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“The Lord God had created all animals and had chosen out the wolf to be his dog.” — Jacob Grimm

Gwen

“Woof!” Once I’m certain of the dog’s identity, I shoo him inside, then hug him tight. Tension drains from my upper body, knowing my husband is near.

I’ve barely caught my breath when Sam screams from the bathroom, “Holy shit, that’s a camera in the ceiling. Everyone, check your rooms! And to whoever is watching, fuck you. We’re leaving.”

We all clamor to her side. By the time I arrive, she’s climbing off the counter with a tiny electronic device in her hand. She pushes a button on her keychain flashlight, waves it around the lavatory, and does the same in the living area. When it buzzes near a lamp, she unscrews the bulb. Sure enough, there's another bug under it.

After Sam hands it off, Rose opens the door, finds a rock, and smashes it. We repeat the process until we destroy every bit of hardware.

No longer worried someone listens in, I wait for the rest of the women to sit, then ask, “I thought we were going to keep an anonymous profile. Care to explain?”

I posed the question to the private investigator, but Blake answers first. She folds her hands in her lap, looking much like a shrink about to start group therapy. “If not before we arrived, certainly by now, Dr. Lewis’ analysts have done their research. They've learned who we are and probably suspect we discovered the dead body. They can’t let us go.”

Energized, I jump up and raise my hand. “I’ll create an escape plan. Does anyone have a pen?” Not having anything to write on, I peel off a few sheets of paper towels.

“What can we do to help?” Our resident shrink stifles a yawn while I search for a clock.

Finding none, I use everything that has happened to approximate the time of day. We attended dinner, went to a meeting, then survived the upsetting events at the commissary—it must be way past midnight.

Already planning our next steps, I point to the bedrooms. “Everyone, get some rest. Stay dressed and keep your shoes on. If Blake guessed correctly, they’ll come for us before dawn.”

Once my friends settle into their rooms, I recall Dr. Stephen Covey's advice to "Begin with the end in mind" and write down our goal: "We all escape unharmed." As an afterthought, I add, "With the murderers in jail and Dolly found."

Yikes. Things are becoming more complicated, but I don’t let it dissuade me. Now, having defined what we want, I need to figure out how to get there.

To do this, I sum up our available resources. Because Bear’s chin rests on my foot, he’s first on my list. Assuming our husbands are nearby, I count them, myself, Blake, Callie, Mia, Rose, Sam, and Lilac. Surely, we all can outthink any number of murderous cult members.

We also have a weapon, my RF gun. It only fires once before needing a recharge, but I do have a spare battery. Nevertheless, it can be deadly. By the time I have outlined my whole plan, three armed men pound on the door.

Backing away from the window, I turn the lock, pull the handle, and gasp at the AR-15s pointed at my chest.

“Grrr.” Before Bear gets himself killed, I command him to sit.

The well-trained dog bares his incisors. I have no doubt the canine would disarm one of them, but we still wouldn't achieve our freedom.

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” At my cordial tone, a bearded man in his early twenties lowers his weapon.

“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am. Everyone needs to move underground.” While he speaks, my friends gather inside our living room.

“What for?” Sam juts out her chin.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. An EMP bomb went off over DC. The whole East Coast is dark. No power, no internet, no nothing.” Having no skills at reading people, I glance at Blake, who nods.

Holy crap. Is he telling the truth? I point at the nearest pole. “What about that electricity?”

“This complex has a generator off the grid—no more talk. We need to move. Please.” An older guy shifts nervously as a siren whoops in the distance.

What are the odds that such a catastrophic event would occur during our stay? No doubt they’re astronomical. Earlier, Blakely predicted they would come for us, and she was right. Thank God, I accounted for this in my plan.

Helium, nitrogen… I recite the periodic table as we’re marched down the narrow path to the community building where the woman was murdered. When I call, Bear follows.

The dim emergency lights make the walkway almost invisible. Pausing so Lilac can catch up, I pat the dog’s thick fur and lean over his ear. “Calm, boy. Keepcalm.”

After we reach the bottom of the hill, we enter the meeting room, and I command my canine to wait outside. Twenty chairs across times fifteen rows equals three hundred people, most men in camouflage. Some have their spouses sitting next to them. A few of us spa attendees stand out, along with the other two groups wearing pajamas.

Thank God we were prepared. Again, I must wonder. Is this a drill or for real? What better way to scare us into signing on as members?

When Dr. Lewis takes the stage, he waits for the murmuring to die down, then steps front and center. “There is no easy way to say this. The Russians exploded electromagnetic pulse bombs over all the major cities of the eastern seaboard. We have no word about the Midwest or the West Coast.”

Inhaling, he pauses to let the horrifying news sink in.

Blakely whispers in my ear. “I can’t tell if he’s lying.”

Me neither, but his wildly bulging eyes appear to indicate madness.

I ignore his incoherent ramblings until he mentions armed civilians foraging for food. “Already, they band together. Soon, they will kill to survive. You’re lucky this happened while you're here. Others will come, but you needn’t worry. Only our members will be allowed through those gates.”

My friends and I stare at each other, astounded. The likelihood of our husbands reaching us has diminished to almost nothing.

After Lewis finishes his spiel, I run to the front and grab his arm. “Please, let us go. Our spouses are nearby. We would prefer to let them protect us.”

His stage persona morphs into that of a crazed dictator. “Absolutely no contact with the outside world. It’s for your safety as well as ours. Sargeant? Make sure our guests are secured.”

His turn of phrase gives off handcuff vibes, chilling my spine. Clearly, his men will detain us, but where?

Stepping beside me, Sam wags her finger in the cult leader’s face. “Listen, ex-SEALs will be coming to rescue us any second. They’re not the type of guys you want to alienate.”

His response, a sinister smile, reminds me of a deep-seated malevolence, the kind the bible warns you about and scary movies use to keep you up all night.

Once he departs, we’re herded back up the hill. Halfway to the peak, I pretend to tie my shoe so I can whisper into Bear’s ear. “ Finde Axel.” We can’t wait any longer.

A kid of about seventeen points his weapon at my dog. Sam, closest to him, pushes the barrel to the sky. As bullets fly, my ears ring, and we all drop flat on the ground. Inhaling gunpowder, I turn my head toward the men racing uphill, but Bear is gone.