Page 35 of Cut Off from Sky and Earth

Thirty-Two

Alex

A s difficult as it is to believe that Tate is hiding somewhere on the property, it’s the inescapable conclusion.

Someone moved my axe, someone broke into the cabin and smashed Emily’s phone and took the lighter.

And, this is the part I really don’t want to accept—whoever they were, they were inside my farmhouse, too.

They must’ve been. Either that, or Emily’s lying about the sandalwood scent.

I glance at her, still shivering, still staring out the window into the woods that surround the cabin.

The rain changed over to an icy sleet a while ago.

We should have left, headed back to the farmhouse as soon as we realized the cabin had been broken into.

But she was in no shape for even a short walk.

And I’d rather support her through a full-blown panic attack in here than out in the storm.

But I’m getting antsy. She’s through the worst of it, and I want to get out of here.

The farmhouse isn’t more secure. I know this.

But my desire to hole up there isn’t based on rational thought.

It’s my fortress. I feel safe there. Although I’d feel a hell of a lot safer if I’d thought to stop and get the gun out of the safe in the guest room.

It’s been locked away for so long, that I’d nearly forgotten it was there.

It doesn’t matter now—I can’t leave Emily here alone to go back and grab it.

“We need to be smart,” I say aloud. It’s for my benefit—to remind myself not to allow my emotions to take over. But the words also calm the quivering mess of a woman to my right.

She wipes her tear-stained face, squares her shoulders, and raises her chin. “You’re right.” Her voice, while not loud, is steady.

Relief courses through me. If she can pull herself together, and keep herself together, we have a chance of getting out of this nightmare alive.

After all, there are two of us and only one of him.

Unless his brother’s out there with him, my traitorous mind whispers.

No. I can’t even go down that road. Tristan’s in Pennsylvania.

His wife seems certain, and I have no real option other than to believe her.

“Okay, let’s think this through,” I say.

She turns to face me. “Can your truck make it down the mountain in this weather?”

No, I think. I know it can’t. By now the road is definitely iced over and that mountain is treacherous under the best of conditions. I would never attempt the drive in these conditions, not in a million years.

“Maybe,” I lie. I absolutely should not try to make the drive. But what option do we have? Wait for him to show himself and kill us both? I didn’t survive twenty-one years ago just to sit around and let him kill me now.

She blinks as if she’d been expecting a different answer. “Really?”

“Maybe,” I emphasize.

“I’d rather die by going over the side of the mountain than be stabbed to death,” she says calmly—too calmly.

I counter with a joke, “Are you suggesting a Thelma and Louise pact?”

She answers me seriously. “It’s preferable to the alternative.”

That snaps me into action. “No. No way, Emily. Listen to me. We can get out of here safely. All we need to do is make it to the first house in the valley. I know the family. They’ll help us.”

She manages a wobbly smile. “Then what are we waiting for?”

We bundle up. She leaves her laptop but grabs the chef’s knife again. I snatch the fireplace poker and join her at the door.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Ready.”

I push open the door and step out onto the porch.

The sleet has turned to solid ice, and I grip the railing tightly with my free hand as I mince my way down the ice-slicked steps to the yard.

The ice pellets sting as they bounce off my exposed skin.

I wince and turn to watch her gingerly descend the stairs.

We follow the gravel drive for as long as possible. It provides some traction even though it’s not the most direct route to the barn where the truck is parked. Reaching the end of the drive, I step onto the wet grass and immediately lose my footing.

“Careful, it’s slippery,” I call to her as I right myself.

We shuffle across the yard like penguins. Our progress is torturously slow. My heart pounds and my hand aches from gripping the poker. We’re exposed and vulnerable. If he’s watching us, now, he might be tempted to charge us.

I swallow and force myself to resist the urge to run.

That’ll only end up with me on my ass. Through the driving ice, the barn comes into view over the rise.

We’re almost there. I push aside the thought that once we get there, we’re hardly out of danger.

The drive to the valley is going to be hair-raising, at best. I don’t allow myself to think about the worst-case result.

I turn to check on Emily’s progress. She’s about ten feet behind me. Her head is lowered like she’s watching her step as she inches along. Every few steps, she stops and wipes the moisture from her eyes. Her mouth is set in a firm line.

She must feel the weight of my gaze because she looks up and flashes me a thumb’s up sign. I smile and hope it’s encouraging because it feels like a rictus. Then I turn back to the barn, checking for movement in the woods from the periphery of my vision.

Finally, we reach the barn. Breathing hard, I stretch out my hand to unlatch the door and freeze.

“What’s wrong?” she pants.

The words lodge in my throat and it takes a moment to choke them out. “The door’s not latched.”

“Maybe the wind blew it open,” she says hopefully.

“Maybe.” I doubt it, though. The door was secure. I checked before the storm began.

My pulse hammers in my throat as I push open the door.

Raising my poker overhead, I creep forward, terrified of what—or who——might be waiting inside for us.

As I step out of the ice storm and into the dim barn, I clutch the poker harder and wait for my eyes to adjust. When they do, I have to stop myself from sinking to my knees.

“No.”