Taking her hand, Mike glanced left and right as he tried to decide which way to go before heading to the left. They hurried through the woods, running parallel to what he assumed were cliffs. They traveled nearly a mile before they encountered a sagging house on the edge of the woods.
The house had once been white, but years of neglect chipped away most of the paint. The front porch lay in pieces, and the rotting pile of wood from it covered half of the battered door. Glass remained in only a few of the windows; those panes were wavy and distorted by age. Holes marked the brown façade. On the far side of the house, the top half of a fallen pine leaning against the brick chimney partially blocked the view of the lighthouse at the end of the home.
The main section of the house was double story, but beyond that, the home turned into a single-story structure connecting to the easily hundred-foot-tall lighthouse. A front yard of about fifteen feet separated the building from the cliffs beyond as he could see the edge of the sudden drop-off now. No glass remained in the windows of the lighthouse, and it had probably been years since any light shone from it, but if he could get up there, he could see for miles.
“Stay here,” he said to Mollie. “If you hear or see anything, yell for me.”
Her mouth pursed. “You’re not going in there.”
“The lighthouse might be our only chance of learning anything more about where we are before nightfall.”
“I don’t think that building is going to support your weight.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
“You’ll be safer out here.”
“I’m capable of deciding where I’ll be safer, and I’d like to see more too. Plus, I’m not going to stand out here while you fall through the floor and break a leg or stake yourself on a board on the way down.”
His eyebrows shot up. “I’ll survive a fall, but what if you go through and the floor breaks your neck?”
“I weigh less than you, and I’ll follow you to make sure the wood will support me.”
He couldn’t argue with her reasoning, and he’d prefer not to have her out of his sight. He hated leaving her this morning, but it had been necessary for him to hunt. Throughout the day, he’d seen no sign of anyone else in the woods, yet they were out there. He would sense someone if they were close, but once he went inside, Mollie couldn’t sense someone approaching.
If he could find Jack or Doug, he’d have some help. He’d hoped to find some trace of them over the course of the day but discovered nothing. By now, they could be fifty miles or more apart and all of them in different directions. Plus, Doug and Jack probably didn’t have a human slowing them down. They would bring back help if they found it, but until then, he and Mollie were on their own.
“Okay, let’s go,” he said, and clasping her hand, he led her to the back of the battered house.
Over the years, the woods had crept in to reclaim their land and now crowded the back half of the house. He pulled pine branches out of the way and held them aside for Mollie to duck under before following her. Closer to the home, thick bramble bushes swarmed the bottom of the two steps leading toward the open doorway.
Settling his hands on Mollie’s waist, he lifted her over the thick thorns and set her inside the doorway. Unable to lift himself over the bushes, they tore at his jeans and sliced his skin as he battered them beneath his feet and pulled them out of his way. The steps sagged and creaked beneath his weight but held firm until he stepped into the doorway.
Mollie had already made her way to the center of the old kitchen when Mike’s shadow spilled over her feet. The layer of dirt and rotting leaves covering the floor was so thick she couldn’t see what lay beneath. Mollie’s nose wrinkled at the potent stench of mildew and rotting wood filling the air.
Spiders and other bugs didn’t bother to skitter out of the way as they explored; the insects had claimed this house as theirs, and they weren’t giving it up without a fight. It was a battle she was more than happy to let them win.
Two pots sat on the burners of the dust-covered, cast iron stove. When she peeked into the pots, she discovered one was filled with debris, but the other had a ladle leaning against the inside of it. Mollie turned away from the stove as Mike stalked across the kitchen to the doorway leading out. Her gaze fell on the table and the four, grime-covered plates sitting on it.
“Mollie,” Mike said, but she ignored him as she approached the table.
Two of the chairs were turned over and lay a few feet away from the table. The wind, animals, or any number of things could have caused the chairs to have fallen over the years. However, Mollie couldn’t shake the idea the prior residents of this home were sitting at the table when something caused them to flee.
The walls of this house held secrets, and she heard them whispering to her in every creak of the old wood, but she didn’t know what they were trying to reveal. Mollie rested her hand on a tarnished spoon as she tried to picture the family who once resided here.
“Mollie,” Mike said again. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
Reluctantly, Mollie stepped away from the table and followed him from the kitchen. Mike ducked through each of the doorways as they passed into the dining room and then beyond to the living room. They made their way swiftly through the rotting furniture that would have been considered new during World War II.
When they moved from the double-story house to the single-story section, they encountered a raccoon. The creature screeched its displeasure at them before darting into a hole. Mollie’s hand tightened on the strap of her rifle; she didn’t mind wild animals, but she’d readCujo,and she was not about to take any chances. The raccoon was smaller than a Saint Bernard, but it could still do some damage with those claws. Plus, rabies was not on her bucket list of things to try.
“Do you think there are any bats in the lighthouse?” she asked Mike.
“It’s probably too cold for them up there.”
“Good.”
