Serpent would find her and kill her. Tonight.
Miriam Miller woke with a start, chilled to the bone. She rubbed her hands over her arms and blinked against the night air seeping through the broken car window. Tugging her crocheted scarf and threadbare jacket across her chest, she straightened in the driver’s seat and gazed through the windshield.
A police car with lights flashing braked to a stop on the edge of the narrow, two-lane road not more than twenty feet from where she’d parked, hidden by trees and underbrush.
Fear clutched her throat.
The cop—a bull of a man with a heart as dark as the night—stepped to the pavement and played his flashlight over the tall pines. Her pulse pounded and a roar filled her ears. She could envision the serpent tattoo that wrapped around his neck, the snake as heinous as the man.
She had been a fool to think she could elude him by hiding in the woods. Even more of a fool to succumb to the fatigue brought on by the drugs he had used to subdue her.
Fisting her hands, she swallowed the bile that filled her mouth and steeled her spine with resolve. He’d caught her once. He would never capture her again.
She reached for the key in the ignition and held her breath as he pushed aside a tree branch and peered deeper into the woods. With the flick of his wrist, a flash of light caught her in its glare. Just that fast, he was running straight for her.
Before she could start the engine, he opened the driver’s door and yanked her from the car. Screaming, she fell at his feet, crawled away on all fours and struggled to right herself.
He kicked her ribs. Air wheezed from her lungs. He grabbed her hair, turned her to face him and pulled her upright.
She thrashed her arms, kicked her feet then jabbed her fingers deep into his eyes.
He cursed, covered his face with his hands and stumbled backward. “Why you—!”
She lunged for her car.
A bag of craft supplies lay on the floor mat. Frantically she dug for the shears, relieved when her hand gripped the sharp steel.
He struck her shoulder, knocking her off balance. She cried in pain. Another blow, this one to her head.
She tightened her hold on the scissors, raised her hand and stabbed his neck. He groaned, momentarily stunned. She scrambled into her car, slammed and locked the door, and turned the key in the ignition. He grabbed the door handle and banged on the window, his hateful face pushed flat against the cracked glass.
The motor purred to life.
“Thank You,” she silently prayed to a God in whom she’d only started to believe.
Serpent railed in rage.
She jammed the accelerator to the floorboard. Her head flew back as the sudden momentum jerked the car forward, throwing her attacker to the ground.
Her heart pounded nearly out of her chest and her hands shook so hard she could barely steer the car along the narrow path that led back to the pavement. She glanced at her rearview mirror.
Bathed in the red glow of her taillights, Serpent raised his fist, his curse faintly audible even over the hum of her engine.
Her stomach roiled.
She accelerated. The car fishtailed. Blood seeped from the gash to her forehead. She wiped her hand across her brow and blinked back the swell of panic that clamped down on her chest. Her breath caught as she glanced at her speedometer, knowing she was driving much too fast.
Her cell phone, with its dead battery, sat on the console. If she had a car charger, she would call for help. Not the authorities. She couldn’t trust law enforcement, but her older sister, Hannah, would know what to do.
Headlights flashed in her rearview mirror. Her heart stopped. He was following her.
She increased her speed, all too aware of her threadbare tires and the threat of ice on the mountain road. The engine whined as she rounded a turn. Gripping the wheel, white-knuckled, she worked to hold the road.
Pop! The right rear tire deflated.
The blowout caused the car to shimmy across the pavement and career down a steep embankment. In the path of her headlights, she saw the river, edged with ice.
She screamed, anticipating the frigid water. Unable to swim, she’d drown. At the last second the car came to an abrupt halt, mired in mud. Her head hit the steering wheel. She moaned and blinked back the darkness that swirled around her.
A warning welled up from deep within her.
Run!
Dazed, she grabbed her phone, crawled from the car and staggered into the woods. Pushing through brambles, she ignored the sharp thorns that scraped her arms and tugged at her jacket. A clearing lay ahead.
In the distance she saw a farmhouse. A warm glow beckoned from the downstairs window. She turned to see the police cruiser racing down the hill, seemingly oblivious to where her car had gone off the road.
Could Serpent see her, even in the dark?
The memory of what had happened four nights ago washed over her—Miriam, her sister, Sarah, and their mother lost in the North Georgia mountains. Wrongly, they’d thought the cops would provide help.
Her heart broke. Tears filled her eyes and her body ached, but she willed her legs forward. The farmhouse was her only hope.
She crossed the clearing and reached the house. Clutching the wood banister, she pulled herself up the stairs to the porch. Relief overcame her, along with exhaustion. Too spent to lift her hand to knock, she gasped when the door opened.
Warmth from inside washed over her. A tall, muscular man stood backlit in the threshold. “Help me,” she pleaded, her head whirling. She grabbed his hand. “He...he wants to kill me.”
* * *
Abram Zook reached for the frightened woman who fell into his arms. Her plaintive cry for help touched a broken place deep within him. Instinctively he pulled her close and cradled her to him.
His sister, Emma, limped down the stairs, wrapping a shawl around her bedclothes.
“Abram, why are you standing in the doorway at this time of night?”
Coming toward him, she gasped, seeing the woman in his arms. “Gott help us.”
“Gott help this woman,” Abram countered.
He carried her to the rocker near the wood-burning stove and gently placed her on the chair.
Emma retrieved the lantern from the table but stopped short when the screech of tires pulled her gaze to the still open doorway. “Abram, look.”
He glanced to where his sister pointed, seeing headlights approaching much too fast along the icy road.
“Stay with the woman.”
Emma reached for his arm. “You cannot save the Englisch from their foolish ways. Do not get involved.”
He shrugged off her warning. “The bridge is out. I must alert the driver.”
Abram stepped onto the porch. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dark night.
“Take the lantern,” Emma insisted from the doorway.
Ignoring the request, he ran toward the road, flailing his arms to flag down the oncoming vehicle.
The car screeched to a stop. The driver lowered the window. Abram raised his hand to his eyes, unable to see the driver’s face in the glare of the headlights.
“Did a car pass by here?” the man demanded, his voice as brittle as the ice on the roadway.
“The bridge is out. You must take the other fork in the road.” Abram pointed to where the narrow country path split.
The man glanced back. “Did she go that way?”
Abram would not betray the woman he had cradled against him. “Your car is the first I have seen tonight.”
Cursing, the man turned his vehicle around and screeched away from Abram. The back wheels spun on the slick pavement. He took the fork and accelerated.
Abram hurried back to the house.
Emma locked the door behind him. “Who was that man?” she asked.
“I do not know.”
“He was looking for the woman.” She stated what they both knew was true.
“Perhaps, but he will not find her tonight.”
“I tell you, Abram, she will bring trouble to this house.”
“She is in need, Emma. We will take her upstairs.”
He lifted the woman into his arms and felt her startle. “I have you. You are safe.”
She was thin, too thin.
His sister held the lantern aloft and climbed the stairs ahead of him. On the second floor she pushed open the door to the extra bedroom.
As Abram stepped past her, light from the lantern spilled over the woman’s pale face. His sister inhaled sharply.
He glanced down, taking in the blood that spattered her clothing, the gash to her forehead and the scrapes to her hands and wrists.
His heart lurched.
What had happened to this woman on the run?
* * *
“You are awake?”
Miriam blinked her eyes open to daylight filtering through the window then turned her gaze to the man standing in the doorway of the small bedroom where she lay. He had a ruddy, wind-burned complexion with a dark beard and shaggy black hair that fell below his ears. His white shirt hugged his broad chest and puckered against the suspenders attached to his trousers.
Her mind slowly put the pieces together as she glanced from his clothing to the stark bedroom furnishings and back again to her larger-than-life rescuer. Was she dreaming or had she somehow, in the dead of night, found refuge in an Amish house?
Memories flashed through her mind. Struggling to put her thoughts in order, she tugged the quilt closer to her chin.
His brow knit. “You are afraid?”
Of him? Should she be?
She glanced behind the man to where a woman stood. Petite, with wide eyes and rosy cheeks, she wore a pale blue dress and white apron. Her hair was pulled into a bun under a starched cap. Miriam strained to remember, recalling only snippets of how the woman had tended her cut and dressed her in a flannel nightgown. At least that much she could recall.
The Amish man turned to the woman next to him. “Emma, she needs to eat.”
Miriam shook her head. Food wasn’t important. Being free of Serpent was all that mattered. Then, just that fast, her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t had more than a few crackers in four days.
Gathering her courage, she swallowed hard and gave voice to the question that pinged through her head. “Who...who are you?”
“My name is Abram. We will talk soon.”
He stepped into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind him.
“Wait,” she called.
The door opened again. He stared at her, his face drawn, eyes pensive.
Was he friend or foe? She couldn’t tell.
“My cell,” she explained. “I need to make a phone call.”
“I do not have your cell,” he stated.
“But it was in my hand, then I dropped it into my pocket.” She raised her voice for emphasis. “You have my clothes.”
He glanced at the woman. He’d called her Emma. Was she his wife?
“You have found a phone?” he asked.
“No, Brother.” The woman shook her head. “A phone was not among her clothing.”
“That can’t be right,” Miriam objected. Why couldn’t they both understand? “Do you know what a cell phone looks like?”
The man pursed his lips. His face clouded, either with anger or frustration. “My sister did not find a cell phone among your things.”
“Do you have a phone? A landline? Or a computer with internet access?”
He raised his hand as if to silence her. “You must eat. Then we will talk.” The door closed.
Miriam groaned with frustration. She threw off the covers, dropped her feet to the floor and sat upright. Her head throbbed and her mouth was thick as cotton. Gingerly, she touched her side, remembering the blow to her ribs.
Her muscles ached and the room swirled when she stood. Holding on to the wooden bedframe, she pulled back the sheer material that covered the window and glanced outside. In the distance she could see hills and a winding road, no doubt, the one she had raced along last night. She shivered, remembering her car careering over the embankment and heading for the icy water.
The muffled sound of a door slamming on the first floor forced her gaze to the yard below. The man left the house and walked with purposeful strides across the dormant winter grass. He had donned a black coat and felt hat with a wide brim and turned his head, left to right, as if to survey his land as he walked.
A crow cawed overhead. She strained to hear the sounds that usually filled her ears, of cars and sirens and train whistles. Here the quiet was as pristine as the landscape.
Glancing again at the man, she touched her hand to the windowpane, the cold glass taking her back four days.
A jumble of images flashed through her mind. The middle-of-the-night traffic stop on the mountain road. Two cops, one with the serpent tattoo insisting she leave her car. Her mother’s confused outrage, escalating the situation until the second man stepped to the pavement and brandished his gun. The shots rang in her memory.
She closed her eyes, unwilling to go deeper into the tragedy. Instead she thought of her time at the cabin when she and her sister had been held captive.
Sarah!
Grief weighed upon her heart. Hot tears stung her eyes. Her sister, just barely twenty-one, had been carted away last night by a tall, skinny, red-haired man. His threat to silence Sarah if she didn’t stop crying played through Miriam’s mind and made her gasp with fear.
She choked back a sob of despair and wiped her hand over her cheeks, intent on regaining control of her emotions. She had escaped from the cabin. Now she had to find Sarah and learn the truth about her mother.
With a series of determined sniffs, she turned her focus back to the Amish man as he neared the barn and pulled the door open. He glanced over his shoulder. Then looked up. His gaze locked on hers.
Her cheeks burned. She dropped the curtain in place and stepped away from the window. She didn’t want him to see her watching.
She had to get away, away from the mountains and back to civilization where she would find trustworthy officers who would enforce the law. Once they learned how she and her family had been attacked, they would hunt down the corrupt cops and help her find her sister.
She had to find Sarah. She had to find her alive.