As the tension left her body, she began to feel silly for being as frightened as she’d been. Where was all her bravado, her certainty that she could outrun a man like Edmonson? Even if she couldn’t, given the fence, she had a gun, for crying out loud. If he had a weapon, too, she’d probably be justified in using it.

So far, there’d been no reason for her to get this worked up. There was nothing threatening about a man coming out to check on his dogs. As far as she knew, he hadn’t done anything wrong.

Stop being a baby, she scolded herself. But she waited another fifteen minutes to give Edmonson plenty of time to get back inside the plant before making her move.

When she couldn’t hear anything except the wind brushing against the corrugated walls of the building, she switched on her flashlight. The old wire cages that had once held four or five chickens each, and the machinery to feed them, were still there. So was the manure that had piled up underneath. The coop was big enough to easily hide her mother’s car at one end, even with everything else intact, but she saw nothing to indicate Edna had been here.

She was about to let herself out when she saw a shovel leaning against the wall with what looked like fresh manure on the blade.

As she walked over to it, she noticed several spots of some dark substance just inside the door.

She bent to see what the substance could be. It was difficult to tell in the dirt. Probably motor oil, she decided. The odor of the chicken shit was so nasty she didn’t want to stay any longer now that she felt it was safe to go.

But those drops made her hesitate. If there’d been no car in here, why would there be motor oil?

She followed the drips to the manure below the closest row of cages. Someone had been digging in it. It didn’t have the same conical shape as the others. But … why? Why would anyone brave the smell in here, let alone play around in the chicken shit?

Moving closer, she lifted the beam of her flashlight a little higher. Then she dropped it as well as her gun and screamed.

A human hand was sticking out of the manure, and the skin was falling off.

25

Anchorage, AK—Wednesday, 11:30 p.m. AKDT

Evelyn could feel movement, a gentle and consistent rocking. She could also hear the steady thrum of tires. She was in a vehicle of some sort, lying on her side, the scratch of cheap carpet against her cheek. She couldn’t see anything except darkness, and she couldn’t move. Worse than anything, she couldn’t think clearly.

What’d happened? How did she get here? And where was she going?

As her addled brain struggled to find answers, an image conjured before her mind’s eye: Lyman Bishop opening the cooler door and coming inside.