputy Hugo, but the only people who call me that are…well, no one calls me that. You can just call me Josh.”

“Josh?” I asked, curiously, following her to her truck. It took a moment to hike up my skirt and lift myself inside.

“It’s short for Joshwanda,” she deadpanned, shutting her own door. “It’s tribal. From the motherland.”

“That’s…unique.”

Josh broke out in a smile and slapped herself on the knee. “I’m just kidding, but you should have seen your face. Motherland? Girl, I’m from Georgia, but Outskirts has been my home since before I hit puberty. My real name is Brittany, but back in high school, it was suggested by my friends that Brittany was too feminine for me so they started calling me Josh. It stuck. Now that’s what everyone calls me. Including my own parents.”

Josh looked behind her seat and backed up the truck to my camper with expert precision. She waved me off when I tried to get out and help her hook it to the hitch and was back in less than two minutes.

Josh pulled out onto the highway going the opposite direction of where I was heading. I glanced in the side mirror and hoped that Rusty would be okay out there all by himself for the night.

“No worries. I’ll come back for him in a bit. Gary has a shop in town. He’ll come out and tell you what’s wrong with it.” She looked in her rearview. “Although that thing might need a bit of Jesus to get it running again.”

“Or a whole lot of money,” I replied.

“Yeah, that too,” she agreed. “So, what brings you to our neck of the woods? We don’t get too many newcomers in these parts.”

“Honestly?” I laughed at the absurdity of my situation. “I’m not a hundred percent sure. I think I’m just going to figure things out as I go.”

“What sort of things need figuring out?”

I looked out the window up to the sky and the now bright full moon. “All of the things.”

The ride became a comfortable silence as we turned off the highway onto a dirt road behind the ramp I’d seen earlier that had been barricaded off.

“Thank you,” I said, breaking the silence. “If you hadn’t come along I don’t know how long I would have been waiting there.”

“You don’t have to thank me. You just happened to be in my favorite nap spot. This is the most excitement I’ve seen in weeks. Shit, I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

We passed through a space between brush just a couple of car lengths wide. Behind it was an oval shaped clearing with trees on all sides.

A rectangular farmhouse in need of as much repair as Rusty, appeared on the far side. The front porch appeared rickety and so did the roof that seemed to dip in the middle. Shrubs and banyan trees with dripping Spanish moss surrounded the house on both sides, curving over the roof like a hand about to smack it into the ground.

Parked sideways in the dirt in front of the porch steps was a dark Ford.

A dark Bronco.

“That’s the truck!” I exclaimed.

“Yeah.” Josh sighed, not seeming the least bit surprised. She twisted her lips and flashed me a sad smile. “That’s kind of what I figured.”

“Do you know him?” I asked.

She nodded. “Finn Hollis. And yes, I know him. Well, I USED to know him.”

“Not anymore though?”

She shook her head. “Not for a looonng time.”

A light shone from behind thin curtains with no detection of movement from within. It wasn’t until after I got out of the truck that I felt like I was being watched.

That feeling continued for the entire twenty minutes it took to find a spot on the land that wasn’t covered in either water, mud, or thick tangled trees and brush.

We’d finally settled on a space between two big trees where the ground was still damp, but not under water like the rest of it seemed to be. A small brown lizard scampered up the door of my trailer and Josh swatted it off.

“I’ll take another look at the land in daylight,” she said, getting in her truck and shutting the door. She rolled down the window and looked down to me. “If we can spot a dryer section then I’ll move it again for you.”

“Thanks again,” I said.

Josh glanced to the shack across the way. “If Finn gives you any trouble, you let me know.” As if angered by her own words she leaned out of her window, directing her shout toward the shack, “Because I’ll come back and shoot his hermit ass!”

She sat back down. “Shit,” she cursed.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, craning my neck from the ground below.

“As much as that man needs a good yelling at on occasion, I just realized that today is not the day to be doing the yelling.”

“Why?

Josh smiled. “Don’t you worry about it. Do yourself a favor though and make sure you keep the windows and doors shut tight at night. The mosquitos out here are big enough to carry you off.”

With that, she took off, leaving me alone with my camper, the sound of the aforementioned buzzing mosquitos, the occasional deep croak of a frog, and a very mysterious, very angry new neighbor.

I opened the door to my camper and had one foot inside when I glanced up at the shack across the way. The curtains were swaying gently as there was a soft breeze blowing through. A large shadow suddenly crowded the window, blocking out the light. It turned, and stopped in front of the window, watching me through the thin curtains.

A full body shiver erupted from the base of my spine. The same kind of shiver I’d always experienced right as my father’s car pulled in the driveway.

The feeling that told me things were about to go very, very wrong.

And as always, it was right.





Chapter Seven





Sawyer





The mattress was hard. Some of the inner springs had begun to uncoil and were poking me in the back. The smell inside the camper was of mildew and mold. Musty, I would call it.

I loved it. Every tiny little inch of it.

I was in a strange town, in what appeared to be the middle of the swamp, thousands of miles away from the life I’d always known. I was alone. Terrified.

And fantastically free.

Clutching my mother’s letter to my chest, I drifted off to sleep knowing that whatever was in store for me was better than what I’d left behind.

My mother had told me to be strong. Be brave. I made a promise to myself that no matter what happened, I’d continue to do just that.

There was a loud bang in my dream. Instantly my thoughts drifted to my father. The ladder. Him falling to the ground. The snap of bone.

As I roused from slumber to consciousness, I became very aware that the noise hadn’t come from a dream. It was real. VERY real.

And coming from inside my camper.

My tiny living space swayed from side to side with each heavy footstep taken toward me.

I felt it then. The dread crawling up my spine like a slow-moving spider.

He’d found me.