Stunned, she rode toward Jamie’s greenhouse. There, one of the oak branches had smashed through the glass, taking out the growing tables, leaving the plants exposed to each blustering squall. The deluge had destroyed the carefully composted soil, and the plants had been uprooted.

It was as if Jamie’s spirit had claimed the house and the greenhouse as hers, and only hers, and broken them apart.

Kellen hid her bike and headed into the greenhouse. There she rescued a few cucumbers, some green beans and some baby carrots. She let the rain wash them clean and ate with eager appetite. The water barrel was intact and overflowing, and she scooped up the stream of water in her palms and drank until she couldn’t drink anymore. She concealed herself in the wreck of the oak tree and relieved herself. When she was done, she thanked God Mara hadn’t found her at that moment; Kellen didn’t want to die with her pants around her ankles.

Her trip so far today had yielded nothing. She had hoped for a weapon at Mara’s camp. She had hoped for a weapon at the Conkles’ home. She was still alive, but so far, she had survived, yet not advanced her cause at all.

Where now? What was the plan?

She set off for the grove of redwoods. As she rode, abruptly, the winds stopped shrieking, and the downpour became a mere rainstorm. The ride became comparatively pleasant, if Kellen could forget the fact Mara was out there somewhere.

Or maybe she wasn’t. Maybe Mara had sent Kellen out to exhaust her while Mara stayed in the house and survived the storm in comfort.

Kellen straightened and grinned.

No way. Not Mara. She’d never allow Kellen to run a race that Mara didn’t run, too. Mara’s competitive spirit allowed no rival.

Kellen heard a rumble in the distance. She looked up; the return of the storm turned the afternoon skies to black. Lightning flashed, temporarily blinding her. She wobbled.

Then the wind snatched up the bike’s rear wheel and blasted it to pieces.

Kellen found herself on the ground, stunned and sure she’d been hit by a lightning bolt. She lifted herself onto her elbows and looked at her bike—and realized that damage wasn’t caused by lightning, but by a gunshot.

In those moments of lessening storm, Mara had caught sight of her, used her rifle and proved she could shoot.

Kellen whispered, “Max and Rae… I’m sorry, darlings.” She had failed them.