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When Wylie told the girl to run, she scrambled down the hayloft ladder through the barn and across the yard to the house. Tas was sitting by the door looking cold and despondent. Once inside, she slammed the door shut and turned the lock.

Heart slamming against her chest, she ran to the living room where her mother stood, still holding the shotgun.

“Mama?” she asked.

“Where are they?” her mother asked.

“In the barn,” the girl said, eyeing her mother nervously. “Wylie said she’d be back. But I think he’s going to kill her.”

“Josie,” her mother said. “Her name was Josie. She was my best friend.”

“Josie?” the girl asked in confusion. Her mother was scaring her.

“Go hide, sweetie,” her mother said. “I won’t let him hurt you. Go hide where no one can find you.”

“Okay, Mama,” the girl said. Instead of hiding, she went to a window at the back of the house where she could see the barn. “Hurry up, hurry up,” she whispered, begging Wylie—Josie—to return. What if her father came back and Wylie didn’t? What would she do? She’d have to listen to him, he was her father, but she knew he was a bad man.

From the direction of the barn, the girl heard the rev of an engine and then the splinter of wood as a car crashed through the wall of the barn and came to a jolting stop. Wood and debris showered atop the car and tumbled to the ground.

The girl hurried back to the living room, dropped to the floor, and slid her hand beneath the sofa. Her fingers brushing across thick dust until she found what she was looking for and got to her feet. Wylie needed her help.