“Look at the screen, Julian,” I said, stepping closer to the door but keeping the heavy jar raised.

The screen lit up with another message.

“We have the plate number,” the message said. “The sheriff’s unit just passed the mile marker. They are four minutes away.”

Harris grabbed the gun from the counter.

His knuckles were white.

“We have to go,” Harris said, his voice cracking. “Julian, we have to get out of here right now.”

“No,” Julian said, his eyes burning with a cold, quiet rage. “We aren’t leaving her.”

He stepped back into the doorway of the pantry, blocking the light.

The kitchen behind him was dark, save for the blue glow of the refrigerator and the single floodlight outside.

The wind howled against the windowpanes, rattling the glass.

I could hear the trees scraping against the siding of the house.

It was a lonely sound.

But for the first time in three hours, I did not feel alone.

My phone screen flickered, the signal bar dropping to zero for a second, then jumping back to one.

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