39. BRECIA

Cascade, Idaho

The backpack was loaded with survival tools—and wads of cash. The exterior looked familiar, and when I searched my memories I found it on the top shelf of the hall closet, next to a pile of random-looking camping supplies and an enormous bucket packed full of Mountain Meals.

I hadn't paid much attention to it until one of April's church friends—a "visiting teacher" who was assigned to deliver a monthly inspiring message—brought over a plate of blondies and read a passage about "food storage." April had proudly showed her the closet with the backpack, camping supplies, and Mountain Meals. "I'm not perfect at anything else, but I'm pretty darn perfect at emergency preparedness," April had said with a grin.

The visiting teacher had oohed and ahhed while April told her all about the wide variety of survival tools and shelter items in her collection. They had six months' worth of food in those buckets, she said. Supplemented with a few fresh items, they could last a year in any number of emergencies.

The three of us watched as he counted the bundles of cash and laid out a knife, a small ax, a handful of lighters, several types of rope, matches, rain ponchos, mess kits, batteries, flashlights, a crank radio, can opener, water purifier, and a few other things I didn't even recognize. The backpack was like a clown car of survival supplies.

"Holy shit," Skye whispered. "Why does he have all this stuff ready to go?"

I sighed. "This was all April. I don't think this is what she imagined it being used for. I think it's part of their religion. Emergency preparedness."

"Looks like he's got the prepping down," Meghan said drily. "Just needs a little work on ‘thou shalt not kill.'"

* * *

When April finally brought the girls inside the cabin as the sun started to dip below the horizon, the cabin felt almost cozy. The girls helped her light a fire in the creaky potbelly stove, and they took turns tossing twigs into the open door as the flames licked at the big chunks of firewood they'd taken from the impressive pile under a tarp outside.

With no sirens and no indication that anyone had a clue where he'd gone, James had finally relaxed. He'd apologized to April for the blowup over the backpack—and the car ride. And the chaos that morning. He even took the initiative to make up one of the Mountain Meals for dinner on the ancient electric stove. Beef Stroganoff.

The apologies didn't faze me. I'd been watching him do this dance for two years now. But Meghan and Skye both retreated outside, disgusted. How could April believe him? Why couldn't she see through him? How was she going along with this plan?

I stayed at the table next to the girls, while they ate their dinner, got ready for bed, and said their prayers. Please bless Mommy and Daddy and Oscar and the bee on the pinecone even though he scared Kimmie.

April recited the story of The Fox and the Hound from memory as they snuggled into a sagging full bed, covered with a shoddily constructed quilt. The teddy bears on the quilt squares hadn't been matched up, so they had been sewn into Frankenstein versions of themselves at the edges. Arms and legs poking out of heads, four pairs of legs, and so on. The girls didn't seem to notice.

"Mommy, Oscar misses us," Emma said matter-of-factly as April finished telling the story and leaned in for hugs.

April turned on her "Everything is okay" smile and smoothed down Emma's hair. "I bet he does, sweetie. Kitties aren't like people, though. He'll be happy to see us when we get back. For now he'll stay busy and happy hunting mice. We left him lots of food, and he can always drink from the creek in the neighbor's yard."

The girl's hadn't asked about Oscar's survival situation. It seemed like April was trying to soothe her own worries as much as Emma's. Emma seemed satisfied though, and I was glad to know that Oscar was okay too.

* * *

I sort of hoped April would try for another conversation with James after the girls went to bed. But I could see on her face that she didn't have much left. I understood.

Skye and Meghan wandered in as she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and crawled into the queen bed in the other tiny bedroom. The checked blue quilt wasn't as bad as the teddy bear monstrosity, but the bed was just as old and creaky.

April lay in bed for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling. Then she got out from under the covers to kneel by her bedside. I knew this routine well and knelt beside her. Sometimes I tried to talk to her while she said her prayers. I had this theory that maybe, while she was trying hard to clear her head and listen, she'd hear me too.

"You need to get the girls out of here," I told her, leaning in close to repeat everything I'd said earlier in the car.

Meghan and Skye watched silently. April closed her eyes harder, focusing.

Skye suddenly asked, "Have you tried talking to her while she's asleep?"

I frowned. "No, why?"

Skye shrugged. "When I made it home—the first night—my mom was already asleep. I talked to her. Got right next to her in bed. She woke up screaming. I wasn't sure if I did it or not, but I didn't try again. It was intense."

Meghan looked at her in awe. "That's brilliant. Let's try."

* * *

While we waited for April to fall solidly asleep, we stayed up with James. In the dark, in the glow of the potbelly stove in the corner of the room, the room felt almost cozy.

Almost.

He took inventory of the survival tools, freeze-dried meals, and firewood yet again. He wrote the numbers down on the back of a receipt that he'd found in the black backpack.

There were one hundred and eighty meals. Each of them served two people. He wrote down 180 days. Then he frowned, tapping his pen on the receipt in front of him.

He turned over the receipt to look at the date. It was from eight years earlier. He swore softly. "You had one job," he muttered, cutting his eyes toward the closed bedroom door where April was sleeping.

"What's wrong?" Meghan asked anxiously. "Why is he suddenly upset again?"

I shook my head. "It's not actually that much food. I think they made the emergency kit before the girls were born. If they all ate three meals a day, it would only last ..." I did a quick calculation. "Thirty days. Not six months."

He flicked the pen back and forth in his hand, staring at the bedroom door.

"Talk, you piece of shit," Skye spat, right in his ear.

He didn't flinch. And he didn't talk. Instead, he walked over to the pile of camping supplies on the floor near the door and picked up one of the two tarps next to the sleeping bags. He opened it, spreading the tarp wide between his hands, then holding it up to his own body. It reached his chin, and was wider than his arms could stretch. He studied the surface, holding it up to the light. Looking for holes.

"No," Meghan cried. "No. What is he doing?"

"I don't know," I whispered. "It could be anything. Maybe he's going to cover the firewood."

"He's going to kill them," Meghan cried, and the lights in the kitchen flickered wildly.

James looked back at the kitchen light in irritation then turned around to fold up the first tarp and place it back on the pile. We all watched in horror as he picked up the second, larger tarp. He did the same thing he'd done with the first.

"You said he's never hurt them before, right?" Skye asked as she and Meghan turned toward me, as if I could reassure them.

I nodded slowly. "Yes. I mean . . ." I trailed off, remembering the times he'd screamed at April and the girls and thrown his phone against the wall. The time Kimmie had hurt her elbow when he'd flung the door open into her as she tried to enter his office. He'd sent her back upstairs without so much as an apology. There were times April cringed away from him so hard that I knew she was bracing for the verbal blows to land on her skin at some point. Maybe they already had. I hadn't seen everything.

He walked out the cabin door, and we scrambled to follow.

He didn't go far. Just the side of the house, where a shovel leaned against the woodpile. He picked it up and tested the heft of it. Then, seemingly satisfied, he set it back against the woodpile and went back inside.

Meghan sank to the living room floor. In front of us James was brushing his teeth in the kitchen sink. "He's going to kill them," she repeated again.

Skye sat down beside her. "Maybe. But he hasn't yet. So come on. We're going to talk to April." She grabbed Meghan by the hand, and I watched as first surprise then a flood of other emotions—compassion, sadness, horror—played across her features. "Come on, sis. I feel that. And I'm with you. Stay with us, okay?"

Meghan shook her head but followed Skye to the back bedroom, still holding her hand.