Page 36 of Cut Off from Sky and Earth

Thirty-Three

Emily

“ N o,” Alex whispers.

I step forward to stand beside her in the darkened barn.

I follow her gaze, but between the water running into my eyes as the ice on my hood melts and drips down my face and the darkness inside the structure, I’m not sure what we’re looking at.

I can tell from the slope of her shoulders that whatever it is, it isn’t good.

I take another step closer to the truck, and my heart drops into the pit of my stomach as I see what Alex saw. The front tires are flat—completely flat. I walk to the back of the vehicle on shaky legs and confirm that the back tires are flat, too.

Alex is frozen to the spot, staring.

My mind races. I’m about to ask how this could have happened when I see the rubber flapping in the cold wind that gusts in through the open barn door.

Someone has taken something sharp, probably a big kitchen knife like the one I’m holding, to the tires.

Any hope that this is just bad luck vanishes.

“He did this,” Alex rasps in a hoarse voice.

Suddenly, the warm, dark barn feels less like a shelter and more like a tomb. I run around to the front of the truck to stand as close to Alex as I can.

“He could still be in here,” I whisper back.

The muscle in her cheek twitches, but she says nothing.

Instead, she removes the flashlight from the pocket of her parka and turns it on.

The beam is bright in the dark interior.

She slowly arcs it across the wall and then back, stopping at each stall, every corner, before turning it up to the loft.

He could be hiding up there, I think, pressed down flat against the floor. But I’m not about to suggest mounting the ladder and climbing up to the hayloft to find out. I keep my eyes fixed on Alex’s drawn face.

She clicks off the light and pockets the flashlight. She closes her eyes for a moment and gives her head a small shake before raising her gaze to mine. “It was probably a suicide mission anyway.”

I thought as much, but at least it was something we could do, an action we could take, instead of sitting around waiting to be slaughtered.

“So ... do you have a spare?” I ask stupidly.

She gives me a sympathetic look. “Yeah, I have one, not four. And before you ask if I have another vehicle, I’m neither foolish nor brave enough to try to drive a tractor down an ice-covered mountain.”

“So that’s it. We’re trapped.” My voice shakes.

After all this time I’ve spent wondering when Cassie’s killer would finally catch up with me, he finally has. The fact that it’s my brother-in-law is more than my frantic, frightened mind can grasp.

Alex’s eyes narrow.

“What?”

Her gaze darts around the barn, and I realize she’s not entirely sure we’re alone either.

She gives an imperceptible shake of her head and motions for me to follow her outside.

Just moments ago, I was so relieved to be inside.

I never would have imagined looking forward to being back out in the elements.

But I eagerly trail out of the barn behind her.

She stops and latches the door. We both know that if he’s in there, it won’t stop him. But it might slow him down.

She speaks in a low voice. “There’s no guarantee, but if we go back to the farmhouse and up to my attic, we might be able to make a call. Sometimes I can get a cell phone signal if I hold my phone out the window.”

“How do you live like this?” I blurt.

When her eyes meet mine again, they’re full of dread and sorrow. “I thought it was protecting me. I never dreamed it would endanger me.”

A long silence passes between the two of us and then I say, ever hopeful, “Well, maybe the landline is back. I mean, it was working last night when I called Tristan. Maybe?—”

“Maybe.” She gives me a gentle look. “But don’t get your hopes up. The ice weighs the lines down. It’s even worse than the wind and snow. Still, you’re right. There’s a chance. There’s always a chance. So we can’t give up.”

On an impulse, I shift the butcher knife to my left hand and grab her left hand with my right.

I squeeze, and she squeezes back. Then we run as quickly as we dare, using a little Charlie Chaplin stride to cross the slick grass.

Once we hit the gravel in front of the farmhouse, we drop hands and run flat out, no longer worrying about falling.

Alex has the key out and is turning it in the lock even as we reach the front door. She pushes it open with her shoulder and we race inside.

“Emily, lock it,” she shouts.

I throw the bolt, and she picks up the phone in the kitchen. Then she turns to me and shakes her head. No signal. She reaches into the top drawer of the desk up against the kitchen wall and grabs an old flip phone. “Come on.”

She gestures for me to follow her and we race through the house to the stairs, pound up the stairs, and past Alex’s bedroom to the end of the hall. There’s another set of stairs. We race up them. My heart threatens to beat out of my chest.

At the top of these stairs, a door leads to yet another narrow stairwell. I clamber behind her up the steep stairs to the attic, where yet another door stops us. There’s no landing, so I stand on the step beneath her while she struggles with the door.

“It sticks. The paint swells when the humidity rises.” As she explains, she gives the door a hard bump with her hip.

It doesn’t budge. Just as I’m about to let the wave of defeat engulf me and sink to the ground, Alex throws her whole body at the wooden door and it jerks open.

“Come on.” She grabs my hand and yanks me into the cold, drafty attic.