“Let’s go,” Naomi whispered. “Now.”
They dragged Tariah toward the side door, the one farthest from the voices. It was locked, of course—a heavy deadbolt that would take more than a rusty nail to open.
“We need a key,” Angel whispered.
Naomi scanned the barn. There were tools on a workbench near the front—hammers, pliers, what looked like a hacksaw.
“Stay here with her,” she told Angel. “I’m going to check for something to break this lock.”
She crept toward the workbench, keeping to the shadows. The voices were louder here, coming from just outside the main doors. A flashlight beam swept beneath the crack, illuminating dust motes in the darkness.
“—took the truck to ditch it. Said he’d be back by morning. We’re on our own tonight.”
“Good. I’m tired of his paranoid ass.”
Naomi reached the bench and ran her fingers along the tools. The hacksaw would work, but it would be noisy. She needed something quieter. Her hand closed around a heavy screwdriver.
Perfect.
The beam of light disappeared. Footsteps crunched in the gravel outside, moving away.
Naomi hurried back to Angel and Tariah, screwdriver clutched tight. “I think I can break the lock with this.”
It took all her strength to jam the flat end between the door and the frame, leveraging her weight against it. Wood splintered. The deadbolt groaned, but held. She tried again, muscles burning, teeth gritted against the pain in her jaw.
With a crack that seemed to shake the whole barn, the wood around the lock gave way. The door swung open, and cold, rain-scented air rushed in.
“Go,” she breathed. “Quick.”
They dragged Tariah through the doorway and into the night. Rain fell in heavy sheets, soaking them instantly. Through the downpour, Naomi could make out the dark shapes of trees about fifty yards away. Beyond that, nothing but darkness.
“The trees,” she gasped. “Head for the trees.”
They half-carried, half-dragged Tariah across the muddy ground, her feet leaving twin furrows behind them. Naomi’s lungs burned, her shoulders screamed, but adrenaline drove her forward. Twenty yards. Fifteen.
Behind them, a door slammed.
“Hey! HEY!”
A flashlight beam cut through the rain, landing on them.
“Run,” Naomi gasped. “Run!”
They abandoned any pretense of stealth. Angel grabbed Tariah’s arm and Naomi took the other, and they ran in a stumbling three-legged race toward the treeline. The flashlight beam bounced wildly behind them, gaining ground.
A shot cracked through the air, splitting the night. Another. Naomi flinched but didn’t slow.
“You better fucking run, Little Rabbit!” The voice carried clear through the rain, edged with rage. Another shot, closer this time. Bark exploded from a tree just ahead of them.
They hit the treeline at full tilt, plunging into the darkness. Branches slapped their faces. Roots caught at their ankles. But they kept moving, Tariah a dead weight between them.
“We... can’t... keep... carrying her,” Angel gasped after what felt like miles but was probably only a hundred yards.
“We have to.” Naomi’s muscles were on fire, but she didn’t dare slow down. “Just a little further.”
She had no idea where they were. The rain had soaked through Ghost’s hoodie, plastering it to her skin like a second layer. Her socked feet were torn and bloody from the rough ground. The only direction she knew was away—away from the barn, away from the men with guns, away from that voice that knew her nickname.
The ground began to slope upward. Every step was a battle against gravity and exhaustion. But stopping meant capture. Capture meant death, or worse.
