Page 117 of What Remains

Something went wrong. Horses ran the fence line instead of grazing, tails high, heads tossing. Goats milled nervously near the barn, bleating. The farmhouse door hung partially open, swaying in the wind.

"Liz?" Seth called as he climbed out.

No answer.

His body went still before his mind caught up, a primal freeze faster than thought.

"Liz!"

The screen door slammed open. Liz stumbled onto the porch. The moment she saw him, her composure shattered.

"Oh, thank God..." She half ran, half stumbled toward him. "Seth!"

He met her halfway, catching her.

"What happened?"

"They took her." The words barely came out. "They took Josie."

His body went still. "What, WHO?”

Liz sobbed, struggling for breath. "A man—in the barn." She shook her head, a violent, desperate motion. "He... Seth, she fought him. God, you should have seen—she fought hard."

His hands tightened on her shoulders. "Where is she?"

"He dragged her..." Liz pointed toward the woods behind the barn with trembling fingers. "Into the trees."

"Layla?"

"She's inside—safe. I... I couldn't get her to stop crying."

Seth closed his eyes for a moment, letting one small mercy land. Then lines around his eyes tightened, jaw set like stone.

"Show me."

Liz nodded and hurried toward the barn. Seth followed closely. The closer they got, the more wreckage appeared. A shovel lay broken in the aisle. One stall door hung from a single hinge. Blood dotted the packed dirt floor. His stomach twisted.

"That's his," Liz said, voice a raw whisper, pointing at the shovel. "All that blood... it must be his."

Seth crouched and studied the dark red drops leading toward the open barn door.

Good. Probably his.

He rose without a word and ran back to Beast, yanking open the driver's door, reaching behind the seat. His rifle came first. He checked the magazine with practiced hands—full—before chambering a round. Then his fingers found the familiar leather sheath tucked beside his pack. His KA-BAR. He pulled the knife free, inspected the blade, and slid it onto his belt.

Some things you didn't leave to chance.

He grabbed two spare magazines, shoved them into his coat pocket, and slammed the truck door shut. When he turned, Liz waited, pointing toward the back pasture.

"I lost the trail after the tree."

He followed her across the yard. Snow made the evidence impossible to miss. A churned path cut through untouched white—deep boot prints, and beside them a smaller set, dragging, with long furrows carved where heels dug in hard.

Josie. She hadn't gone willingly. Not a single step.

Seth knelt by the tracks. His breathing slowed, heartbeat steadied. The attacker favored his left leg. His stride shortened every few steps. Drops of blood stained the snow at irregular intervals—not much, but enough.

"He's injured," Seth said, voice low.