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)
It’s a…child.
It’s hard to tell from this angle, but they have to be about eight years old or something, dark hair, shivering under a black coat. The kid raises his hand and knocks again.
I immediately pull back and look over at Aubrey.
“It’s a child,” I whisper to her. “It’s just a kid.”
“No,” she says, shaking her adamantly. “No, it’s a trick.”
“It isn’t. I can see it’s just a kid. There’s no one else out there.”
“Let me inside, please. It’s so cold,” a young boy’s voice says from the other side of the door, “and I can’t find my parents.”
I move for the door handle but Aubrey is at me, grabbing my arm.
“Don’t!” she whispers harshly.
“It’s a child,” I whisper back. “It’s talking. It’s not one of them.”
“Yeah, and Hank and Red were talking too right before shit went down.”
“So then if shit goes down, it goes down. He’s just a kid. We can handle him no matter what happens, but I can’t in good faith keep this door closed to a kid who’ll die out there if we don’t let him in.”
“You’re not being rational!” Aubrey says, brandishing her gun. “You think a child out here, here, is rational right now?”
“We’re not the only ones in these mountains,” I counter. “People go skiing, snowshoeing, snowmobiling all the time. This kid was probably separated. Besides, if he was a hungry one he could get in through other ways.”
Knock, knock, knock.
“Please!” the child yells. “I can hear you’re in there. Won’t you please let me in? I can’t feel my feet.”
I grunt, shrugging Aubrey off, hand on the lock. “I’m letting him in.”
She points her gun at my head. “No, you’re not.”
I slowly turn my head to stare at her, incredulous. “You’re seriously holding a gun to my head?”
“I’m serious about you not opening that fucking door,” she growls, her defiant yet panicked gaze locking with mine.
I’m taking my chances.
I unlock the door.
28
AUBREY
Ikeep my gun trained on Jensen’s head, fury and fear warring inside me.
He calls my bluff.
The lock clicks, and I brace myself, finger tensing on the trigger—though I know I won’t shoot him. The door swings open and cold air rushes in, carrying swirls of snow and something else, something that makes the hair on my neck stand on end.
A child stands on the threshold, a wispy little thing with dark hair showered in snowflakes, wrapped in a black wool coat. Eight, maybe nine years old. His eyes meet mine immediately, bypassing Jensen as if he’s inconsequential. Something in that gaze, so fucking direct, makes the alarm bells ring and it takes everything to not aim my gun at him.
He stares and gives me a small smile. His eyes are blue, very blue, but not the glowing unnatural blue of the hungry ones.
Still, I adjust my grip and keep the gun ready at my side.
“Thank you, sir,” the boy says to Jensen, his voice unnaturally precise. “May I please come in? It’s dreadfully cold.”
He steps inside before Jensen can properly invite him, moving with a fluidity that reminds me of a cat.
“Of course,” Jensen says, stepping back while keeping his axe ready. “Where are your parents? What’s your name?”
“They’re waiting,” the boy says, studying our cabin with methodical precision, gaze lingering on the windows, the door, as if cataloging exits. His eyes finally settle on Eli’s still form, frowning at his body. “At home. My name is Nate. Is that your friend there?”
“Yes, he’s sleeping,” I tell him. I crouch down at Nate’s side, slipping into my agent role with ease. Too much ease. “You said your parents are at home? Where is home? How did you get to be here?” I manage to ask, proud of how normal my voice sounds despite the ice forming in my veins.
The boy smiles and my stomach drops. It doesn’t reach his eyes, which remain fixed and calculating on Eli.
“In the caves, of course. Where the family has always lived.”
The casual mention sends shock waves through me. I straighten up, squeezing my gun harder, exchanging a look with Jensen over the boy’s head. His brows are raised, fingers thrumming along the axe handle.
“Actually, that’s not true,” Nate corrects himself. “We used to live in a cabin, not too far from here. A very long time ago. Before we had to hide. I prefer the caves. The cabin was small and smelly and always cold.”
His gaze shifts to me, eyes narrowing with sudden interest. Something knowing crosses his face, and my skin crawls with the sense of being recognized by a stranger.
“You’re a McAlister,” he says, and it’s not a question but a statement of fact.
“My name is Aubrey. Aubrey Wells,” I say to him, my voice trembling.
“McAlister,” he says simply, like I’m wrong. “We share the same blood, you and I. Like the girl who came before. Elaine.”