Page 31 of Rabid

Willow touched the corner of the calendar, her fingers lingering on the thick paper. Each date felt like a whisper from her grandmother, a reminder of the rhythm she had carved out in this remote world.

“She built the inside walls herself,” Dale continued, motioning to the wooden beams that gave the house its rustic charm. “Did a damn fine job, though I doubt it would pass a buildinginspection. People live differently out here. What matters is it’s sturdy and comfortable.”

Willow’s throat tightened as she noticed the imperfections, the slight unevenness of the wall trim, and the sections that were wood and hadn’t been painted. Each flaw felt like a fingerprint, a tangible mark of her grandmother’s presence.

“This place isn’t insured,” Dale added, almost as an afterthought. “Not the structure, anyway. Joan set up a policy to cover what’s inside, though. Said if it burned down, she’d just live in her truck.”

Willow let out a soft, breathy laugh. “That sounds like her.”

Dale’s expression softened, his gaze drifting over the room. “She loved this place. Fought hard to make it hers.”

Willow swallowed against the lump forming in her throat. She could feel her grandmother here, in every corner, every detail.

“The fuse box and inverter are in the well room,” Dale said, breaking the silence. “I’ll give you a rundown on how it all works. It’s a lot to take in, but you’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”

They moved through the small house, Dale explaining the practical details with patience. He showed her how to operate the ceiling fan, the kitchen lights, and the outdoor floodlights. Each switch felt foreign beneath her fingers, a reminder of how long it had been since she’d controlled anything in her environment.

“Do what you can at your own pace,” Dale said gently. “No one’s rushing you.”

Willow nodded, her chest tightening. She wanted to tell him how much his support meant, but the words caught in her throat.

They entered the bedroom next. It was larger than she expected, twice the size of her prison cell, with a single bed neatly made in the corner. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow on the wooden floor.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. This was hers. Her very own space.

She walked to the window and ran her fingers over the latch. The grate outside was sturdy but designed to swing open from the inside. She unlatched it and pushed it open, letting the sunlight flood in.

Turning to face Dale, she said quietly, “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Dale stepped closer, his expression calm. “You don’t have to do it alone,” he said. “I’ll help with whatever you need, for as long as you need.”

His words brought a flicker of comfort, but the panic still bubbled beneath the surface.

“I’ll get my trailer hooked up and head out,” Dale said, stepping back to give her space. “Do you have any questions before I go?”

Willow stared at him, her heart pounding. It wasn’t the size of the property or the complexity of the utilities that scared her. It was freedom. Afterso many years of being told when to wake, when to eat, when to sleep, the idea of making her own decisions felt paralyzing.

“Could you stay here tonight?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Dale paused, then nodded. “Of course.”

He walked to the front room, picked up the cell phone he’d left on the table, and handed it to her. “This is yours now. No passcode yet, but it’s easy to use. Even I figured it out.” He winked, his easy grin breaking through the tension.

Willow took the phone.

“I’ll make us dinner,” Dale said. “We can eat outside while the weather is nice. How does that sound?”

Willow let out a shaky breath and nodded.

“It sounds perfect.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Nightmare

Concrete walls, harsh gray, pressed in, suffocating her with their cold, unyielding weight. The narrow halls stretched endlessly, folding tighter with every step. She ran, her chest heaving, her lungs burning. The thin, dry air felt like breathing through cloth, each gasp scratching her throat raw.

A sharp clang of metal doors echoed behind her. Too loud, too close.

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