Page 22 of Death Valley

“You still sure about this, boss?” he asks, voice low. “Taking her up there with us?”

I don’t have to ask who he means. “She’s paying good money. We need it. I need it.”

“I get that. Money’s not worth much if you’re dead, though.”

I shoot him a sharp look. “I’m not planning on dying. Neither are you.”

“No one ever does.” He kicks at a loose stone, sending it skittering into the darkness. “But those mountains…they got a way of changing plans, don’t they? What if we find?—”

“We’re finding nothing,” I growl. “It’s been three years. There’ll be no sign of her sister. We’ll get up there, get as far as Benson Hut and turn around. She’ll see it’s a dead end, a lost trail. We come back here, I get my money, and she can try and wrangle some closure out of it.”

“So we’ll both have to live a lie.”

“Eli, I know this might not come easy to you, but I’ve been lying most of my life. And every minute you work for this ranch, you’re living a lie too.”

We walk in silence for a while, the only sound the crunch of our boots on the frozen ground. The barn looms ahead, a hulking shape against the night sky.

“She’s looking for something,” Eli says finally. “Something she’s not telling us. I think it’s more than just her sister.”

“Everyone comes to the mountains looking for something.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend. “You know this. You’ve seen this. Closure. Redemption. A way out.”

He gives me a sidelong glance. “And what are you looking for, Jensen?”

I clench my jaw, staring straight ahead. “Not looking for anything but a way to keep what’s mine.”

It’s the truth, but it feels like a lie. Because what I really want is something I can’t even put into words. Something I haven’t let myself want in a long, long time.

Eli just nods, like he hears all the things I’m not saying. “Well, for all our sakes, I hope you find it.”

We reach the barn, the horses shifting restlessly in their stalls as the wind whistles through the aisles. I pause with my hand on the door, looking out at the mountains. They loom in the darkness, ancient and unknowable. Hiding their secrets in deep pockets. Hiding their history in blood.

9

AUBREY

The dream comes like it always does. In fragments. In blood and screams and blinding-white snow.

I’m running through a forest of skeletal trees, their branches clawing at my face, my arms. My breath saws in and out of my lungs, visceral clouds of fear.

Something’s chasing me.

Something hungry.

A root snags my foot, sending me sprawling. The snow is deep, cold as it seeps through my jeans. Cold as the grave.

I scramble to my feet, but I’m not fast enough. It’s on me, snarling, all teeth and claws and milky, sightless eyes.

No. Not it.

Her.

Lainey.

She has a baby swaddled against her chest, but it makes no sound. Doesn’t squirm. Just stares with eyes like bottomless pits, its skin gray and waxy.

Lainey’s teeth snap inches from my face, black spittle flying. Her fingers dig into my arms, nails cracked and caked with dirt. Or is it dirt? It smells coppery, thick. Like old blood.

I scream, kicking, flailing. But she’s stronger than she should be. Stronger than any living thing could be.

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