Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
“Where are you going?” Jensen asks, getting to his feet, the line between his brows deepening.
“I need to go pee,” I tell him. “Can’t hold it forever.”
“You’re not going out there alone,” he says gruffly.
I can’t help but bristle. “If you think you’re escorting me to the bathroom, you’re sorely mistaken. I’ll be fine.”
Although, I don’t quite believe that either.
“Plus, Hank and Red are out there,” I add.
He seems to relent, just a little. “I’m still going.”
“No,” I tell him. Then an idea crosses my mind. I hold out my hand. “Give me your gun.”
“What? I’m not giving you my gun.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t know how to use one.”
I stare at him, surprised he’s come to that conclusion, though I guess that means he hasn’t suspected my true profession. “How do you know? I’m a damn good shot,” I tell him. “My daddy taught me.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says.
But I still wiggle my fingers at him. “You have to give me your pistol or your rifle, I can shoot with either.”
He studies my face and eventually relents when he sees how serious I am. “Fine.” He takes his pistol and hands it to me. The weight of it is so heavy compared to my gun and the grip feels funny, grooved in places to match Jensen’s hand, but for the first time since I started this journey I don’t feel entirely defenseless. I feel powerful. Which is something I never thought I’d feel, considering how cautious I am with firearms. I’ve rarely had to handle them in action and I’ve never killed someone. But now, I feel closer to equal footing with these men.
And whatever monsters might lurk outside.
“You sure you can handle that?” he asks, eyes volleying between my face and the gun.
I grin at him, adjusting my grip. “Oh yeah. Be right back.”
I unlock and open the door, stepping outside. It’s not storming out but there’s a light breeze and snow is beginning to fall. I hear laughter in the distance, Hank and Red, and the snort of a horse. So far so good.
I pull out my flashlight from my coat pocket and do a sweep of the snow.
Eyes glint at me.
I gasp, about to raise the gun, when I realize it’s Angus the mule in the distance.
Get a grip, Wells, I tell myself and then follow the cleared path behind the cabin toward the outhouse. The breeze has blown back some of the snow, showing only frozen ground and I nearly slip a few times as I make my way there.
The outhouse has a nice view, at least I think it would in the day when it’s not all a black void, facing the back of the cabin and the valley below, though it leaves it exposed to wind from the east, which now comes in and rattles the stand of trees behind it.
I cautiously open the door, warily shining my flashlight, afraid of both the smell and seeing something gross. I’ve always treated outhouses and porta potties like the boogie man—if you don’t acknowledge it, it can’t hurt you.
But it’s surprisingly clean, just a few old pine needles on the floor and snow built up in the corners, a couple of rolls of toilet paper stacked on the spacious wooden bench. And yes, a hand sanitizer dispenser nailed to the wall.
Only problem is that there are a few gaps in the sides of the structure where the boards have shrunk. Thankfully the wind isn’t blowing in that way.
I leave the flashlight standing straight up beside me and sit down. I’m about done when suddenly I hear the scrape of something on the roof of the outhouse.
I freeze, quickly pulling up my pants, holding my breath.
Obviously just a branch scraping the roof.
Obviously.
Still, I quietly reach for the pistol with one hand, getting a good grip. I’m about to grab the flashlight when the scraping sound comes from my right side.
A long, deep scouring, like claws running down the side of the building.
Oh fuck no.
My breath hitches in my throat as I stare at the gaps in the wood planks, waiting.
A cold blue eye appears, staring right at me.
I scream.
Without thinking, I aim and shoot, the blast deafening in the small space, the wood splintering as the bullet hits, the force nearly knocking me backwards, not used to this kind of gun.
Then I burst through the door and run out, the pistol raised again, ready to shoot.
But there’s nothing there.
I run to the side and only see wood fragments in the snow.
No blood.
No tracks.
Nothing at all.
Holy fuck, am I losing my mind?
“Aubrey!” Jensen’s voice rings out and a second later he appears on the other side of the cabin. He spots me and runs. “What happened?”
“I thought I saw something,” I tell him. “But there was nothing there.”