Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
I have nothing left to lose.
And everything to avenge.
35
JENSEN
Night shadows cloak us as I carry Lainey’s body through the snow, her weight a grim burden between us. Aubrey walks beside me, holding the axe and her gun. Neither of us speaks; there’s nothing left to say. The shot that ended Lainey’s suffering still echoes in my mind, her blood a dark stain on the pristine white, steam rising from it like her departing soul.
She is gone, for now, but her peace will be short-lived.
And so will ours.
Aubrey’s face is a mask of composed grief, tears frozen on her cheeks glinting in the moonlight. The transformation from FBI agent to grieving sister and back again happened in moments after the initial shock passed. Now she moves with the mechanical precision of someone who’s compartmentalized their emotions to deal with the task at hand. I recognize the technique—I’ve used it myself more times than I care to remember.
Now I’m realizing it’s no way to get through life.
The cabin appears through the trees, a dark silhouette against the moonlit landscape. No lights burn in the windows, no smoke rises from the chimney.
We approach the cabin cautiously, weapons drawn. The door stands partially open, swinging slightly in the mountain breeze, the windows all broken from the horde as they moved in. I motion for Aubrey to cover me, then move forward to push the door fully open, rifle at the ready.
The interior is dark and empty, the fire long dead, leaving only cold ash in the hearth. More concerning are the ropes that lie discarded on the floor beside the cot where we’d secured Eli before our escape through the loft window. He’s gone, like I knew he would be.
I set Lainey down on the cot, then move around the cabin, taking inventory of what remains. The kerosene lantern still sits on the shelf, nearly full, with a bottle of fuel beside it. Our remaining supplies are untouched—a few protein bars, flashlights, basic first aid items that we had to leave behind when we fled.
Aubrey sits beside her sister’s body, hand resting lightly on Lainey’s cold arm. Her expression is distant, thoughtful rather than grief-stricken now. When she finally speaks, her voice carries a determination that surprises me, though it chatters from the cold.
“She said only fire will destroy them completely.”
“As long as there is a way,” I say, stoking the hearth back to life with what remains of our firewood. We need fire for ourselves, to fight hyperthermia yet again, and for them. The small flames cast dancing shadows across the cabin’s interior, highlighting the exhaustion etched on
“There are dozens of them at least, possibly more,” I point out. “They’re faster than us, stronger, know these mountains better than anyone. How do you propose we burn them all?”
A calculating look crosses Aubrey’s face as she surveys the cabin. “We don’t have to chase them through the mountains,” she says slowly. “We bring them to us. To the fire.”
Understanding dawns as I follow her gaze around the small structure. The cabin itself could become a pyre—a trap to lure in and destroy the hungry ones. “We use the cabin as bait. Draw them in somehow, then trap them…”
“Burn it down around them,” she finishes, a cold fire in her eyes. “With Lainey inside, like she wanted. Give her the peace she asked for while taking out as many of them as we can.”
The plan forms quickly between us. The kerosene lantern provides enough accelerant to ensure the wood cabin will catch properly. We locate other flammable materials—the remaining furniture, paper, cloth—and arrange them strategically around the cabin’s interior. The chimney flue is closed to prevent the fire from merely escaping upward. The door is propped slightly open, an invitation, while a bookshelf, axed into the right planks, will prevent them from leaving.
“So, how do we lure them in?” I ask, considering the problem from all angles.
She meets my eyes steadily. “Blood. My blood.”
“Oh, hell no.”
After brief argument, we settle on a compromise—both our blood, mixed together, creating a scent trail that will draw the hungry ones toward the cabin while neither of us has to sacrifice too much in our already weakened states. That, combined with some shouting and screaming, and they’re bound to come running.
Working together, we prepare the cabin, transforming it from shelter to funeral pyre. The remaining kerosene is spread strategically across the wooden floor and walls, every section made as flammable as possible. The fire will be lit when I run up to the door and anchor it shut from the outside with the bookshelves, lighting the kerosene-soaked cloths as I do so. From the open window we broke out of the loft, Aubrey will stand below and throw a homemade firebomb inside. Apparently her aim is better than mine, and I’m inclined to agree.