Chapter 8 - The Migration
"Come with me, Martha."
Elena’s voice cut through the dark, cold and sharp as a scalpel.
She began to walk toward the front foyer, her path memorized, her steps entirely sure.
Behind her, Martha dropped the wooden spoon.
The older woman’s footsteps shuffled quickly, eagerly, following the sound of Elena’s leather shoes.
In the living room, the young man was hyperventilating.
He kicked blindly at the coffee table, his toe connecting with hard wood.
He cursed loudly, hobbling toward the faint, gray glow of the front windows.
"Wait! The door is electronic! The lock is dead!"
His panic was mounting, his hands scraping against the hallway walls as he tried to follow them.
The young woman tripped over her heavy robe, her bare feet slapping wetly against the spilled beer on the floor.
"Don't leave us in here!"
Elena did not slow down.
May you like
She approached the massive double doors at the front of the estate.
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