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like the man who killed my father. Or blown off half of their skulls like the guy on the road who didn’t want to wait anymore.” Holly turned to Emma. “He let them live.”

“With bullet holes.”

Holly scoffed. “Don’t tell me you haven’t watched any movies. Wounds like that aren’t fatal. They can wrap some duct tape around them and be fine.”

Teenage melodrama seeped into Holly’s tone, but Emma couldn’t discount everything she said. Could I be wrong about John? Maybe he wasn’t there to kill her. But she had to assume the worst. “Until I know otherwise, I’m assuming he’s out to hurt us. And you should, too.”

They drove for the next ten miles in silence until the truck sputtered and slowed.

Emma pumped the gas. The engine groaned. She tried again, nothing. The truck coasted to a stop in the middle of the road. Emma squinted at the gauges. In her haste to get away, she hadn’t looked at the fuel. The little red line hovered on E.

She leaned her head on the steering wheel. “How could I be so stupid?”

“What is it?”

“We’re out of gas.” Emma leaned back in the seat.

The sky still blanketed the road in darkness with daybreak over an hour away. How many miles to Gloria’s? Emma thought it over. Ten or twelve. Had they put enough distance between themselves and John? If he was determined to find them would he be able to? After his display with those two men, she didn’t doubt it.

She turned to Holly. “Gather up everything you’re comfortable walking with and let’s go.”

Holly cocked an eyebrow. “You want us to walk? In the dark?”

“It’s that, or sit here and wait for John to find us.” Holly opened her mouth, but Emma interrupted. “That’s not an option.”

With a harumph and a show of dragging up her bag and rooting through the contents, Holly broadcast her disagreement. Emma tried to ignore it, opting to relieve Holly of her clothes and change back into something that actually fit. Her work pants and blouse weren’t the ideal hiking gear, but they covered her ankles and increased her range of motion.

A day of driving improved the state of her feet, but red, raw skin still pocked her feet from the dress shoes. A full day of walking would put the sneakers to the test. She hoped Gloria had some Epsom salt at the cabin.

When Holly was ready, they took off, heading away from the road and into the tree line. Emma glanced behind them as they slipped into the woods. “I know it’ll be slower going, but I don’t want anyone to see us from the road.”

“I still think you’re overreacting.” Holly hooked a thumb behind the strap of her duffel and trailed her other hand along Tank’s back as he walked beside her.

“It’s better to be safe than sorry.” Emma had used that line not as a cliché, but as a tenet of her research. Refusing to take shortcuts, always following correct procedure. It was how she lived her life. No reason to stop now.

The sky grew lighter by the minute and soon they were traipsing through ferns and ivy and underbrush with as much speed as they could manage. As they cleared a gentle rise, Tank’s fur bristled.

Emma squinted against the morning light. “Do you see something?”

“Maybe he smells a deer.”

“We ain’t deer.”

Emma spun. Behind her, an older woman with gray hair and a grim expression stood at the top of the hill. The double-barreled shotgun in her hands gave Emma pause.

“You folks are trespassing.” A man spoke from Emma’s left and she spun. With his camouflage shirt and pants, he’d been obscured by the trees. She couldn’t miss his rifle with a fancy scope, now.

“We’re just passing through.” Emma tried to smile. “Our truck broke down a few miles back.”

“Then you should be on the road. Not our land.” Another voice. Emma turned again to find a woman dressed in the same woodland camo pointing a rifle at her chest.

Emma raised her hands to chest height, palms out. “We didn’t know this land was owned. I swear.”

The older woman approached, gun pointed at the ground. “All land is owned, honey. Either by the government or private citizens like us.”

“I meant—”

“You didn’t think you’d get caught.” The man spit on the ground. “See, I told you they were looters.”

“We’re not looters!” Holly spoke up for the first time. “She’s telling the truth.”

The man stepped forward and Tank growled, fur standing in a ridge down his back. “Keep control of that dog or I’ll put him down.”

Holly reached for Tank’s harness and pulled him close, making comforting noises in an effort to calm him. “He’s got a right to be fearful. You’re pointing guns at us.”

“Darn straight we are.” The older woman motioned to the other two. “Take ’em to the barn. They can wait it out while we figure out what to do with ’em.”’

“What? No! We didn’t do anything to you!”

“Right. And I’m just a mountain redneck who doesn’t know what’s goin’ on.” The woman shook her head in disbelief. “You’re not the first city types to come up here lookin’ for an easy source of food and water. We were nice to the last group and where did that get us?”

The man to Emma’s left kept his eyes trained on her. “A runaway pig and a broken gate.”

“That’s right.” The older woman flipped her gray hair over her shoulder. “It’s a no tolerance policy from here on out.”

“What’s that mean?” Holly swiveled, eyes wide in fear.

“You’ll see.” The man stepped forward and jerked his rifle at Emma. “Move.”

She took a step and reached for Holly.

“No funny business. One wrong move and I’ll shoot.”

This can’t be happening. Emma smiled in encouragement at Holly, but judging by the girl’s reaction, it came out all wrong. “Just do what they say. It’ll be all right.”

Holly nodded, but tears threatened to spill down her cheeks.

The man directed them further into the trees and away from the

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