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At least one more night.
A quick glance through the window showed her that her footsteps were still visible, but quickly disappearing with the night’s snowfall, as were the Chevy’s tire tracks.
Good, though it really didn’t matter. She couldn’t stay hidden away. She had to go out today and would in the days after, as she needed to secure a job and fast. The cash she’d taken with her was running out and though her expenses were little, her dollars could only be stretched so far.
She relieved herself in the barely functioning toilet, then using her flashlight, followed its beam to the back porch where she’d seen a stack of wood the night before.
The split fir had been in its resting spot for years, judging by the nests of spiders within and the fact that it was dry as a bone. It would ignite easily. A small axe had been left, its blade stuck in a huge round of wood that had obviously been used as a chopping block. She carried in several large chunks and stacked them in the grate, checked the flue, opened the damper, then went back outside and, with her flashlight balanced on the porch rail, split some kindling.
Thank you, Grandpa, for showing me how to do this, she thought, conjuring up the old man with his bald, speckled pate, rimless glasses, and slight paunch. He’d been the one who had taken her hunting and camping, molding what he’d considered a pampered princess into a self-sufficient woman.
“Ya never can tell when you’ll need to know how to shoot, or build a camp, or make a fire, Missy, so you’d best learn now,” he’d told her. Smelling of chewing tobacco and a hint of Jack Daniels, he’d set about teaching her.
Of course he was long gone, but his memory and advice lingered.
She set up one piece of fir, raised the axe, and brought it down swiftly. A bit of kindling split off. She repeated the process again and again until she’d made short work of three fir chunks and, despite the freezing temperatures and her fogging breath, was sweating profusely.
Once back in the cabin, she used her lighter and soon a fire was burning in the grate, smoke drawing through the chimney, heat emanating. There were still a couple hours of darkness, so she hoped to warm the little space and use the firelight as illumination. Once dawn broke, she would let the fire die so that no smoke was visible.
She made a list of essentials she’d need, then checked the online connection on her phone, which she used with a device she’d bought on the black market, along with a new identity.
“Jessica Williams.” She eyed the driver’s license from California and the Social Security number she’d been told wouldn’t raise any red flags. Coupled with her disguise, she might just blend into the local Montana landscape for awhile.
My life as a criminal, she thought, checking the help wanted area of a website dedicated to finding jobs in western Montana. She’d posted her resume two days earlier, indicating that she was moving to the area and only had a temporary address, so that anyone interested would have to contact her through the site. So far, nothing, she noted as she finished the rest of the banana.
She found the website for the Grizzly Falls newspaper and located the want ads where there were two opportunities to hire on as a waitress. Betsy’s Bakery and the Midway Diner. She made note of them, then ate a couple bites of jerky and washed them down with her water.
Wasting no time, she cleaned up as best as she could with the cold tap water, changed her clothes, and examined her reflection in the cracked mirror on the medicine cabinet over the sink in the bathroom. Dawn was just breaking, light filtering through the falling snow and cloud cover.
Her features were still in shadow as she applied her makeup with the aid of the flashlight’s harsh beam. Contacts to change her gold eyes a dark brown, tweezers to contour her arched eyebrows flat, a dull blond wig that hid her auburn hair, and removable appliances that made her jowly enough to match the padded body suit that seemed to add at least thirty pounds to her athletic frame.
Over it all, she dressed in too-tight jeans and a sweater under a jacket, then again, surveyed her image in the mirror. She was unrecognizable to anyone who knew her.
Maybe today she’d get lucky.
Lucky? Really ?
Who would have ever thought she would end up here, the daughter of privilege, a woman who’d showed such promise, one with a damn master’s degree, no less, and now on the run?
God help me.
For a split second, she was back in that swamp. In her mind’s eye, she saw the glinting image of a blade, heard the lap of water, saw the blood flowi
ng.... She felt the pain, the despair, the utter bleakness of that moment and remembered the fleeting feeling that if she just let go, if she finally gave up, she would be free.
But she’d fought.
And had miraculously survived.
So far.
Reaching up, she fingered the scar on her nape at her hairline, made sure the wig covered it and then headed for the door. She wasn’t about to let him win.
Ever.
Chapter 2
The new guy was a prick.
