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Back The Progeny Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. Dedication
  2. THE CENTER
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  49. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  50. Copyright

“You really don’t know who you are, do you?” he says with an incredulous exhale.

“No!” I lash out, as much from fear as anger. “I don’t know anything you’re talking about!”

A car is speeding down the gravel drive, skids around the last turn to the point. He grabs my wrists.

“Your real name isn’t Emily Porter,” he says, inches from my face. “It’s Audra Ellison. You didn’t die in a car crash. But if you stay here, you’ll be dead by morning.”

5

There’s the shock of hearing my real name—if indeed that’s it. The eerie way his words collide with the letter to myself.

But the thing that gets me up and running for his car as the Cherokee speeds down the point, gravel flying from its wheels, is this: Even if he’s lying, he also knows the truth.

Which means he knows more than I do. Even if I manage to skip town now, I won’t know who’s really after me. And I definitely won’t get answers if I end up dead.

There’s no way this counts as digging. My past, after all, found me.

I collide with the passenger side door, yank it open, and barely get inside before he throws the Pathfinder into reverse. Without even bothering to turn around—there’s no time and no space, nose-to-nose with the back fender of the Bronco—he slams the gas and backs full speed up the drive, right past Luka. As the Cherokee blasts past us I see his face flash in my window. Staring in a tight-lipped grimace, right at me.

“Turn!” I yell as we hit the bend. My savior/captor/whoever he is jerks the wheel, sending us sliding, and for a moment I think I’m going to die here after all, thrown into a tree. And then we’re blowing backward onto a mile of gravel, with me shouting directions as Luka’s headlights fill the windshield.

We get to the edge of Lily Bay Road and I think for sure Luka’s going to ram us right into oncoming traffic. In the end it doesn’t matter because the guy with me doesn’t even stop, hitting the pavement with a sharp back turn that throws me into the console. The dead stop is terrifying; Luka’s headlights are two seconds from drilling us straight into the ditch, and for that split instant I wonder if my faked car-accident death is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

The guy throws the Pathfinder into gear. Tires squeal on pavement, and then we’re speeding north up the road.

“You okay?” he says.

I’m shaking, but I nod and then realize he can’t see me. “Yeah.” It takes me three tries to lock my seat belt.