The fog swallowed my back as I turned.
Lukas's body was no longer visible—only a faint shadow dissolving into the dark, swept away by cold and the endless sound of rain.
I drew a long breath, then walked on.
Each step felt heavy, but the forest forced me forward.
In the distance, the wind carried the smell of wet soil and the blood drying beneath my shirt.
The echo of the last gunshot still lingered in my ears as I ran westward, pushing through the soaked brush.
I hid behind a large rock, holding my breath, hoping the rain would conceal me.
Without realizing it, I was already within Harlow's sights.
Two bullets struck—one in the stomach, one in the shoulder—searing hot, tearing through flesh.
My body jerked backward, warmth spreading under my soaked jacket.
I tried to run, but another shot hit my back, spinning my vision into chaos.
My steps faltered at the edge of a cliff, slick with mud—the ground suddenly gave way beneath me.
It all happened too fast.
The world turned upside down—trees, sky, and lightning merged into a single streak of light.
My body hit branches, rocks—then the air swallowed everything again.
Amid the roar of rain and the burning pain across my body, faces appeared—blurry, yet warm.
Clara, her smile calm and soft.
June, laughing in her arms as if the world outside had never existed.
That memory held my breath for a moment—before the dark water below embraced me.
The impact shattered every remaining breath.
Pain was no longer just pain—it was something dragging me deeper into the current.
The world's sounds faded, melting into a long hum inside my skull.
I tried to swim. My arms moved, but found no direction. The river took me wherever it pleased.
Then everything vanished.
Darkness devoured it all, cold creeping into my bones, silence hanging like a heavy curtain.
I don't know how long I was there—trapped between two dying breaths, not alive but not yet dead.
The current carried me slowly, until at some point I felt my body strike something solid.
After that, there was nothing.
Time stopped.
The current carried me somewhere unknown, and the night sealed everything under the sound of rain.
No feeling, no shape—only darkness swallowing all.
Somewhere, under that same rain, someone remained awake—waiting for an answer that never came.
---
At Home
The rain that night never stopped.
The walls trembled softly with every strike of thunder.
An oil lamp flickered on the kitchen table, its light dancing across the damp wooden walls.
Clara sat in a rattan chair, staring at the window fogged with condensation.
June, her daughter, lay on the bed under a worn blue blanket.
The teddy bear in her arms was damp with sweat.
> "Mom," June's voice was small, nearly drowned by the rain.
"Dad's not home yet, is he?"
Clara turned, forcing a smile though her eyes were red.
> "Dad's working, honey. You know how it is—when it rains like this, he probably got stuck on the road."
> "But he promised…"
> "Your dad always keeps his promises," Clara whispered, her voice trembling. "He'll come home, June. He always does."
June nodded weakly, staring at her bear.
> "I dreamed he was hurt."
> "It's just a bad dream," Clara said, brushing her daughter's hair. "If you sleep again, it'll go away."
Silence.
The rain grew heavier.
Clara took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, but something in her chest refused to rest.
She rose, poured a glass of water in the kitchen, then looked at the clock on the wall: past midnight.
No word. No sound. No knock at the door.
Only rain.
---
The Radio
The radio on the table suddenly crackled.
Clara turned sharply.
Static filled the air, followed by a man's voice—hurried, heavy.
> "Local authorities have reported a shooting incident in the Raton Creek area.
A man, believed to be Joe Bondurant, is on the run and is now considered a fugitive.
He is believed to be armed and dangerous, after allegedly shooting and killing a young man named Lukas Marden."
The glass in Clara's hand fell.
Water spilled across the floor, mixing with dust.
June jolted awake.
> "Mom? What's wrong?"
"Nothing… nothing, sweetheart."
"Was that about Dad?"
"Shh…" Clara knelt and pulled her daughter into her arms. "Listen to me. We have to go now."
---
She rushed to the bedroom, grabbed a small bag, slipped in papers, some money, and June's medicine.
Her hands trembled as she buttoned her daughter's coat.
> "Where are we going?"
"To the hospital. We'll find help there, okay? Dad will know where to find us."
"Dad's coming?"
"Yes," Clara said—but her voice sounded more like a prayer than a promise.
She turned off the lights and opened the door.
Cold wind and rain struck her face instantly.
The old car in front of the house sat frozen, windshield fogged.
The engine coughed—once, twice—before coming alive with a hoarse growl.
The car moved slowly down the muddy road, headlights cutting faint lines through the mist.
June shivered in the back seat, staring at the black sky.
> "Mom, I'm scared…"
"Don't look out the window, sweetheart. Just close your eyes."
---
The Road to Sandy Shores
The rain poured harder, erasing every trace of the road.
The trees along the roadside looked like moving shadows within the fog.
Clara glanced in the rearview mirror—June's eyes were closing.
> "Almost there…" she whispered. "Just a little longer, honey…"
Lightning flashed.
In that brief burst of light—a massive silhouette appeared in the middle of the road.
A logging truck, speeding too fast, no warning lights.
Clara slammed the brakes.
The tires skidded in the mud.
The car spun wildly.
The crash was deafening.
Metal against metal—a horrifying shriek as the back of the car slammed into a steel guardrail.
The frame twisted like paper, glass shattered, and a small scream echoed before everything went black.
---
No one knew—the truck was driven by someone sent to "make sure things were finished."
There was never an intent to help.
The heavy rain drowned it all: the sound of engines, the smell of gasoline, even the tire marks that quickly vanished.
Everything went dark.
Clara's eyes fluttered open.
The air smelled of gasoline and iron.
She turned—saw June, still and silent, her teddy bear lying on the floor.
> "June…" her voice barely existed. "Can you hear me…?"
She tried to reach for her daughter, but the seatbelt pinned her down.
Her ribs felt shattered. Still, she tried—until consciousness began to fade amidst the rain and distant sirens.
---
The Aftermath
The rain hadn't stopped when the ambulance lights reflected off puddles on the road.
Rescuers waded through fog, soaked to the bone, prying open the crushed door.
Clara was pinned in the front seat, head bowed, blood running from her temple to her chin.
> "Pulse is weak! Quick, check her abdomen—deep puncture wound!"
"Keep her conscious! Ma'am, can you hear me?"
Red and blue lights spun through the storm.
Sirens echoed across the valley.
> "Accident at kilometer thirty-two—two victims inside the vehicle!"
"We need cutters! The rear's completely crushed!"
Rain lashed down as the medics worked.
Flashlights swept the wreckage.
The guardrail still pierced the car's body, holding it from falling into the ravine.
> "Watch out, there's a fuel leak!"
"Check the rear passenger first!"
The flashlight beam froze.
Then—silence.
> "There's a child in here…"
They pried the door open.
Gasoline and blood filled the air.
June was trapped between the seat and the door, her small body motionless.
The violent impact had crushed her chest, twisting her shoulders and legs within the mangled frame.
Her bear had slipped to the floor, its face peaceful, as if asleep.
> "No respiration…"
"Check again for a pulse!"
"Nothing… she's gone…"
In the front seat, Clara groaned faintly.
> "June…" she whispered. "My daughter… where's my daughter…"
> "She's right here with you, ma'am. We'll take care of her, I promise."
Clara tried to move, but her body no longer obeyed.
Darkness closed in again.
And the only sound left was the rain.
---
Hours Later
White light pierced her eyelids.
Machines beeped softly.
The air smelled of antiseptic and metal.
Clara opened her eyes slowly.
> "Nurse…" her voice cracked. "Where's… my daughter?"
The nurse looked at her with sorrowful eyes.
> "Ma'am… I'm afraid your daughter… she didn't—"
> "No… no, that's not true…"
Clara didn't let her finish. Tears streamed down her face.
She tried to sit up, but her body refused.
The IV needle tugged at her arm, bandages wrapped around her waist.
Her body was weak, her breath uneven—but her mind stayed locked on June.
She wanted to run, to hold her, to say everything she never got the chance to say.
With trembling hands, she turned to the nurse beside her.
> "Can I… have a pen and paper?"
The nurse hesitated.
> "What for, ma'am?"
> "Before I forget… before I stop remembering… I want to write something."
The nurse handed her a pen and a sheet of paper.
With shaking fingers, Clara began to write.
Each word felt like a drop of blood from an unseen wound—a final letter to her husband.
The pen slipped slowly from her pale fingers.
The ink was still wet, some letters smudged by her tears.
She stared at the paper for a long time, as if every line held her last breath.
Outside, the rain kept falling, tapping against the hospital window in rhythm with the fading beat of her heart.
Clara gazed up at the white ceiling, her vision blurring.
June's face appeared within the light—smiling softly, as if calling her home.
> "June…" she whispered faintly. "Mommy's here now…"
The monitor's beeps grew uneven.
Then, one by one, the sounds faded—replaced by a long, quiet silence.
The nurse held Clara's hand—cold, yet still faintly warm between her fingers.
The light in the room stayed on, but it felt as though the world itself had dimmed.