“Hurry!” Helen said. She stopped at the kitchen to grab the biggest knife she could find.

Nate watched her, almost amused. “What are you going to do with that?” he asked.

“We don’t know what’s out there,” Helen answered.

Nate shook his head. “Just be careful. Don’t cut yourself in all your excitement,” he said as he opened the door. He stood in the doorway, shining the beam of light around the yard while Helen perched behind him, watching. The yard was all clear. The concrete slab foundation was there, looking like the landing pad for some large spacecraft.

Or a door, she thought. A giant door.

“There’s nothing,” he said, turning to give her a you really got me out of bed for this? look.

“But there was,” she said, pushing past him, heading down the trailer’s rickety wooden steps. She kicked something, sent it rolling.

“Shine the light down here,” she said, looking down at the steps.

The beam of light swung down.

There was something at the base of the steps. A small wrapped bundle of cloth.

“What the hell is this?” Helen asked. She reached out.

“Looks like a cat toy,” Nate said,

Helen picked it up. “It’s not a cat toy,” she said. It was an old piece of white fabric, something with a touch of lace or embroidery at the edge. It had once been a dainty lady’s handkerchief maybe, but now it was tattered and stained and was bundled up, the four corners pulled up and wound around with dirty string that had been tied in a neat little bow, like a present. There was something inside the bundle. Something hard.

Her stomach clenched.

“Why don’t you bring it inside and we’ll take a look?” Nate suggested.

“I’m not bringing it inside,” Helen said. “No way is it coming into the house.”

She held the bundle, fingers plucking at the string, thinking she just needed to give it a tug, unwrap it, see what was inside, but did she really want to know?

No. She did not. She did not want to see what was inside.

Whatever it was, it was awful. She knew that. She could feel it: danger flowing through her fingers like venom from a sting.

“You want me to open it?” Nate said.

“No,” Helen told him. “I can do it.”

The bundle, she believed, had been left for her. For her, because she was the one who’d heard the scream.

She took a deep breath, reminded herself that she was the new Helen. The Helen who was going to live in Vermont and build her own house, learn to kill her own chickens, wield an ax, grow her own food. Helen with the strength of the pioneers. The brave Helen. She could do this.