The sheriff was silent for so long, I was sure he was going to say no way. “Okay. You look at my boy’s arm. But unless you’re sure you can do more good than harm to him, then it goes no further than a look. Either way, one night in our home is all I’m going to be able to offer but it wouldn’t be right not to do at least that.” He gave the three of us a look in turn. “And I wouldn’t expect that everyone’s willing to do what’s right, once you get out there so be prepared for that. More to the point, the notion of right and wrong is going to shift the longer the power’s out. Frankly, there’s no telling what’s going on beyond Silver Creek.” An expression of something akin to torment passed over his face before he glanced away.

Charlie let out a sound that was somewhere between a grunt and a whine.

“Understood,” I said. “And thank you.” Then I looked at Emily and Charlie. “We leave first thing.”

chapter twenty-one

Emily

The sheriff lived on a tree-lined street about a fifteen-minute walk from the downtown area. We followed him up the path toward the white Craftsman-style house with smoke trailing from the chimney, and for a moment, the sight of that house looked so normal that I was able to pretend the world hadn’t completely fallen apart around us.

Had it really been four days since we’d survived a terrifying plane crash? Four days since we started off through the wilderness with a handful of supplies and no knowledge of what lay beyond the field where we’d landed in a fiery heap of steel? I was both shocked by the thought of all we’d made it through since then, and grateful that we’d arrived here, even if here was temporary. Night was coming, and I was exhausted out of my mind, and yet afraid I wouldn’t be able to rest. Worried that the dull fogginess I felt was shock at witnessing a point-blank murder an hour before. Or had it been two? I had no concept of time, and reality was a strange ebb and flow that seemed drawn in harsh, black lines one minute, and wavery, blurred paint strokes the next.

The sheriff had used a walkie-talkie to call his teenage daughter and let her know we were coming, and though I was grateful to be given refuge even for one night, it felt odd to be staying in a stranger’s home.

Before the sheriff could unlock the door, a pretty teenager with long, dark hair pulled it open, stepping forward immediately and wrapping her arms around him. “Hi,” she said, stepping back and standing aside to look at the rest of us. “Come in. I’m Katelyn.”

“Hi, Katelyn. I’m Emily,” I said as I entered the home.