Yesterday, he’d spotted members of a nearby cult foraging for firewood less than two miles from his cabin. He hadn’t made his presence known, but he’d kept an eye on them until they’d left the area.
They couldn’t be trusted.
While Luke had been traveling down from Northern California, his wife Liz had fought a nefarious cult leader and his disciples. She’d destroyed the cult and had helped kill the leader, but some members continued to hide in the forest. They were likely to be hostile, and if they managed to get their hands on Sierra, who knew what they would do?
They were zealots, the most dangerous kind of foe. They were convinced they spoke for God and that they were doing his will. They used a variety of lies to control their members. So far, they hadn’t reformed into a cohesive group, but if enough of the survivors banded together, Luke had no doubt that they’d come for him and his family.
His breath came in white puffs as he continued up the trail. A stab of guilt cut through his gut. Over the last few years, he’d grown apart from his daughter. Their relationship had been strained during her teenage rebellious years, and things had only gotten worse once she’d enrolled in college. He regretted not trying harder to maintain their relationship. Maybe if he’d been more involved in her life, she wouldn’t have ended up so stupid. Wandering off like this had been dumb. According to Liz, their daughter had been up to all kinds of stupidity since the bombs had dropped. As soon as Luke found Sierra, he was going to have one hell of a conversation with her. She needed some tough love, and now was the time to give it to her … if he found her alive.
His belly dropped. His hands tightened around the ebony stock of his Winchester XPR hunting rifle. If he found her body, another hunt would begin. A hunt for the person responsible.
He missed his friend Boyd. He’d met him while traveling down from Northern California right after the bombs had dropped. Boyd had lost his entire family, and Luke had helped him destroy the men who’d killed his family. Luke had expected Boyd to stay with him at the cabin, but Boyd had been too restless to stay in one place. He’d told Luke he wanted to go back east to look for the rest of his extended family. The journey would take months, but if anyone could do it, Boyd could. He just hoped his friend would stay safe.
Dark thoughts loomed heavy in Luke’s mind, and as he returned his attention to hunting for his daughter, his training took over. His muscles and sinew worked together to maneuver him quickly and silently through the snowstorm. He skirted a small rise in the terrain and came to a crest that overlooked the valley.
At first, Luke couldn’t make out anything through the dense snowfall, but after a few minutes, the storm abated.
He scanned the terrain, taking note of good ambush points, as well as areas with dense cover. Then his gaze fell upon two figures. One stood while the other lay prone in the snow.
With gritted teeth, he brought the rifle up and focused his gaze through the scope.
“Please,” he whispered. “Please, God, don’t let it be Sierra.”
His fingers trembled so much that he couldn’t zero in on the prone body. When he was finally able to steady his hands, the body’s pale, upturned face came into crisp, sharp focus. A raggedy breath burst from his lips. His daughter’s open, haunted eyes stared up at the falling snow, but he knew she’d never see anything again. She was dead.
Enraged, Luke turned his sights on the figure standing over her. He’d make that son of a bitch pay for killing her.
Luke let out a small gasp. It was Derek, the man who’d helped Sierra walk twenty miles from UC Irvine to the cabin. Because Derek had assisted their daughter, Liz trusted him; Luke didn’t. He had no reason to trust him. He barely knew Derek. As far as he was concerned, Derek was a stranger, and therefore not to be trusted.
Luke’s finger curled around the trigger, but then he got a better look at Derek’s expression. There was no satisfied sneer on his face. He didn’t have the horrified look of someone who’d accidentally shot another person. If anything, he seemed sad.
“Strange,” Luke muttered.
He slowly relaxed his trigger finger. He hung the rifle across his shoulder by the attached strap. Derek would live. For now. At least until Luke figured out if he’d killed Sierra or not. Just because he appeared sad didn’t mean he wasn’t the murderer. Plenty of killers felt guilty after the fact. But Luke wouldn’t shoot a man in cold blood without getting the facts first.
In a low crouch, Luke picked a silent path down the mountain toward Derek and Sierra. Luke didn’t want to spook Derek and make him shoot or, worse, run. At least not until he’d had a chance to grill the younger man about his daughter’s death. If Derek was responsible, he’d be dead before he could take a single step away from her body.
Luke increased his speed. He was within ten feet of them when an unseen twig snapped beneath the snow. The sound was nearly inaudible, but Derek’s head jerked up. He turned to face Luke.
“Luke.” His voice was as cold and dead as the wind. “I’m … I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Luke’s lips peeled back in a snarl. Rage spread through his body like wildfire. “You’re sorry? You killed my daughter!”
He raised
