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CHAPTER ONE

AVA

I sat back and grinned at my computer screen. My reflection didn’t look the best. The circles under my blue eyes were noticeably dark, and I was overdue for a shower. But at least I couldn’t see how greasy my long brown hair was with it thrown up in a sloppy swish.

Finally, after months of non-stop coding, the system conversion was complete and bug-free. I couldn’t wait to see Steve’s face. He’d said it wasn’t possible within six months. For him, probably not. For me? I wasn’t married, didn’t have kids, and had no problem hiding away from the world to work non-stop for the fifty thousand dollar bonus the group had promised.

My laughter rang out in the silent cabin, startling my furry companions curled up on a nearby pillow.

“It’s done. Finally. Aren’t you excited?”

Pete and Repeat meowed at me when I stood with a stretch.

“This calls for a celebration, boys. What do you say? Should I head into town for some steak and lobster?”

Pete stood and strolled toward the kitchen. Repeat was right on his heels, and I chuckled.

“Ramen and tuna it is. I’m going to need to have my blood work done after this. It’s probably fifty percent broth by now.”

They made their small “mrr” sounds as if agreeing as I joined them and opened a can of tuna from the stack on the counter.

When I’d accepted the project, I’d prepped my grandparents' single-room cabin, stocking the root cellar’s shelves below the cabin with canned and dried goods–stuff that was easy to prepare because I hadn’t wanted to spend my time cooking. So obviously, tuna, spam, and ramen were in surplus, but other essentials were in surplus, too. And I had the propane tank out back topped off last October with enough fuel to run the backup generator when the sun was too weak for the solar panels to keep the lights and my computer on.

Other than the occasional outgoing email to update my manager on the project’s status, I’d kept myself completely disconnected from the outside world, only leaving the cabin to use the bathroom.

The solitude hadn’t only been productive; it’d been rejuvenating. Maybe I could use the success of this project as proof of the benefits of working remotely in the future. No office drama. No small city apartment. I could move back home and help my mom and sister with Pops. The chances of my boss agreeing were low, but it was still worth a try.

“Think of all the pets you’d get if I worked from home,” I said to Pete and Repeat.

After dividing the tuna between their bowls, I put on my boots and coat and went outside. The layer of snow covering the ground wasn’t as deep as it had been a few days ago, and the crisp air hinted at spring.

As I walked around to the back of the cabin, I tipped my head back and inhaled deeply. A long, thin line of smoke rose from the chimney, and I smiled to myself.

I loved the peace of being out here and wasn’t looking forward to returning to the office after this. However, my boss promised me a long vacation to compensate for the overtime. So, once I trained everyone on the updates, I planned on leaving Pete and Repeat with Mom and Kylie and booking a two-week stay at an all-inclusive resort staffed by hot guys who enjoyed serving margaritas.

Would I even know what to do with a hot guy anymore? I grinned to myself and tried to remember how long it had been since my last date. A year? A year and a half? Too many failed attempts had left me averse to trying again. But the idea of someone to snuggle with late into the morning always pulled me back in eventually. Maybe a vacation fling would keep me safely out of the dating pool for a little longer.

Mentally picturing myself in a bikini, I opened the door to the external bathroom and stepped inside. I loved this oddity about the old cabin. It gave me a reason to go outside every day, even when I was working.

Situated next to the chimney, it was always toasty warm in winter. If it got too warm, I could prop the exterior door open and use the screen door, which was a must in the warmer months to keep the bugs out.

The tankless water heater worked like a charm, too. While showering, I tackled the reforestation occurring on my legs after a month of neglect and killed the razor. It was a worthy sacrifice, though. Without it, people in town would have thought Big Foot was real when they saw me get out of my truck—not that I was thinking about showing my legs until the temps reached above freezing.

I grabbed some clean clothes off the shelf and dressed, feeling like a newer, freer—and richer—person.

Back inside the cabin, I let my hair dry by the fire and contemplated calling or emailing my boss. If I called, I’d be opening Pandora’s box. Everyone in the office would know I turned my phone back on and would inundate me with calls. If I emailed, I could let my boss know it was done and when I planned to return, then take a few well-earned days to myself.

Email it was.

I sat at my desk and wrote the most humble chest-beating email I could manage, addressed to my boss and cc’d to Steve. With an unhealthy amount of vindication, I hit send.

Pete jumped up on my desk and went to sit on my keyboard. I quickly scooped him up to snuggle him.

“What do you think? Should we stay another week and then head back?”

He purred as I scratched between his ears. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking too.”

My computer pinged with a new email, an unfamiliar sound since I usually turned off my internet connection after I hit send.

I released Pete. Repeat immediately jumped into my arms. Laughing, I shifted him to one side to check the reply. I hoped it was Steve with his same “it’s not possible” speech so I could tell him to sit on a pole. However, it wasn’t from him or my boss. It was an automated message saying it was undeliverable.

Actually, the last several email updates had all come back undeliverable. Looking at the dates, I started to drown in my panic. It’d been months since my boss had heard from me. Cringing, I started my phone and began troubleshooting my internet connection on my computer while I waited.

My phone and computer received errors that they couldn’t connect to the server or carrier.

It wasn’t the first time I had lost my satellite connection at the cabin. I was almost two hours northeast of Duluth, Minnesota, surrounded by towering trees. It happened.

Thankfully, I’d done all my programming on my local machines, so I hadn’t lost any work—just maybe my job since I hadn’t been providing the promised updates.

“I’ll need to make a trip to town, no matter what, boys.”

I put away anything they might knock over and banked the fire.

“No fighting,” I said before shutting them in.

I parked my truck in the shed-turned-garage with the generator. The door rolled open with ease, and I patted the hood of my truck.

“Don’t worry. We’re not returning to civilization yet. Just to the highway to get a signal.”

Navigating the dirt roads that led to the paved county road took longer than normal. At times, the roads were covered in a full winter’s worth of virgin snow, making it difficult to tell where they were. So, I took it slow.

When I reached the paved road, I saw snow covering that, too, to my surprise. A lot of snow…as if it hadn't been plowed either. Only faint divots hinted at snowed-over tire marks. Since it was one of the main roads into Silver Bay, I found it kind of odd.

I checked my satellite phone for a signal but didn’t find one. No surprise there. The overcast sky hinted at more snow, which wasn’t uncommon in March this far north.

Turning onto the main road headed into town, I listened to the snow crunch under my tires.

The truck rumbled steadily for the first ten miles until I saw the curve that intersected with Lax Lake Road. I slowed down even more so I wouldn’t end up in a ditch with no cell reception to call for a tow.

Snow covered the only house and driveway on the bend, untouched like the road. No smoke drifted from the chimney. They were probably already somewhere else enjoying beach-side margaritas, lucky bastards.

When I finally reached Silver Bay’s subdivisions, I thought I’d see some road maintenance, but nope…the snow-covered pavement continued undisturbed. Maybe the city plow broke? But what about the sidewalks then? People usually cleared those.

A sense of wrongness crept down my spine as I noticed not a single person outside. Yes, it was cold. But people born in the upper Midwest didn’t stay inside because of snow. It took extreme windchills to force them indoors. And the weather wasn’t extreme. It was barely below freezing today.

I drove past the high school and saw the empty parking lot. Did I have the wrong day?

I glanced at my watch. It was a Tuesday in March. Spring break, maybe then?

Unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong, I pulled into the hardware store’s parking lot and tried my satellite phone again. When I saw I still had no signal, I sighed and killed the engine.

The wind off the lake almost tore the door from my hand as I opened it. My boots crunched on the thin layer of wind-blown snow as I hurried toward the hardware store’s door. I was busy keeping my head down to protect myself from the wind, so I didn’t look up until I’d almost reached the door. When I did, my steps slowed.

The glass on the bottom half of the door was broken. Snow swept through the space, creating a drift just inside the door. I stared at the drift, or rather, the pant leg peeking out of the drift. Like a doomed moth drawn to the flame, I couldn’t stop moving forward. I needed to know I was wrong. That my eyes were wrong.

A step closer, the rest of the man came into view. He lay slouched against a display case. Frozen solid with a bullet hole between his lifeless, half-closed eyes.

My breathing came in sharp rasps as I peddled back rapidly and fell on my ass. I sprang right back up and bolted to my truck.

I had no phone, and there was nobody around to flag down. Why weren’t there people around? Someone should have found him already. He’d looked like he’d been there for days.

My hands shook as I started the engine and turned my truck around.

With a growing sense of panic, I scanned the unmarred parking lot of the police station right across the street. Where was everyone?

Spinning out of the parking lot, I drove into the closest subdivision, peering at the houses. I spotted a broken window and a front door ajar. A few yards had snow-covered lumps on them.

I wiped a shaking hand across my face, unsure when I’d started crying, and turned onto the main road to check another subdivision. All the houses were the same. Devoid of any signs of life. The same with the next and the next. I snaked my way through every street in Silver Bay then stopped in the middle of the road.

A whole town…empty. How? Why?

I glanced at the house on my right, debating whether to go inside. Nothing looked off about it, yet I feared what I’d find.

With a pitiful groan of defeat, I turned into the driveway and parked the truck. The silence when I got out this time was more noticeable without the wind. The crunch of snow under my boots seemed louder.

I knocked on the door and waited for an answer—a whisper of noise, anything to indicate someone was there. Hearing nothing, I tried the knob. It turned freely, and the door opened with a crackle of ice breaking free around the jamb. Proof it’d been a long while since it’d been opened.

My breath fogged inside as I called out a tentative hello. Lit by the overcast dimness from outside, the words spray painted on the wall had an extra level of eeriness.

We waited as long as we could. We’re sorry. Go to Phil’s. We won’t evacuate without you. Be safe. Don’t trust anyone. See you soon. Love, Mom and Dad.

I stared at the words. Evacuate?

My thoughts drifted back over the last few months. While at the cabin, I hadn’t seen or heard anything. Not buried in the woods like I’d been.

Pivoting on my heel, I returned to my truck and started home with one question ringing in my mind: What in the hell had happened?