And then the truck stopped and all was quiet. No birds, because it was still night. And it was darker here, the moon no longer visible. That much he could see through the thin spots in the blanket that still covered them. Whether it was cloudy or they were under a thick canopy of leaves, he couldn’t tell.

The truck shimmied slightly as the driver’s door opened but didn’t slam closed.

Amos’s heart beat so hard that it hurt. God, please don’t let him look back here. Don’t let him see us.

But he heard no voices, just the light crackle of leaves as footsteps faded away. Amos held his breath, risking a peek from underneath the blanket. Nothing above. No DJ staring down at him.

And then he heard the tinkle of crashing glass. Not from the truck. It was farther away.

Should I get up? Should I grab Abigail and make our escape? Or is this a trap and DJ is waiting for us? Is he armed? That last question was most likely a yes. The truck had a gun rack in the cab and Amos had always seen DJ stow a rifle there before he’d left on his weekly supply runs.

But DJ wasn’t in the truck at the moment. If Amos could get that rifle . . .

But . . . but . . . Indecision and fear left him frozen in place, huddling under the blanket with his little girl.

And then he heard a door open and close—like the door to a house, not a car—followed by a quiet curse. DJ. He was coming back.

No, no, no. I should have run when I had the chance.

But the truck door didn’t open. Instead, another engine started up, a smaller sound. Not a truck. A car?

The car drove away, in the opposite direction from which they’d come, from the sound of it. The engine grew quieter until Amos could hear nothing at all.

Now. Go now.

Carefully he pulled free of Abigail’s hold, settling her small body on the truck bed, making sure she was covered up, then crawled to the tailgate and rolled over it, keeping his body as close to the truck as possible.

He looked around wildly, but saw nothing but a small house, all dark inside.

DJ was gone.

Amos didn’t question further. Still crouching, he rushed to the driver’s-side door, slightly ajar, his knees buckling with relief when he saw the key still in the ignition. Two seconds later, he was behind the wheel and turning the key. The engine roared to life and he did a quick U-turn.

When they’d arrived they’d turned left, then right and right again once the truck had slowed, so Amos turned left, and left again.

And shuddered out a sob, because there, like a shining beacon, was a highway. He didn’t know which way to go, but DJ had turned left, so Amos went right. And then he floored it, flying down the road in the dead of night until he came to a town.