Prologue

The chime of the cuckoo clock above the kitchen sink was a sound the girl would never forget. It dinged once, making her jump, and the cuckoo followed. Again and again it chimed, the shriek of the bird echoing the sound, seeming to get faster and faster as it sang. Anna squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hands over her ears, wishing it would just stop. From where she was huddled, she could see the snow falling lightly outside of her mother's kitchen window, coating the ground in a soft blanket of white. It was so beautiful. Try as she might, the sound of the strange men outside could not be blocked from her ears. Every few seconds she caught a rift of her father's voice, calm and collected, but she knew better. There was nothing calm about the situation going on outside.

“This is wrong,” her father said from the other side of the wall. “You can't do this and I know you understand why. Be logical.”

Anna began to stand up, her legs quivering beneath her. She wanted to run outside to him; wanted to bury her head in his belly and hide from the world, but she had been told to stay put. She had been told to stay inside, no matter what.

Finally the chime of the clock stopped. Anna took a step forward, towards the front door. She could see nothing from the kitchen window, but her mother had left the door cracked open accidentally. Maybe, just maybe, if she was quiet, she could find out what was happening outside and not get punished by her parents.

The wood floor creaked beneath her feet as she crossed the bare living quarters towards the door. Their cabin, homey, yet small and old fashioned, trapped the cold air inside. No one had stoked the fire in hours; her feet were blocks of ice. She considered running to her bedroom to get her wool socks, but that would waste time. She was too curious.

Cold air drifted in suddenly as she pushed open the door just enough to see outside. Although her view was partially blocked by the side of the house, she could see the people standing together in the snow. She saw her mother Tess first, standing by the big oak tree, her arms folded and her shawl draped around her her shoulders. She looked so cold and scared, standing in the snow, shivering. Anna wondered why she wouldn't just come in.

Standing a few feet from her mother was her father, Curtis. He didn't look cold; he looked angry. Her father never looked angry.

“It's not ready,” Curtis said. His voice was so bitter, like the biting weather around them. Anna pulled back some, hoping he wouldn't be angry with her for snooping. Mother had always told her it was unladylike to snoop. She would do well to mind her own business. She knew that.

“It's not ready. If you take it now, you'll do more damage than good. It hasn't even been tested on human DNA yet.”

She didn't know what her father was talking about. She didn't know those words meant, and she didn't care. All she wanted was for her parents to come inside. Her father could stoke the father and her mother could make them soup for dinner. That sounded good. Good and warm.

“Do not test my patience, Curtis,” said a stranger's voice. When she looked out again, her eyes focused on a big, burly man with a thick beard and cold, dark eyes. “It was successful on your test subjects, was it not?”

“Yes, but---”

“But what?”

“Those were rats!”

Anna withdrew again, covering her mouth in puzzlement. Rats? Where were the rats? The farm car did a well enough job keeping the rats out of mama's flour, didn't she? No rats had been seen around this house for weeks!

Outside, she heard a shriek, and she jumped. When she looked out, she saw that one of the men was now standing behind her mother with an arm around her neck. His free hand was up, holding something against her head. Anna cried out, her heart seeming to skip a beat. It was a gun.

“Please!” her father cried. “Don't do this. I will get it to you as soon as I can, when it's ready, but don't do this!”

She watched as her father tried to get to her mother, but the burly man grabbed him, and in one quick motion her father was suddenly on the ground in the snow, writhing in pain. The burly man's leg swung out, kicking Curtis over an over again. In a matter of seconds, blood splattered the fresh, white snow.

“Daddy . . .” she whispered. She wanted to run to them, to cry in her mother's dress, but would they hurt her, too? Only a second passed before the man pulled out his own pistol, aiming it at her father who was still lying helpless on the ground. Anna looked on, horrified, glued to her spot.

“You have thirty seconds to hand it over to me, or I'll kill you where you lay.”

“No!” Tess screamed, and Anna felt her own hands cover her ears in fear, but she was too scared to look away. She couldn't peel her eyes away as she watched the second man hit her mother hard in the side of the head with the pistol. Tess fell to her knees in the snow.

“Was this worth it?” the burly man asked her father, almost sadly as he turned to Tess, cocked the gun, and fired.

If Anna could have screamed, she would have, but she seemed to be void of breath. Her mouth hung open in an 'O' of horror as she stared at her mother, lying still in the snow. Somewhere in Anna's head, she could hear her father wailing. She forced herself to her feet, getting ready to pull open the door and run to her parents. She didn't care the consequences.

“Stop!” hissed a voice in her ear, and someone grabbed her arm, yanking her back away from the door violently. The two of them clattered to the floor, and Anna's older brother put his hand over her mouth. “Be quiet,” he whispered. She whimpered, shaking violently, but she didn't make another sound. Outside, their father was still sobbing, and Anna wanted to cry along side of him. “Get up quietly,” Jackson said to her. “We have to go through the back or they'll catch us.”

She let her brother lead the way. Although Jackson was only thirteen, eight years older than she, he had always taken care of her.

Anna's feet felt like lead as Jackson pulled her to the back of the house and through the back door, out into the snow. She wasn't wearing shoes, and the new snow nipped at her feet, but she was too scared to notice.

“Jackson!” she whispered. “I want mommy and daddy to come with us.”

“We have no choice,” he said back, and for the first time in her short life, Anna saw fear in her big brother's eyes. Cocky, arrogant, know-it-all Jackson was terrified.

“But daddy---”

“Now, Anna!” he pulled her hard, away from the house and towards the woods, as quietly as they could so not to be heard. Once Anna tripped and fell, taking advantage of the lapse to look back to where her mother's body was lifeless in the snow. She couldn't hear the voices anymore, but she could see her father's figure, and he was moving, barely. As Jackson grasped her under the arms to haul her to her feet, Anna watched as her father's eyes caught sight of them in the distance. He stared at his children for a moment, silent, a weak smile appearing on his lips, as if relieved.

That's all it took. The burly man with the gun turned around, his pistol raised, and his gaze landed right on them.

“Hey!” he shouted, and Anna froze as he raised the gun.

“Run!” Jackson screamed, piercing her ears.

So they ran. And ran. And ran. Anna could no longer feel her feet as they raced through the woods they both knew so well. Over broken logs and through thick brush, they ran, ignoring the stabbing pain in her feet and the snap and whip of branches against her fragile skin. Anna didn't know if the men were behind them; she didn't care. She just wanted to get away.

Anna and Jackson ran until they could run no more. They ran until Anna felt weak in the knees, her heart racing, her head pounding, her ears ringing. She couldn't run anymore; she was too tired. She slowed, and then stopped, ignoring her brother's pull on her hand.

“I'm tired,” she said, tears pooling in her eyes. She sat down in the snow, too cold to notice. Her skin was turning blue. Jackson, frantic, looked and listened, as if waiting for the man with the gun to come popping out at them. But there was no sound. There was no movement.

“Listen to me,” he said, and then got to his knees in the snow in front of his sister, taking his small hands in hers. “You must stay here,” he whispered. “I mean it. Don't come back to the house.”

“What?” she said. “Don't go back. Don't leave me here!”

“Our father might still be alive,” he said. “Maybe they left him there. I have to know, Anna. It's okay, you'll be safe here. I'm going to make more tracks. They'll never know.” He kissed her head, letting his lips linger on her hair. She wanted to grab him; she wanted to cling to him. He couldn't leave her . . . he was all she had left.

“Please don't leave.”

“I love you, Anna.”

“Jackson---”

“Stay quiet, and do not come back. If anything, keep going. They'll get tired of looking.”

And he went. Anna watched her brother go, speechless. The shaking was worse now, and her whole body was stinging with pain, from her frozen feet to the bloody gashes on her face. Silence surrounded her. It was the kind of peace and quiet her mother had always loved; falling snow, creaking branches . . . nature. But she was scared. So, so scared.

Minutes passed, and Anna's eyelids grew heavy. She fought to keep them open, but it was a near impossible task. The last thing she heard before she drifted out of consciousness was a gun shot. And then another. And then silence, and darkness.