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My mind tries to drift to my missing siblings, but I force it from my head. Helping Dad is the most important thing right now for me to focus on.
I’m thankful for the extra first aid kit we keep in the workshop. Too many times one of us has hurt ourselves there, so having immediate access to bandages was a necessity. I blew through most of the supplies cleaning and dressing Dad’s back and legs but saved some for the more critical wounds on his hands.
He groans again when I straighten out one of his pinkies. It’s swollen and misshapen. I’m not sure if it’s broken or not. The main concern is all the skin missing across the top knuckles. Keeping it clean and free of infection is the priority. Setting bones, if necessary, will come later.
The insidious wrath burning inside me, begging for escape, is continuous torture. I crave to rage and destroy something—anything—to release some of it. But now isn’t the time for that shit.
Dawson whimpers in his sleep and Dad stirs. He’s been unconscious since I got that rope off his neck. I can’t begin to imagine what sort of pain he’s in.
I spend hours caring for him until I’m nodding off while sitting up. It’s not until I feel someone’s hand on my shoulder that I realize I completely fell asleep. Popping my eyes open, I discover Mom standing beside me. She’s changed from her bloody, burned nightclothes into something of Raegan’s that was in Ronan’s cabin. Dad and Dawson are both still passed out.
“Go get some sleep, honey,” Mom croaks, her voice barely a whisper. “Find something to eat and drink first.”
“I can stay here with Dad.”
“We need you at full strength. Catch a nap.”
Once I determine that my mom is capable of taking over, despite her appearing exhausted beyond belief, I give her a nod. She kisses the top of my head and then I make my way out of the cabin. There’s smoke everywhere, but one look in the direction of the big house and I know the fire is mostly out. I can still see the three guys with shovels and rakes working. The urge to help them is strong, but I can barely stand on my own two feet. I stumble into my own cabin and dig through my storage bins where I keep snacks and bottled water.
Two bottles and three packs of homemade beef jerky later, I’m falling face first onto my bed. The second my head hits the pillow, I’m out.
“Anything?” Chet asks Wild, eyes barely peeking open from the sofa in my cabin.
Wild stops his pacing, spears his filthy fingers through his chaotic hair, and shakes his head. “Nope. I thought if I could get a hold of Dad or find the location of the truck, we’d be able to go after them. But of fucking course I’ve got nothing out here.” He raises his arm like he’s about to throw his phone, but in the end, he growls before shoving it into his pocket.
The sun is setting outside, which means I’ve slept most of the day. Every bone in my body protests as I drag myself off my bed. Wild eyes the vacated mattress and then dives onto it. Since the three of them worked on the fire all morning and afternoon, they’re all half dead from exhaustion. I shove my boots on and slip out of the cabin to allow them some rest.
Rowdy is sprawled out on my hammock, passed out and snoring softly. Black soot covers his arms, face, and hair. Everyone could use a dunk in the river, but going down the cliffside stairs with zero energy sounds like a feat none of us are up for.
I tiptoe off the porch and make my way toward the big house to inspect the damages. Aside from a few black logs sticking up from the rubble, it’s barely recognizable that a house stood there less than twenty-four hours ago. It’s just a big pile of smoking ash now. Gone.
Tears burn at my eyes, but I quickly blink them away. Now’s not the time to have an emotional breakdown. I need to gather what I can for my family.
After forcing myself away from the destruction of our home, I walk over to the big drums we use to collect rainwater. Since they were plastic, the heat melted them and the water was lost. The few bottled waters we have in the cabins and other buildings on our property will have to suffice until we can haul some river water up here.
So much work.
And all I want to do is set out to find my siblings.
Scrubbing a palm over my face, I check out the root cellar. It’s buried under the rubble of the house, but it’s possible that some of the food down there could have survived. I mentally mark that down in my head to unearth once things have settled.
The orchard and gardens appear to be unscathed, which is good news. We can harvest what we can from there and hunt if need be. I walk across our property over to the chicken coup. The chickens flew from the pen and are pecking around in the goat pen. A quick peek inside the coup tells me all the eggs are ruined from the heat, but at least the chickens are okay.
The chickens make a lot of racket when I climb into the goat pen. It’s as though they’re upset about what happened. Join the fucking club. I feed both the chickens and the goat while I’m here, pleased to discover their food isn’t bad. The water collection drum on the side of the goat pen is still intact, so I breathe easier knowing we have another water source, though we’ll be sharing with the animals.
After taking stock of the rest of the property, I walk back over to Ronan’s cabin. A sharp pain cuts deep in my chest. I miss all my siblings, but I wish for one second to see Ronan’s small smile or Raegan’s determined expression. Fuck, this sucks.
“Knock-knock,” I murmur softly as I push in through the cabin door. “Mom?”
Mom is sitting on the bed, taking inventory of Ronan’s snack box. Dawson sits beside her, unhelpfully trying to crawl through the middle of it. Dad is sleeping, barely moving.
“I see you got some rest,” Mom says, briefly looking up to offer me a sad smile.
“Enough,” I agree. “Everything okay?”
Her bottom lip wobbles before she bites down on it. “It will be.”
Neither of us believes her.
