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Ten years later
Twelve-year-old Lorna Bea Jones paced the confines of the small dark, room, her heart thudding with fear.
Finally, the monster who’d taken her had left her alone. She sat huddled in a ball in the corner and stared at the locked door. For a long time, she held her breath and listened for his footsteps to return. Seconds ticked by. Minutes. Maybe half an hour.
Horror stories of men kidnapping young girls raced through her mind. She shivered and stood, restless and terrified as she tried to block them out.
Maybe he wasn’t coming back. At least not tonight.
So where was she? Why had he taken her? What did he plan to do to her?
Did her daddy even know she was missing? And what about Nana? She hadn’t seen her grandmother when the man dragged her down the steps at the cabin.
Nervous energy pulsed through her, and she crossed to the window to look outside. She was in the mountains somewhere. Tall, sharp ridges jutted out and climbed toward the sky. She’d heard about this area. About the Appalachian Trail with wild animals, dangerous steep drop-offs and woods so thick that people got lost in them.
The giant massive trees shrouded most of the light. Tree branches swayed in the wind. Their limbs reached out like monster hands. Wind whined through the cracks in the grime-covered window.
Her mind struggled to understand what was going on.
It all started when they came to Widow Lake three days ago. She’d been so excited at the prospect of swimming in the lake. Canoeing. Hiking in the woods. Seeing the waterfalls.
And making friends.
But then everything went wrong…
TWO
HOOTERVILLE, GEORGIA
Three days ago
DAY 1
All she ever wanted was to have a normal family. To live in a house where she could have friends, a yard, a dog—and not to keep moving around. But she’d been doing it for years now and didn’t think her father ever intended to settle down.
His footsteps echoed on the rotting wood floor as he came into her room. Frowning, he shoved an empty box in front of her. “Pack up. Time to go again.”
Frustration mounted inside her. She lived her whole life in boxes. “But Daddy—”
“No buts, Lorna Bea,” her father said in his don’t-argue-with-me tone.
“Lorna Bea?”
“Yes, that’s your name now. Lorna Bea Jones. Memorize it and don’t slip up this time.”
She silently repeated the name in her head.
“Remember, just take your clothes, nothing else.”
And her books. She’d never leave those behind. Reading was her passion. Her escape. The characters in the stories were the only friends she had.
“Lorna Bea?”
She gritted her teeth. “I know, I know.” She’d learned the hard way. They took only the essentials with them. Nothing that would give away where they’d been or where they were going.
Or what they were running from.
And theywererunning. She’d figured that out by her tenth birthday when some man had followed them and her daddy had gone ape-crazy. He always said people were dangerous and you couldn’t trust anyone.
