Which meant . . . Mercy might be alive. Mind reeling yet again, Amos watched as DJ lurched to his feet and began to pace.

“What did she buy?” A pause. “Yeah, I remember it. ‘Surely goodness and mercy.’ Fucking goddamn verse. I never should have let him start carving that stupid Bible verse into the fucking wood.”

Mercy bought something I made. Oh, dear Lord. Amos felt light-headed and had to lean against a tree.

DJ went even paler. “She did what? Me? She described me? Fucking hell, why didn’t you say that first? Did you get the license plate on her car? Send it to me.” Another pause, during which DJ checked the screen of the device, before returning it to his ear. “Yeah, I got it. Thanks.” He ran a hand through his hair as he listened again. “No, I haven’t seen the news lately, but thanks for the heads-up. I . . . owe you.”

He said the last two words like they tasted bad. “No, I don’t have any more product. We had to leave it behind when we moved. It’ll be a few months before we have a new batch.” He grimaced. “Yeah, I know. The market’s shrinking, blah, blah, blah. I’ve heard it before. But there’s still a market, right? The demand for shrooms isn’t just going to disappear overnight because a few cities have decriminalized.” He stopped pacing, blowing out an impatient breath. “No. I’ve told you before, I do not have facilities to make meth even if I wanted to. Look, I need to go. Thanks for the warning. I’ll leave tonight as soon as I can get away. Can you keep her there? Like damage her tires or something?” He exhaled heavily. “Right. I guess not. No, thanks anyway. I’ll see you tonight.”

He jabbed the device’s screen with his finger, then stood stock-still for a moment, his body still rigid. Then, using his thumbs, he began to tap the screen rapidly, tapping his foot as he stared at it, clearly waiting for something.

But what?

Amos got his answer—sort of—when DJ began to read from the screen.

“Oh shit,” DJ muttered. “It is her. Oh my God. Fucking hell. This can’t be happening. This cannot be happening.” He slumped on the boulder, looking out toward the mountains, his expression slack. Numb. “You were supposed to die. Why didn’t I just kill you in the woods? Goddammit.”

Amos felt the same numbness, his legs trembling so much that he feared he’d crumple to the ground. It is her. Mercy.

My Mercy is alive?

The kernel of hope blossomed in his chest, followed by radiant joy. My Mercy is alive. But the happiness was quickly swallowed up by icy fear. If she was alive, who had DJ buried?

Or had he buried anyone? Amos didn’t know what to think anymore.

Except one thing was clear. DJ was leaving tonight.

And Amos would find a way to get himself and Abigail on that truck. His plan to smuggle her out in a hope chest would never have worked, not with DJ refusing to allow him to go into town even one time. I’ll figure out how to stow away in the truck bed and we can be free.