Origin (Lux #4)(116)

“We don’t have a choice,” I told Ella. “We gotta go.”

She ran into Jeb’s arms. He held her and looked at me, his jaw clenched. I gave him my firmest look, and he sighed. “Fine. But I’m bringing my gun.”

The three of us rushed into the warm night. The minute we were out, though, Ella slammed her little heels into the ground.

“The kittens!” She gasped. “We forgot Sassy and the kittens!”

Jeb gripped Ella’s hand to keep her from running back. “They’ll be fine. They’ll get out in time.”

But we all knew the kittens couldn’t make it down the loft ladder on their own.

“I won’t leave them!” Ella cried, tears springing to her eyes.

I rubbed my forehead. There was barely time to save ourselves, let alone the animals. But how could we leave them to die?

“You two go on ahead,” I said.

“Maggie…”

“Go! I’ll catch up.”

Jeb hesitated, but then nodded once. Holding Ella’s hand, he ran for the cliffs as I dove back into our house. Sassy hissed at the edge of the loft, surely sensing the danger.

“It’s all right,” I said, climbing up the ladder. “We’ll get you out.”

The kittens mewed loudly as I scooped them up into my apron. But when we got outside, I realized all I could do was release them and hope for the best.

“Run, Sassy girl,” I said as they scampered into the darkness. “Get on out of here with those babies.”

I had to get myself out of there. The burning line of torches on the horizon looked closer than ever, and it filled me with a wild, shaking panic. I turned to run, but then my gaze fell on Dusty, our horse, peacefully padding his hooves in the sand of the corral. He was a good horse, hard working and gentle with children. I couldn’t leave him, either.

It wasn’t until I reached the gate that I remembered the lock. Put there to keep horse thieves away. Papa always carried the key with him.

“No…”

I gripped the fence, but the realization struck that it stood too high for Dusty to jump, even if I did climb it. I shook the wooden planks, then threw myself against them. They hardly budged. I slammed into the fence once more, to no avail. I could hear Jeb calling my name in the distance; the raw fear in his voice only sharpened my own. I looked to the shadowy cliffs, to the approaching fire, and then back to Dusty. Choking down a lump in my throat, I patted his glossy neck and prayed he’d somehow make it out all right.

I ran hard all the way to the cliffs, sagebrush and scrub scraping against my legs. Jeb and Ella were waiting outside the mouth of the little cave. When they spotted me, they rushed up, and we hugged. “It’s okay,” I said. “We made it. We’re gonna be okay.”

I flopped to the ground of our hiding spot. We called it a cave, but it was little more than a crawl space. If anyone did come looking for us, we’d be done for.

Ella climbed into Jeb’s lap, trembling. With his free hand, he gripped his gun, his eyes fixed in the direction of our house. “I should try to get help,” he said, shaking his head.

“No,” I said sharply. “We’re staying right here until Mama and Papa find us.”

But would they find us? Were they all right? Try as I might, I couldn’t shake the thought of a raid we’d heard of not two weeks before. A tiny town called Buena—just a general store, bank, and livery—burned to the ground. No one survived. People blamed the Apaches—everyone knew they were ready to go to war over the relic mining in the hills and mountains. Likely that had been the first attack of many. I still hadn’t made up my mind whether to believe the stories or not, but suddenly they didn’t seem so far-fetched.

I stared at Ella and prayed inwardly for my parents. In this light, Ella and Jeb looked so much like Papa; they shared the same golden hair and big brown eyes. Even the same freckles on their noses and cheeks. Everyone said I was the spitting image of Mama, with my black hair, amber eyes, and a touch of copper to my skin. Josiah, our brother two years younger than Jeb, had looked a lot like Mama, too, when he was alive. The Good Lord took him when he was ten. Pneumonia.

In the distance, the sharp, panicked whinny of a horse cut through the air, and my spine straightened. Jeb’s as well. We both recognized the sound.

Dusty.

Listening with my breath clenched in my throat, I could make out the low, rumbling sounds of men’s voices. Then the repeated shatter of glass. Ella shot up.

“Our house!” Her voice sounded small and pained. I squeezed her hand.

Through the distance, Dusty’s whinny came again. Louder. More panicked. Then the blast of gunshots.

And the whinnying stopped.

Jeb and I were on our feet. I couldn’t breathe for the tension in my chest. “Why are they doing this?”

His eyes were distant with horror. “Mama…”

I grabbed his hand. I wanted to tell him that Mama and Papa were probably laying low somewhere or gathering a group of men to surround those attackers and put them to justice. But the words felt like sand in my mouth. All I could do was hold onto his hand as hard as possible.

An acrid wave of smoke blew against us, stinging my throat. In the distance, the glow of our burning home lit the sky. As I looked harder, I realized that the flames were moving, traveling over the rabbitbrush and sage that dotted the landscape. Heading this way.