It’s a long, tiring hike to cover very little ground, and I alternate between thinking about how cold the wind is and trying not to show the others how much I am freaking out. We are breaking into a compound owned by a religious cult. Basically the kind that would use guns as props to scare a bunch of their own teenagers, which means they definitely have guns, and they’re also terrible people. I keep thinking I hear someone else’s footsteps crunching through the woods, but every time it’s just some sort of weird echo of our own steps or the wind making trees rattle against each other.
Finally, we come out to a clearing at the top with a picnic table and a clear path down to the house. “How well can they see us?” Rachel asks. None of us are sure. We sit down in front of some trees in the hopes of standing out less, and Rachel digs out the binoculars.
Nell takes a look. “I don’t know if anyone’s even here,” she says, her voice disappointed.
“There’s got to be,” Rachel says, “I saw a light on in the house.”
I take the binoculars to look for myself. There is a light on in the house, but just one. I don’t see any cars, but one of the outbuildings looks like it might have cars parked inside, and of course you’d want to park inside in January if you could.
I see movement. “Someone’s definitely down there,” I say. Rachel holds out her hand, and I give her the binoculars.
We watch and wait. No one seems to see us—I don’t see any pointing, hear any yelling—but my feet get very, very cold. There’s a man we see going in and out who Nell confirms is Brother Leonard. There’s another man Rachel glimpses who goes out of sight before Nell gets the binoculars back and an adult woman.
It starts to snow. Just a little.
In midafternoon, Brother Leonard opens up the outbuilding, brings out a snowmobile and takes off on it. A little while later, the man and the woman pull out of the garage and ride up the driveway.
“Should we go down?” I ask. “Do we think it’s worth a try to get Glenys out?”
“Just because we only saw three adults doesn’t mean there only are three adults,” Rachel says.
“It’s still probably our best chance,” Nell says.
We walk down the path to the house. It’s a lot faster when we’re just tromping through snow instead of fighting underbrush. I tuck my hands under my armpits trying to warm them up through my gloves. Rachel ducks her head down against a gust of wind.
When we get to the yard with the house and the outbuildings, Nell takes off one glove, puts her thumb and forefinger in her mouth and lets out an absolutely piercing whistle. I almost jump out of my skin, because if anyone is here they definitely heard that. Nell, looking completely unworried, puts her glove back on and listens.
We can hear birds around us in the woods, and very far away, the whine of a snowmobile. I’m worried it’s Brother what’s-his-name coming back.
Nell takes off her glove and tries again.
This time there’s a faint answering whistle. It’s coming from the barn.
There’s a padlock on the door, so it’s a good thing we brought the bolt cutters. Rachel snips the lock off and opens the door. A girl with two long braids and a face streaked with dirt and tears is wrapped in a blanket. I know from the look on Nell’s face that this is Glenys.
“I’m Steph and this is Rachel. You already know Nell. We’re here to rescue you,” I say.
Glenys looks silently at Nell, who nods.
She’s barefoot. I’m cursing myself for not even thinking about this, but Nell rips open her backpack and pulls out a pair of ratty fleece boots that I strongly suspect she “borrowed” from one of her father’s partners, and a jacket. “I’m sorry this isn’t warmer,” Nell says as she helps Glenys put the jacket on. “I needed things that would fit in my backpack.”
I’m pretty sure I’m hearing the snowmobile getting closer. “We should hurry,” I say.
Glenys puts her feet in the boots and follows us, still not saying anything. “We should take the driveway,” Rachel says. “It’ll be faster, and if we hear them coming we can run into the woods.”
“They’ll see our trail,” Nell objects.
“They can see our trail into the woods, too, so it’s better to just get out of here as fast as we can.”
We head up the driveway and I turn back for one last look at the house. I see a face in the upstairs window. It’s a man watching us silently. It’s not Brother Leonard. It’s not any of the people I saw through the binoculars. I’m not good with faces, in case you haven’t guessed that. I’m not face-blind or anything, I’m just not great at recognizing people. I used to assume it was because I moved so often and just wasn’t getting to know people, but having compared notes with Rachel, I’m pretty sure I’m just bad at it. But there’s one photo I’ve looked at a lot in the past few months, and now that I’m seeing that face, I don’t know how I looked at that guy in Minneapolis and thought it might be him.
It’s Rajiv. Rajiv is here.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
NAOMI KRITZER has been making friends online since her teens, when she had to use a modem to dial up at 2400 baud. Her 2015 short story “Cat Pictures Please” won the Hugo Award and Locus Award and was a finalist for the Nebula. Naomi lives
