Page 1 of Mountain Refuge
Chapter One
Adam
Iwas doing the right thing. I knew that down to the marrow of my bones. That fact, however, didn’t make my situation any less terrifying. The scars on my back twinged with phantom pain as I took another fleeting glance in my rear-view mirror. Tufts of blonde hair and the rise and fall of little chests in innocent sleep reaffirmed my mantra that Iwasdoing the right thing.
Why did the right thing have to be so goddamn hard?
It had been a stroke of luck I’d made it this far. I thought for sure I’d been caught at the train station. Going out into public, even a place as crowded as the transportation station, had been risky, but it had also been my only choice if I wanted to survive.
I was not made for being on the run. The constant terror, the paranoia, the inability to sleep for fear the moment you close your eyes and let down your guard will be the exact moment it all goes to hell… I needed help, but my options were limited when the people hunting me had such vast resources. I’d wracked my brain; I couldn’t go to anyone who they could easily track me to, like my parents, my sister, or friends.
But I did have one friend that no one knew about. A friend whom I had not contacted in eighteen years.
Even eight years ago, receiving a snail mail postcard had been interesting. Bills came by email and my required apartment mailbox was just a physical manifestation of a spam folder. Receiving a postcard on one of the last days before my move and the start of a new job had been unexpected.
I never would have guessed that postcard would one day save my life.
I grew up a farm boy who had dreams of the big city. My best friend had grown up with dreams of a life without abuse, hunger, and constant lies. When I’d been accepted into NYU, I’d begged Corbin to go with me. I’d never lied to him and I’d never abused him, but the city was no place for him. Corbin, even at eighteen, had been tall, already six-six, but he’d been skinny and malnourished. I’d always shared my lunch with him, but his body still needed more. Then, a few days before I left for college, he’d been arrested. He’d finally ended the abuse. The law, however, did not agree with his methods and he’d gone to prison for manslaughter.
His last words to me were, “Go live your life. I’ll send you a postcard.”
And he had. I don’t know when he got out. I’d thought about him a lot in the beginning but then college and life had taken my attention away from my incarcerated best friend. I’d moved on, I’m ashamed to say. I got my degree in Early Childhood Education. I later furthered my degree by receiving my masters with the help of my employer who funded my advancement.
I shuddered, though unsure if that had to do with my once naiveté or the bitter cold howling outside my borrowed car. I needed to call itborrowedbecause, until twelve days ago, I’dnever broken the law before. I didn’t need to addauto-theftto my resume.
Corbin’s postcard had been nothing more than a phone number on one side and the picture of the ocean on the other. It had taken me two false tries before I realized that that phone number was in code. Our code, from when we were kids trying to hide messages and confessions from teachers, adults, and nosy kids. The code for the numbers was easier to remember because we’d been six when we’d created it, so the digits had been moved up only one number. Zero was one, one was two, two was three… My adult brain had not thought about the code in almost eighteen years, having long seen numbers for their actual value.
At the time of my move eight years ago, I’d been busy packing, organizing, and planning. The postcard had made its way into one of my favorite books,A Tale of Two Cities, where it was then forgotten until twelve days ago. Though I’d packed in such a rush that I hadn’t brought any personal belongings, I’d grabbed the postcard. I had never called the number on it before ten days ago.
I remembered that first phone call perfectly:
It wasn’t Corbin who answered when I called. It was a man named Jack with a business greeting of“Jack’s. How can I help you?”I froze, unsure of what to say to that and fearful that I’d gotten the number wrong again. The written number had been for a Chinese restaurant in Lansing, Michigan. Had I messed up the code again?
But a small sob from behind me broke through my worries and I rushed to speak before being hung up on. “Corbin. I need to speak with Corbin.”
There was a tense pause, and then the gruff voice said the one thing I never expected: my name. “Adam?”
I knew for a fact that I wasn’t speaking to Corbin. Even ifhe’d changed his name, I’d know his voice. It had been eighteen years later, but I’d know it. The man on the other end of the line was not Corbin, which begged the question of how he knew my name.
And then the call got even weirder.
“Are you in trouble?” My silence must have been answer enough because his next question was, “Are you safe?”
Thatanswer I knew. The smelly, cheap motel a mere two hundred miles outside the city was not safe. “No.”
There was some rustling on the other end of the line and a weird mechanicalclick.“You’re not in the city. What do you have on you that’s yours? You’re on a burner, which is good. I applaud you for not using the landline. I’m assuming you’re stopped somewhere but, if you’ve been there longer than a day, I need you to pack up and leave. Right now.”
Fear coursed through my veins. I’d been at the motel for almost two days. We were almost out of supplies, but I’d been terrified to leave the enclosed space. “Who are you?”
“A friend. Adam, I promise you, I’m a friend. Corbin bought the postcard from my store. He knew you’d call one day. Probably had hoped it wouldn’t take this long, but at least you called.”
A hiccup nearly broke through my lips. It wasn’t manly; it was pitiful. But I was at my wits’ end. I hadn’t slept in over two days. Adrenaline and fear were keeping me awake. I was to the point where I was willing to accept help from anyone. “We need help.”
It was the use ofwethat had prompted the next question. “Adult or child?”
My heart broke a little at my next answer. “Children.”
There was a pause, some more rustling, and what I assumed had been typing. “Adam, do you have with you who I think you do? Because if so, we need to move fast. You’re too close to the city. Far too close.”
