Ten-year-old Lily stood at the rusty gate of Kincaid Salvage in Iron Ridge, holding a piece of cardboard that read: "FOR SALE - $150 OR BEST OFFER."
The hours crawled by. Lily’s breathing grew more labored, despite the antibiotics. The generator hummed, a tiny beacon of warmth in the suffocating cold. I paced the trailer, my nerves frayed, watching the digital clock on the generator tick closer to 2:00 AM. Every rustle outside, every distant metallic clang from the yard, sent a jolt of fear through me.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted from the direction of Kincaid’s office. Loud shouts, a crash, and then Kincaid’s voice, booming with renewed fury, slicing through the night.
My stomach dropped. Something had gone wrong.
I pressed my face against the icy windowpane, trying to discern shapes in the swirling snow. The blizzard, Jesse had warned, was coming. Now, fat, wet flakes were beginning to fall, swirling around the yard’s harsh halogen lights.
Through the whiteout, I saw them. Kincaid, his bulky frame silhouetted against the office lights, was screaming. Silas Dax was there too, and between them, two other yard workers held Jesse Ruiz, his arms twisted behind his back.
Jesse’s canvas supply crate lay overturned in the snow, empty.
My breath hitched. Kincaid had caught him.
“You thought you were slick, didn’t you, Ruiz?” Kincaid roared, his voice thick with triumph. “Bringing supplies to the thief! Treason! I knew you had a soft spot, always did.”
Jesse didn’t resist. His head was bowed, his shoulders slumped. He looked up once, his eyes finding my trailer, a desperate, warning look in them.
Silas stepped forward, a cold, predatory glint in his eyes. He roughly frisked Jesse, pulling out a small, folded piece of paper from his pocket. It wasn’t the bank record. It was a note, likely about Dr. Harlan.
Kincaid snatched it. His eyes quickly scanned the words, then his face contorted into a snarl. “Harlan? That quack? You were trying to get her help? You piece of garbage!”
He lunged at Jesse, striking him across the face. Jesse stumbled, but didn’t fall.
“Lock him up,” Kincaid commanded, his voice dripping with venom. “The scrap freezer vault. Let him think about his loyalty in sub-zero temperatures. Tonight.”
Silas and the other workers dragged Jesse towards the massive, unheated metal freezer vault at the far end of the yard, used for storing sensitive, non-metal parts that Kincaid wanted preserved. The heavy steel door, usually open a crack, was slammed shut, the metallic clang echoing ominously through the blizzard.
The cold storage. It was an ice box, notorious for dropping below zero on nights like this. Without his ally, Kincaid’s trap for me was tightening. My heart hammered against my ribs. Jesse, my only lifeline, was gone.
Now, it was truly just Lily and me against Kincaid.
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