Page 60 of Fallen Creed

“It’s possible the cows uprooted it,” Spencer said. “Course, it could just be garbage.”

Maggie kept glancing around. She was impatient, and she hated to admit that. As important as it was to discover more body parts, that’s not what they were searching for.

“Do you mind if I move on?” she asked Pakula.

“You two go ahead,” he said. “I’ll take care of this. I’m going to take a look. Just to make sure.” He secured his hood as the wind ripped at it.

Maggie started out again before he even reached for the bag. The trees and the river were an impossible distance away. A black and white wall rose out of the landscape. It felt like walking in quicksand. How could something as light as snow be so impenetrable?

“O’Dell!” Pakula yelled.

She turned. She was still close enough to see the look on his face. It made her heart bang against her chest. Her feet were blocks of concrete finding their way back. She was breathing hard, leaving a visible trail behind when she finally reached him.

The wind tore at the plastic as Pakula struggled to keep it open. The bottom part of the bag had frozen to the ground. Pakula kneeled in order to secure it and look inside. Spencer stood beside him. His expression was equally troubling.

And suddenly, Maggie didn’t want to see what they’d found. She didn’t want to know. Paralyzed, she stayed ten feet away.

In the last decade, she had seen how many bodies? Not just bodies. Intestines strung across tree branches. Dismembered organs in takeout containers. But she knew absolutely none of that would prepare her to find a body of someone she loved.

Pakula locked eyes with her, then held up a cell phone in one of his gloved hands. He gestured for Spencer to grab the edges of the bag while he dug out something else. It was stiff when he tried to unfurl it. But before he did, she recognized the long-sleeved shirt. Horizontal stripes, light and dark blue. She remembered thinking the colors brought out the indigo in Ryder’s eyes.

Now there was a large, oblong stain. Deep red, it stretched across one side of the shirt.

Blood. Lots of it.

—47—

Interstate 55

Brodie appreciated that Jason let them pretend nothing weird had happened. She was relieved that he didn’t make her talk about it. She wasn’t good at reading people’s emotions, one of the consequences of being held in captivity for so many years. Honestly, she could barely understand her own emotions. But from what she could tell, Jason seemed okay this morning.

They woke up to his wristwatch’s alarm. Brodie had fallen asleep. From the jerk of his body against her, she knew he had fallen asleep, too. His left arm was wrapped around her shoulders, and she had cradled herself into his chest and lap. Kitten was still in her arms. Hank and Scout had sprawled out on the floor close enough to touch each other. Hank’s chin weighted down Brodie’s left thigh. One of Scout’s paws poked her in the ribs.

“You doing okay?” was all Jason asked.

Now back on the road, Brodie’s panic attack simply felt like one of her nightmares. It was over and hopefully gone, at least for a while. She should have seen it coming. That whisper in the back of her mind as they drove farther and farther away from the only place where she felt safe.

The rush of adrenaline had drained her, left her completely exhausted. The shower hadn’t rejuvenated her in the way water usually did. She was glad all she had to do for the next several hours was sit, watch the landscape glide by and make conversation that would help keep Jason awake. It should be that easy. Except it wasn’t easy at all.

Earlier, Jason had brought breakfast to their rooms, two trays stacked with an assortment of hot and cold foods. It fascinated her to watch him eat. Despite the fully functioning new mechanical hand, he obviously had adjusted to not having it. Instead of using it, he still relied on his left hand and had developed interesting habits to compensate for the missing limb.

Expertly, he speared scrambled eggs, sausage and potatoes onto the fork, layering and loading up each time, not wanting to waste a single motion. And he figured out how to pick up toast or his glass of milk without putting down the fork.

Brodie had learned to observe carefully out of the corner of her eye, because she didn’t want him to know she was watching. She had her own weird habits, like using her fingers instead of utensils. A fork and knife sometimes felt as foreign to her as if she were trying to eat with chopsticks.

The dogs and Kitten didn’t care about any of these things. Scout and Hank had finished their prepared meals and asked for nothing more. Yes, they also watched, but only because they were hoping a stray morsel might fall their way.

It was during breakfast that Jason called Hannah and did something with his phone so both of them could hear her and talk to her at the same time. Hearing Hannah’s voice made Brodie’s chest ache all over again.

In the last several months, Hannah had become Brodie’s friend, confidant, and mental healthcare provider. Hannah was more of a mother to Brodie than Brodie’s own mother, who lived in Atlanta and seemed content to visit only twice since Brodie’s arrival. Of course, she called and texted. Why did people believe a few words on a phone screen were “keeping in touch?”

Ryder had tried to explain that their mother had gone on to create a life of her own to fill the void of not having them. At the time, it was the only way she knew how to survive. Brodie didn’t understand, but she was okay with it. At least, that’s what she told everyone.

Now, sitting in the Jeep and traveling even farther away, Brodie tried to prevent the ache from growing. Did it have anything to do with returning to Nebraska? She’d spent sixteen years there without knowing where she was. Seasons changed according to how hot the shed was that Iris had locked her in, or how damp and cold the concrete floor was in the basement.

In the first year, before Iris started locking Brodie in a room, a closet, or one of the various outbuildings—before the basement became her more permanent cell—Brodie was allowed to see the outside and even allowed to go along on car rides.

She remembered rolling hills, meadows with purple and yellow flowers, rows of cornfields and cows. Lots of cows. The wide-open sky seemed bigger and bluer than any other she’d seen. And she liked how it spread all the way to the horizon. At one point when Iris chose darkness as Brodie’s punishment of the week, Brodie remembered wishing that Iris or her son, Aaron, would dump her in a ditch or leave her in a field, just so she could see the sky again. She didn’t care if it was night and dark outside, because at least she’d have the stars.