Page 16 of Where Broken Wings Fly

“Sorry, pal. Not a clue.”

Shrugging, I decide to play it cool.

“If she ever makes it to Briar Valley, I’ll deal with her. Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, alright? You know Lola doesn’t like people snooping into her business.”

“Gotcha. Take it easy, Kill.”

Watching Trevor head back into his bar, I can’t shake the sense that something isn’t right. The thought of some woman and her kid wandering through the woods has a bad feeling pooling in my gut.

“Are you trying to burn a hole in the road?” Zach laughs as he returns, armed with overflowing plastic bags. “Stop glaring. You’ll give yourself an ulcer. Let’s go.”

“I don’t glare.”

“Correction. You don’t smile.”

Piling back into the truck after checking the propane tanks are secure, I wipe Trevor’s warning from my mind. No one gets all the way up the mountain and into town without knowing the way.

If trouble’s coming, it won’t ever make it to our doorstep. Even if I have to search the surrounding woods with my hunting rifle to protect everyone from some dumb fucking stranger looking to start shit with us.

“You get beer?” I ask Zach.

Eyes glued back on his phone screen, he unwraps a lollipop and sticks it in his mouth. “Thought you didn’t want any booze?”

“You’re a little shit, kid.”

He turns up the rock music, startling several nearby locals. “Of course, I got your fucking beer. I know you, asshole. Now hurry up, I’m hungry.”

CHAPTER 4

WILLOW

EUTHANASIA - POST MALONE

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Still alive. Still hope.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Keep walking. Don’t stop.

Focusing on every footstep that echoes in the endless woodland surrounding us, I ignore the beat of my erratic, struggling heart. Arianna is stumbling beside me, more asleep than awake at this point.

We’ve been lost for hours, fumbling through darkness and driven by survival instinct alone. I tried to follow the vague instructions we got from a shop owner, but without a map, we soon got lost as the sun disappeared.

I can’t stop. I won’t stop. Not until we’re safe and I have the answers I’ve been looking for. That damned letter is a decade old, but I’m too desperate to allow that to stop me from taking this risk.

“Keeping going, baby.”

“Tired,” Arianna moans groggily.

“I know, me too. Just a little further.”

We push on through the overbearing pine trees and thick underbrush, guided by the moonlight. I have no clue if we’re heading in the right direction or, at this point, if Briar Valley even exists.

It feels like a myth to me, the stuff of folklore that parents entertain their children with over late-night fairy tales. We’ve been walking for hours and have found absolutely nothing but more trees and the odd startled deer.

All I have are the handwritten words of an unknown woman, claiming to be my grandmother and beckoning me in with open arms when Dad died ten years ago. This is the most reckless decision I’ve ever made.

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