Page 97 of Death Valley

“We need to think about this carefully,” I say, moving to break apart one of the chairs for firewood. The aged wood splits easily under my boot, providing enough fuel to keep the fire going a few more hours. “What about our weapons? How’s your ammunition?”

“Four rounds,” she says. “Only have the one mag.”

I get up and go over to Eli, searching his pants. No gun. Probably lost it in the snow.

“He’s got nothing. I have maybe three in my rifle. We have the axe, a hunting knife, the hammer…”

We fall silent, the crackling fire and Eli’s labored breathing the only sounds in the small cabin. Outside, the world is quiet, the storm’s passing leaving behind an unnatural stillness that’s almost more unsettling than the howling wind had been.

“We should eat,” Aubrey says finally. “Keep our strength up while we figure out what to do.”

We share a meager breakfast of jerky and trail mix, rationing carefully to ensure Eli will have something when—if—he wakes. The food is barely enough to take the edge off my hunger, but it’s something. A reminder that we’re still alive, still fighting.

As we eat, I catch Aubrey watching me with an unreadable expression. “What?” I ask, self-conscious under her scrutiny.

“Just thinking about what you said earlier,” she replies. “About wanting to be a better man when this is over.”

I feel heat rise to my face, embarrassed by my earlier vulnerability. “Ifwe get out of this alive,” I remind her. “That’s a damn big if.”

“We will,” she says with surprising conviction. “We’ve made it this far.”

Just then there’s a knocking at the door.

Both of us stiffen, eyes wide with shock as I carefully get to my feet, staring at the door.

Neither of us make a sound.

The knock comes again. It’s faint, four raps.

I can see Aubrey shaking her head out of my peripheral. I grab my axe and head toward it.

“Don’t!” she hisses.

I raise my hand to tell her to be quiet. I’m not about to open the door, she don’t need to worry about that.

I slowly walk across the room, wincing as the floorboards groan, until I’m at the window. The curtain doesn’t cover the whole pane, so I carefully peer outside, expecting to see Hank or Cole or someone on the other side of the door.

But I see no one.

I crane my neck to get a better look and then I see the culprit.

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.

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