My eyes darted back to the phone screen.

The sending wheel was still spinning.

The signal bar was gone.

A red exclamation point appeared next to the message.

*Message failed to send.*

“You see,” Julian said through the door, “I think of everything, Clara. You know that.”

“Let’s get the gas levels up,” Harris said. “The longer we stand here talking, the more chance someone drives by.”

“Nobody drives down this road at night in a storm,” Julian said.

“Still,” Harris insisted. “Let’s get it done.”

I heard them move away from the door toward the back exit.

The kitchen door creaked open, then shut.

They were going outside to the propane tank.

I had to move.

I stood up, my knees shaking.

The pantry was pitch black, but I knew every inch of it.

I reached for the top shelf where I kept the emergency supplies.

My fingers brushed past jars of peaches and pickled peppers.

I found the small, heavy plastic case of the emergency flashlight.

I didn’t turn it on.

Instead, I felt for the spare key to the pantry door.