Chapter 10 - Shelter in the Storm
The rain drove through the pine canopy like buckshot, turning the uneven ground beneath our boots into slippery mud. Joshua’s hand was locked tight in my right, his knuckles cold even through the damp wool of his sleeve, while Emma rode higher, her arms wrapped securely around my neck, her face buried against my shoulder. The SUV was miles behind us now, abandoned off a logging spur where the battery had finally given out, and our progress through the state timberland had slowed to a grueling march dictated by the pitch black and the steady downpour. My tailored black suit was ruined, soaked through and heavy with silt, the fabric clinging to my ribs with every lungful of damp air.
"Almost there, buddy," I murmured down to Joshua as he stumbled over a exposed root. He didn't answer, just squeezed my hand harder, his breathing shallow and rattling from the chill.
We broke through a thicket of overgrown briars onto a neglected dirt track, and there it stood—a rectangular silhouette of weathered cedar logs pressed against the hillside. The old forestry service cabin wasn't marked on any active map, its existence betrayed only by a listing tin roof and a sagging porch that leaned away from the wind. I tried the latch, half-expecting it to hold fast against intruders, but the iron ring turned with a dry groan, and the heavy oak door swung inward, releasing a wave of dry dust and cedar scent that cut through the smell of wet earth.
Inside, the air was stagnant but several degrees warmer than the gale outside. I kicked the door shut against the howling wind and set Emma down on her feet. She wobbled slightly, her white floral dress—now gray with mud and dried stains—hanging limply around her calves. Her eyes were wide and glazed with exhaustion, reflecting the pale gray light that filtered through the grime-caked front window whenever lightning split the sky.
"Stay right here by the door for a second," I told them softly, keeping my voice low and steady.
I swept the beam of a small pocket flashlight across the single room. A rusted iron woodstove sat against the back wall, flanked by a neat stack of split pine kindling left behind by some trail crew years ago. Next to it was an iron cot with a moth-eaten wool blanket thrown over the springs. I dropped to my knees before the stove, my tattooed fingers working quickly to clear out the damp ash from the previous century, then arranged the dry kindling in a tight pyramid. A single strike of a waterproof match caught the birch bark, and within minutes, a small, controlled flame was chewing its way up through the dry wood.
The fire cast long, dancing shadows across the rough-hewn walls, the amber glow warming the chill in the room and cutting through the damp smell of our clothes. I pulled two dry canvas tarps from a corner shelf, spreading them out over the dusty plank floor before gesturing for the children to sit. Joshua sank down immediately, pulling his knees to his chest and staring at the flames with hollow eyes. Emma crawled over more hesitantly, her muddy hands leaving faint streaks on the canvas, and curled up tightly against her brother's side.
Outside, a fresh roll of thunder cracked directly overhead, rattling the loose windowpanes in their rotten frames. Emma flinched violently, a small, sharp gasp escaping her lips as she buried her face in Joshua's dark sweater.
"It's just the sky making noise, Em," Joshua said, his voice cracking slightly as he clumsily patted her tangled blond hair. It was an older brother trying desperately to be armor, though his own lower lip was trembling.
I pulled up a short wooden crate beside them, keeping my profile low so no stray ember light could reach the window from the outside. I reached out and gently adjusted the blue sash on Emma's dress, smoothing the damp fabric away from her shoulder.
"When we get to the city tomorrow," I said, keeping my tone even and hypnotic against the roar of the rain on the tin roof, "we're going to find a place with big windows that look out over the lights. You'll have your own room, Emma. With blue walls. And books with pictures of horses and stars on every page."
She raised her head slowly, her eyelashes wet with tears that hadn't quite fallen. "Will Daddy Richard find us there?"
The question hung in the quiet space between the crackle of the woodstove and the rhythmic pounding of the storm. I held her gaze, letting every ounce of my steady focus pour into the space between us.
"No," I said, my voice dropping an octave, solid as the granite foundation beneath the cabin. "Nobody is going to find you. You're not alone anymore."
She nodded once, a microscopic shift of her chin, and let out a long, ragged breath that seemed to shed half the weight she'd been carrying since we left the estate. Within twenty minutes, the rhythmic warmth of the hearth and the exhaustion of the long march pulled them under. Joshua’s head lolled against the wooden crate, his breathing deepening into the heavy rhythm of sleep, while Emma curled into a tight ball at his feet, her muddy hand resting trustingly across his shoe.
May you like
I sat back in the dark corner beside the door, my hand resting near the cold steel in my belt, watching the pale square of the window as the storm slowly began to spend its fury against the glass, leaving us hidden in the quiet hours before dawn.
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