Chapter 8: The Cabin in the Pines
By nightfall, Sarah was dead, and Emily Carter was born. Zoe was now Maya. Armed with freshly minted driver's licenses, social security cards, and a clean burner phone, they drove deep into the Adirondack Mountains.
Marcus’s safehouse was a rudimentary hunting cabin off a nameless dirt road. It had running water, a wood stove, and zero cell reception.
For the first few days, Sarah lived in a state of suspended terror. Every snapping twig in the forest sounded like a bootstep. Every gust of wind rattling the windowpanes felt like someone prying them open. But as the week wore on, the isolation became a balm. The angry purple mark on Zoe's cheek faded to a sickly yellow, and then, miraculously, disappeared altogether. Her daughter's laughter returned, echoing off the timber walls.
One evening, while Zoe slept in a makeshift crib, Sarah sat in front of the bathroom mirror with a pair of rusty sewing scissors. She grabbed her dark, loose hair and began to chop. The heavy locks fell to the wooden floor. She applied a cheap box of bleach Marcus had bought from a rural pharmacy, watching her identity strip away in the harsh overhead light.
Marcus walked past the open door, pausing to look at her choppy, platinum-blonde reflection. He slid a matte black Glock 19 onto the bathroom counter.
May you like
"I loaded it with hollow points," Marcus said quietly. "Safety is off the trigger pull. Point and squeeze. Tomorrow, I teach you how to handle the recoil."
Sarah didn't flinch. She picked up the heavy weapon, her hands steady. "Okay."
