CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The water was higher than he’d expected.
As soon as Jake crossed Whisper Creek—now a churning, mud-slick ribbon overwhelming the low spot of Orchard Lane—he knew he wasn’t getting back that way. The current had swallowed half the road already and every second that passed made it more dangerous. One bad slide, or more likely hydroplaning, and the truck would be dragged down into the drainage ditch or thrown into a tree. Or worse.
The rain lashed the windshield in frenzied sheets, wipers barely keeping up. Branches whipped against the side of the truck as Jake turned onto the overgrown, unpaved road that led to the rotting equipment shed, headlights bouncing off thick bushes and towering cypress trees.
He gripped the wheel tighter. Bobby was out here alone. Trapped. Scared. Ryan had said he was in the storage shed, but what if Bobby left, tried to walk home? What if he was on the ATV and got stuck in the creek? Or thrown off in a ditch? Every bad thing that could have happened to his little brother ran through Jake’s head.
Jake couldn’t even call this road a driveway. The path was a messof roots, stones, and axle-deep mud. Parallel impressions in the mud were deep, caused by years of heavy equipment coming and going. The tires spun more than once, and the truck groaned in protest, slipping sideways before finally catching enough traction to crawl forward. Jake cursed as he lurched over a sunken dip that nearly swallowed the front end. A wall of rain blurred everything beyond the high beams.
The trees parted at last, revealing the sagging silhouette of the old equipment shed. It hunched against the storm like a wounded animal.
Jake exhaled a shaky breath. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been holding his chest until now. He pulled in as close as he could—there was no room to turn around, only a wall of brush and storm-thrashed trees. The branches beat the shed’s siding like they were trying to claw their way in. Lightning cracked nearby, followed by a roll of thunder that vibrated through the cab of the truck.
Jake stepped out; boots instantly swallowed by standing water. Not just mud—liquid dirt, thick, cold enough to bite. His flashlight beam shook as he trudged toward the shed, ten feet feeling like a hundred. Each step threatened to trap him in the muck. And if they had to walk out of here…
He didn’t finish the thought. They might be stuck here all night.
No. Mom needed him, he would get back to the ranch as soon as physically possible.
The shed door creaked open under his hand, groaning on rusted hinges. Inside, it was little better than outside. The walls blocked most of the wind and rain, though the wood floor was rotting and cobwebs hung thick in the corners. The only dry space was the loft above, but even that looked like it might fall down any second. A rust-streaked tractor sat in the middle of the space, listing to one side. Fifty years ago it had been a state-of-the-art farm tool. Now it was junk.
“Bobby?” Jake called, his voice low but sharp.
Silence, then a small voice. “Up here!”
Jake raised the light. Bobby peered over the edge of the loft, soaked to the bone, his brown hair flattened against his forehead. He looked small. Lightning flashed again, illuminating his brother’s pale, muddy face—and for a brief second, Jake saw how scared he really was.
Scared, but safe.
“You okay?” Jake asked.
Bobby nodded. “Yeah… I guess so. Just a second!” He ducked back out of view.
Jake sighed, more out of relief than frustration. He closed the door behind him to get some respite from the driving rain. Even with his slicker and hat, he was drenched.
The floor squelched under his boots. The smell of mildew and old oil made his nose wrinkle in disgust—from the scent and the fact that the Mendozas hadn’t maintained the small barn or anything in it for decades.
Something—a rat, maybe—scurried across a support beam above. Then the loft creaked.
“Here!” Bobby reappeared, holding out a plastic jug and a wire cage. “I didn’t want to leave them behind.”
Jake frowned as he walked over to the ladder. Bobby was too far up for Jake to just reach out and grab the items. He eyed the ladder. It bowed in the middle, half the rungs dark with rot. How the hell had Bobby climbed that thing?
“Hold on.” Jake tested it. The first rung bent. The second cracked under his weight. He reached as far as he dared—then the rung beneath him gave way.
He jumped back just in time, boots sliding. His knee slammed into the ground. The ladder leaned sideways like a dying tree, but remained mostly upright.
Bobby’s face paled. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Be careful.”
“Can I drop them?”
“Leave everything,” Jake said. “We’ll come back—”
“But what if we find Cleo?” Bobby’s voice cracked.
