Mountain Refuge (Mountain Mutineers #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Adam

I was 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 I was doing 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 it borrowed because, until twelve days ago, I’d never broken the law before. I didn’t need to add auto-theft to 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 if he’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?”

That answer 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 mechanical click . “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 of we that 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. ”

A tear escaped me. I’d never been a man’s man, unafraid to show my emotions. I know what lies and the need to be macho got you. I’d never seen those men as men. I saw them as cowards. I was five-eleven, lean with only a few muscles. I was built for running, not fighting. Ironic, given my current situation. But what I wasn’t was a coward. I’d done what I’d been dreaming of doing for the past three years. I’d done what I’d thought had been impossible.

But I wasn’t safe yet. We weren’t.

All I was able to get out was, “Yes”.

A sigh came across the line, but it wasn’t one of defeat. More like a silent expletive. “Get going. Head south.”

Despite the order coming from a stranger, I jumped into action. I didn’t know if I could trust him or who he was or how he knew Corbin, but he was correct. I’d been there too long. No one would be coming to save me, so I had to save myself.

“Toss anything of yours. ID, phone, tablet, anything that can be tracked. Cash only.” I’d known that part because I’d seen enough dramas on TV to know it was a common ‘on-the-run’ mistake. I hadn’t faulted him for reaffirming the need for anonymity. “This burner is only good for another day or so. Turn it off, take out the battery and SIM card. I doubt you have a Faraday bag with you so that’s the next best thing. Even off, phones can be traced if you know what you’re doing but not if you take out the SIM card and battery.”

I got the feeling Jack was one of those people who knew what he was doing in unorthodox situations.

“Now this next part is very important. I know it might unnerve you, but you need to do it. At the next gas station, I need you to do something you’re not going to like. Find a car that’s parked in the dark, no lights, no cameras. Swap the license plates with yours. We’ll ditch your car later. Did you hear what I said? Don’t just take their plates. Swap them. People rarely look at their own plates, but they’ll notice if it’s missing.

“Head south. Stop if you need to sleep. But keep going. Call me back in a few hours. I need to work on getting you new transportation, cash, and figure out the safest way to get you here.”

“Here?” I picked up the two small bodies of the people I loved most in this world. They were my life, my reason for existing. I knew it as soon as I’d laid eyes on them at their births. I’d been put on this Earth to love, protect, and cherish these two small angels.

“Montana, Adam. I’m bringing you to Montana.”

Several hours after that first phone call, I’d called Jack back. I couldn’t go any further. It was too dangerous for me to keep driving. I was beyond exhausted. Every cop car I passed nearly gave me a heart attack. I was seeing shadows and monsters behind every turn.

But it hadn’t been Jack who’d answered: it had been Corbin. I felt like I could finally take a breath. I’d been right to trust Jack. He hadn’t been leading me into a trap. It had been eighteen years since I’d talked to my best friend, but there was no doubt in my mind that he still held that title.

Corbin gave me instructions to a train station in Pennsylvania. Not because we were catching a train but because of the crowds and pay-per-open lockers they offered. Jack had arranged—somehow that I was too tired to contemplate on but was sure my curious mind would later ask about—for a car to be dropped off at the train station. I was to ditch my car with its stolen license plate in the long-term parking lot.

Walking into that train station with a small hand in mine and a small body cradled against my chest had been terrifying. My paranoia was convinced that everyone was staring at us, that they knew , and someone was about to call the cops. The worst had been when two security officers had stopped me, but it was just to inform me that I’d dropped a baby sock. I’d shakily thanked them and continued on.

In the locker had been a backpack and a duffel bag. Between the two, there had been cash, car keys, burner phones, water bottles, protein bars, baby supplies, a Barbie doll, and changes of clothes for an infant, child, and adult.

Staring at the goods, I felt like I’d won the lottery.

Then I found myself driving west. Despite not getting much sleep, I’d felt renewed. I wasn’t alone. I had people who were helping me. Corbin certainly hadn’t been in Pennsylvania to leave those items in the locker. Someone else had to have been helping him help me.

The car that had been left for me had been an older looking Ford with car seats already strapped in the back. Its trunk was covered in bumper stickers. I wondered if that was so people would pay attention to the stickers and not the car or its occupants. After the instructions about swapping license plates, I had to wonder who was helping me. There were definitely some psychological tricks being used. My tired brain had pondered the notion of a group of renegade spies to a militia that did not follow any government rule. I may never know.

It had taken ten days. Ten long days of endless driving to throw off anyone on my trail. I’d found a bag of license plates in the trunk, which was terrifying in and of itself. Who were these people? Besides Jack and Corbin, I hadn’t talked to anyone else. Every day I was to use a different burner to check in with them; they did not want the same SIM card to be traced in different areas. After that first day, it was always Jack who answered but he talked as if Corbin was just in the next room.

Once, Jack had made the off-handed comment that Corbin was “getting your rooms ready.”

The minute I’d driven across the Montana state line, I’d breathed a sigh of relief. As if the state itself was a sanctuary that couldn’t be breached. That feeling was foolish, but I’d needed it in that moment. A sense of safety.

My instructions were to head into Bozeman. I knew of the city, but I’d never been there. Born and raised in New Jersey and moving into New York City at eighteen, I’d never been out of the Tri-State area before ten days ago. I wondered briefly how Corbin had ended up in Montana, but my feelings of gratitude overpowered my curiosity. Once we were safe, I’d ask. I’d learn everything I’d missed in the last eighteen years.

After a much needed day of solid sleeping.

Once in Bozeman, I swapped cars again. This time for an all-terrain vehicle with high tires and four-wheel drive. Once again, car seats were included, so I didn’t have to waste time getting them swapped over. We stopped at a diner to eat and stretch our legs. I felt so bad for the kids, being cooped up in the car for days on end. But I knew it was better for them to be upset now and on our way to safety than to dawdle.

Lydia had been amazing. She entertained her brother as best she could. She slept when he did and talked to me when I needed conversation to stay awake. She hadn’t complained once. I wasn’t sure how much her seven-year-old brain understood what had almost happened. She was not a stupid child. She’d heard and seen things no child or adult should, but seeing and understanding were two different things. I needed to have a long conversation with her once we got to wherever Corbin was sending us.

After we left the diner in our next vehicle, I made an impulsive decision. It was winter with snow on the ground. The kids needed fresh air, even if that air was a bit chilly. We stopped at a park. It had only been for an hour, but it had given Lydia a chance to run around, kick snow in every which direction, and to laugh. I hadn’t heard her laugh in a very long time. It warmed my heart to hear it. She needed more of this , more time to be a kid. She needed freedom and safety.

I prayed that was where I was bringing us. I trusted Corbin, but I was putting a lot on faith. I hoped my credit didn’t run out. A part of me knew we’d never be safe, not completely, but there was safer than our current circumstances.

Unfortunately, that stop had distracted me and cost us dearly in a way I wouldn’t know until much later.

We drove out of Bozeman, past snow-covered fields, over bridges with frozen rivers, and higher into the mountains. There was a quaint little town called Whitefish that we drove through. I’d done a double take when I’d seen a sign over a corner shop that said Jack’s General Store . Could it be a coincidence or was that our Jack? There were a lot of snowmobiles mixed with vehicles similar to the one I was driving parked on the sides of the street. The kids were worn out from our trip to the park, and I was grateful.

Corbin’s instructions had been to follow the directions to the ski lodge. When I came to a fork on the mountain road where it said Whitefish Ski Lodge with an arrow pointing left, I was to turn right onto an unlit, unmarked road.

Which was how I ended up paused at this intersection, wondering if this was my literal and metaphorical crossroads.

I was doing the right thing. I had to be.

I’d come so far, done so much to get here, but turning right seemed daunting. There was a clear difference in the roads. The road to the left that led to the ski lodge was recently plowed. The snow currently coming down left a light dusting on the asphalt. The road to the right hadn’t been plowed. At all. There were faint tire tracks that helped lead the way. With the setting sun, it was definitely the more eerie of the two paths.

But what choice did I have? I couldn’t bring the kids to a ski lodge. I glanced behind me, down the mountain road. We’d arrived later than I had expected to. I could turn back, but to where? Maybe there was an inn in town that we could check into for the night? I hesitated at that thought. I didn’t want to show our faces in town if this was where we were permanently going to be hiding out.

I looked to the right and prayed Corbin knew what he was doing. What could possibly be up the mountain that could help me and my kids? And yet, it was that thought that made my decision for us. Who would ever think to look for me, a city boy, up a Montana mountain?

I turned right.