Page 17 of Crucible
I give the room one last disapproving sniff before I leave. Heading for the stairs, I cautiously descend them into a finished basement, and my eyes widen in alarm. A den of sorts takes up most of the space. There’s a sofa, several punching bags, an array of weapons and a large map mounted on the wall, a metal locker, and some gym equipment.
Fighting the urge to run and take my chances with the wolves, I peek behind door number one and find a room with a farmhouse sink, floating shelves with folded linen on them, and a jute rope hanging taut between walls. I think it’s a laundry room, but where are the washer and dryer? I back out of the room with a wrinkled nose.
Door number two has a full bath behind it.
My third try reveals another bedroom.
While the first bedroom barely looked lived in, this one looks like a wild animal had been let loose inside. The closet door is hanging on a single hinge, the bed is flipped over, the frame bent and twisted, the bedding shredded, and there’s writing on the walls—inblood. The first two are alarming, but the last one I stare at and wonder about the person who wrote it.
Death to the immortals.
Bless the Savior.
The promise that it ends is what makes life beautiful.
The hair on my arms rise as I back out. I find a third bedroom on the other side of the den. Steeling myself for whatever I’ll find, I poke my head inside the open door.
My shoulders slump in relief when I find a normal-looking bedroom.
I don’t bother to take in the details this time as I rush inside and belly-flop onto the four-poster bed with a groan. It’s bigger than the others. A king, I think. Maybe larger. Whoever sleeps here must really like their space.
The mattress isn’t too soft or hard, and it’s in one piece.
It’s just right.
Sighing, I flip over onto my back, and my eyes widen. “Oh, wow.”
I hadn’t noticed it before.
The canopy.
Short, twisted branches, no more than four or five inches thick, are nailed together in a random pattern and strewn with small lights that glow with warm light. I follow the branches to the posts and gasp at the images carved into the wood—bears, wolves, rabbits, birds, fish, foxes, and frogs. There are trees, rivers, snowflakes, leaves, Sunshine, and wind.
Wow, just wow.
It’s fanciful, like a fairy tale.
I’m still admiring the carvings when my eyelids start to drift shut. I know I can’t fight the exhaustion, pain, and trauma from my ordeal much longer.
Rest. Reset.
Rest.
Reset.
I’m not sure how people pass their time in the wilds, but the cabin dwellers could be gone for hours.
Twenty minutes is all I need.
Just as it had the last three nights, I see the faces of those who died because of me—Cassie’s, Susan’s, Harrison’s, the two bodyguards whose names I still don’t know, and…Tyler’s.
His is the last I see before I succumb to sleep.
THORIN
Khalil’s the first to enter the cabin, with Zeke trailing behind him and me bringing up the rear. We silently shed our heavy coats and boots in the mudroom before we go our separate ways.
Something feels off, but I dismiss it for being gone longer than we planned. This morning, we’d been readying to set out and look for the survivors when an avalanche large and close enough to make our cabin groan in agony had us leaving in a hurry to investigate. The single male boot we’d found buried in the snow had kept us searching for hours to no avail.
