Page 2 of The Last Sanctuary
She’d spent the last week stealthily scrounging supplies: binoculars, fishing wire and lure, snare wire for small animal traps, a single-person tent, a sleeping bag, a LifeStraw and water filtration tablets, a tin cup, plate, and pan, flint and spare lighter, compass, toiletries, granola bars, dried venison strips, and several self-heating meal pouches.
She’d packed in secret, but she needn’t have worried. Her father noticed little unless it had to do with the exotic animals, the maintenance of the refuge, or instructing her in one of his favorite subjects: survival skills, zoology, and how to scrub bear urine from concrete.
And now, with the keepers failing to show for the third week in a row, her father had to pull sixteen-hour shifts to keep the place running. She was right there with him, working from dawn to dusk to feed the animals and clean out the cages until her fingers blistered, until her bones ached with exhaustion.
Even after weeks of working nonstop side by side, they were like strangers. He’d shut down after her mother left—hell, he’d been a stranger for years, if she were honest.
An aching pang stabbed between her ribs. A person could be loneliest around other people. Living, working, and breathingright next to someone else—a stranger who wasn’t supposed to be a stranger. That’s what hurt the most.
It was a loneliness that hurt more than actually being alone. Maybe her mother had been talking aboutthat.
She pushed the ache down somewhere deep. It was just as well. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. She was leaving.
She’d had enough. Enough of people who only hurt her. Enough of this place that had once seemed magical but now only held dark memories of disappointment, pain, and regret.
Her grandfather owned a hunting cabin one hundred and fifty miles northwest of Haven Wildlife Refuge. It was remote, fully stocked, and off the grid, with a hand-pumped well and solar power.
Located in the Blue Ridge Mountains, deep within the Chattahoochee National Forest, it was far from humans and the besieged cities, accessible only by an unmarked trail barely wide enough for an ATV.
The map detailing the directions and specific location of the cabin was tucked into her backpack. She didn’t remember its exact location, only that it was somewhere north of a tiny town called Scorpion Hollow.
The cabin was far from here, from her dad, and the bitter memories of her mother. Far from the distressing news reports, the alarming death tolls, the itchy masks, the constant, unrelenting fear.
It was time to strike out on her own.
It would take a few weeks to get there. She knew how to survive in the woods. Knew what berries were poisonous, which plants and nuts and mushrooms were edible, how to track game and set snares, how to construct a shelter and start a fire in the rain.
Beneath her perch on the tiger house roof, Vlad grunted and stretched his big paws, flexing his claws into the red rubber ball that served as one of his enrichment toys.
Almost against her will, her gaze was drawn back to the box in her hands. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t leave the gift unopened. She had to know.
Raven set aside the attached letter and slid her fingernails between the cardboard flaps of the box, slicing through the tape. She dug through the balls of Styrofoam and pulled out a small knife.
The off-white handle was made of polymer, an imitation of ivory, and carved in the shape of a wolf, its tiny mouth opened in a snarl. The blade was short, slightly curved, and sharp. It was a whittling knife, like the one Raven used to carve the animals she displayed on her bedroom windowsill, back when she was a kid.
She hadn’t carved anything in three years. Not since the day her mother left.
Raven sighed, disappointed despite herself. What had she expected? Last year, her mother had sent a ridiculous hoverboard as a gift. As if she’d forgotten Raven was no longer ten. She’d stuffed it into her closet and forgotten about it.
Her mother didn’t know her anymore.
Raven flicked the blade closed and shoved the whittling knife into her pocket. She didn’t want it, but she couldn’t leave it on top of the tiger house. A strong wind might blow it into the enclosure, and Vlad, who ate everything, would swallow it whole.
Her gaze landed on the white square of the envelope. Only her mother wrote physical letters by hand instead of messaging on WhatsApp, Snapchat, or social media.
However, the internet had gone sketchy a couple of weeks ago. Same with cell service. Nothing was working anymore, and hadn’t for awhile.
The lack of communication was disconcerting, amplifying her sense of isolation. Even doomscrolling or watching hours of mind-numbing fake videos of dancing kittens was better than the nothingness, of being completely cut off from whatever horrors were taking place outside these walls.
Maybe her mother was smarter than Raven gave her credit for.
With a sigh, she opened the letter and skimmed her mom’s familiar, precise, neat script. There were the usual miss-yous and love-yous, each one like a stab to Raven’s gut.
A few lines toward the end caught her eye.I’m coming to get you, her mom had written.With everything that’s happened, it’s too dangerous for you there.
Her heart lurched in her chest. Fumbling for the envelope, she rechecked the date stamped on the front. Almost three weeks ago. Her mom said she was coming, for the first time in three years.
So where was she?
