How did you protect someone from that?
“Raven.”
I continued to face the other way, staring at the passing landscape through a small hole in the wood. “Don’t. Just don’t…” I already knew what she was going to say, and her remorse had no effect on me. I didn’t want to hear it, not when I couldn’t forgive her.
I couldn’t forgive her… Not this time.
3
Kill the Weeds
I heard voices.
Lots of voices.
Men. Women.
It sounded like we were approaching an establishment, but what kind of establishment would exist out here in the middle of nowhere? A place that couldn’t be accessed by car? I focused my hearing to gain as much information as possible before we were thrown into the fray.
A man’s deep voice sounded from up ahead. “What do you have for me?”
“Two. Both fresh.”
Fresh? Who described someone as fresh?
The wagon came to a stop. One of the horses released a loud breath, as if he was tired from the long trek through the cold. Our bodies rolled slightly once the forward momentum ceased.
Melanie’s breathing went haywire.
“Save your energy,” I whispered. The unknown was the most frightening thing to all living beings, and I really had no idea what to expect, what my purpose was in this isolated place, but my heart rate was low, my focus primed, my instincts for survival high.
A man emerged into my sight and unlocked the hinge of the wagon, so it opened like the bed of a truck. The man didn’t have a face because it was hidden in a bulky hood, animal fur lining the edge of the heavy fabric, giving it weight so it remained slumped down over his face. The material was gray like London fog, and it was part of a cloak, a kind of garment I thought only existed in stories. His outstretched arms showed the thick leather material of his jacket underneath, the gray stitching matching the color of his cloak. The edges of his sleeves were cuffed with the same animal fur as his hood, and black leather gloves covered his hands. He looked well-dressed and warm.
I would have demanded answers and tried to kick him in the face, but I was stunned by what I saw. It was as if I’d stepped into a nightmare about a cult living deep in the forest of the French Alps.
Except it wasn’t a nightmare.
This shit was real.
He grabbed the ropes that bound my ankles and dragged my body toward him.
I snapped out of my stare, and when I was pulled to the edge, I raised my knees and slammed my feet hard into his chest. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
He fell back at the hit, as if he didn’t expect me to fight back, as if the other girls they brought here didn’t fight back.
He righted himself and stared at me for a moment, looking at me under the shadow of his hood. His face was invisible because his cloak gave his face all the anonymity in the world.
It definitely raised the stakes, because I couldn’t see his reaction, couldn’t gauge what he might do next.
I breathed hard, ready for him to make his move, yanking at the bindings that tied my wrists together, so desperate to fight but so helpless to do a damn thing.
He came back to me and grabbed me by the ankles again. To my surprise, he cut the ropes holding them together.
I stilled, unsure what was happening.
The knife moved to my wrists next, and he sliced through the restraints.
What the fuck was happening?
He grabbed me by the arm and yanked me from the wagon before he shoved me back, making me trip and land on a patch of snow on top of the cold, hard ground. He sheathed his knife somewhere in his pocket, dressed in all black, his pants the same material as his long-sleeved shirt, waterproof fabric, the kind of stuff skiers wore on the mountain.
I got to my feet, breathing hard, my hands raised and prepared for a fight even though I didn’t know how to throw a punch. Blood pounded in my ears, and I didn’t dare take my eyes off the man who stared me down from the darkness of his hood. There were buildings and people in the background, but it was just a blur because he took all my focus.
He stepped closer to me, his boots crunching over the hard snow, vapor blowing from the hood like cigarette smoke. He raised his hand and pointed behind me. “A hundred miles.” His voice was deep and steady, full of restrained annoyance. He shifted his arm clockwise and pointed to his right. “A hundred miles.” He raised his arm, and his thumb indicated the mountains behind him. “Alps.” Then he pointed the other way. “Hundred miles. You want to run, go for it.”
He could be lying, but I suspected he wasn’t. I wasn’t familiar with the French countryside, but I knew there were lots of uninhabited areas outside the major cities. And while there were villages spread out through the landscape, it would still be hard to find them. I glanced at the stables where a few horses stood, covered and warm. I could do it—if I had a horse.
He shook his head slightly, like he knew what I was thinking. “On foot.”
“Give me my sister.” I’d rather take my chances in the cold than do whatever he had planned.
He stepped toward me again. “No.”
The harder I breathed, the more vapor escaped my lips, the moisture from my sinuses drifting away into the wind. “I’m not leaving without her.”
“Then you aren’t leaving at all.” He turned back to the wagon and dragged my sister to the edge.
I sprinted at him, knowing where he’d put that knife in his jacket.
As if he’d been expecting it, he turned and grabbed me by the throat, his thick gloves getting a strong grip on my dry skin before he slammed me down into the ground. Then he turned me over and pushed my face into the pile of snow, shoving my face deep until the snow started to fall in, surrounding me with the icy powder. Instantly, I struggled to breathe because my heart rate was fast. It was like being slowly suffocated, the air becoming less available with every inhale.
After a moment, he released me. He shoved me to my back and stood over me, the hood falling even farther over his face. “Save your strength—at least, if you want to live.” His grip loosened, and he stood upright to grab my sister. He pulled out his knife and did the same to her before shoving her into the snow beside me.
Another man, dressed identically, approached, his boots audible against the powder. “What have we got?”
“A strong one and a weak one.” He turned back around and pointed at me. “Put her on the line. The other can be a stuffer.”
On the line? Stuffer?
“Names?” He approached me and extended his hand to me.
I glared at him in defiance.
Melanie was too scared to fight. She submitted immediately. “Melanie.”
The second man grabbed her by the arm and yanked her up. “Let’s go.”
The first one continued to stare at me. “The only escape from this place is death. So, I suggest you make the best of it.”
I spat on his extended hand, landing right in the center of his palm.
He raised his palm and looked at the spit before he dropped his arm to the side. “You’ll take longer to break than the others. But you’ll break…like they all do.”
It was a lot to take in.
It was a settlement of cabins outside the tree line, the Alps the backdrop. It wasn’t fenced in like a prison, probably because there really was nowhere to run. I’d been living in metropolitan areas my entire life, so surviving in such harsh conditions with no wilderness experience was just stupid—at least without YouTube. There was a chance to make it to a village if I had a horse, but from what I gathered, they were in stables under lock and key.