Part 1
My name is Fonda Joerger. I am forty-two years old, a senior data analyst living in Columbus, Ohio, and on a frozen Tuesday morning in November, my entire world imploded with a single swipe of a keycard that blinked red.
"Corporate restructuring, Fonda," my director muttered, sliding a generic severance packet across his mahogany desk without meeting my eyes....
Part 1
My name is Lauren Vance, a 34-year-old financial auditor in Chicago, and exactly twelve minutes ago, my life violently cracked open. I was standing in my condo kitchen, microwaving takeout, when my mother pounded on my front door so hard the security latch rattled against the drywall. When I pulled it open, she didn’t step inside; she practically...
Part 2
The silence lasted only a heartbeat. Then one of the men shouted, “There’s another one!” Bear barked again from somewhere beyond the warehouse corner. I couldn’t see him, and panic hit me harder than the gunfire had. Dana grabbed my sleeve. “Don’t let him go.” I wanted to call Bear back, but he had already disappeared into the...
Part 2
The sudden click of the deadbolt echoed like a gunshot. The ranchers shifted nervously, exchanging confused glances. My father puffed out his chest, stepping toward the store owner.
"Marcus, what the hell are you doing?" Dad demanded, his face flushing red. "Unlock the door. We're done here. Sarah, get your ass in the truck."
I didn't move. My eyes were...
Part 2
Floyd gripped the counter as if he needed it to stay upright. “My son Cody was a gunner in a vehicle that rolled into a flooded canal,” he said. “The crew was trapped under fire. Nora went into the water and cut him free.” A rancher near the door removed his hat. Another stared at me with wet...
My name is Clara Vance, and right now, blood is pouring through the white dish towel wrapped around my left palm, dripping steady red drops onto my polished kitchen floor. Five seconds ago, a ceramic mixing bowl shattered an inch from my face. The white porcelain shard sliced my skin so clean I didn't even feel the pain until...
Part 1
My name is Lauren Vance, and forty seconds ago, my front door was kicked off its hinges.
I didn’t hear footsteps on the porch. I didn’t see headlights sweeping across my quiet suburban driveway in Franklin, Tennessee. Just the violent splintering of heavy deadbolts, followed by heavy boots hitting the hardwood hallway. Before my instincts could even scream at...
Part 1
My name is Shelby Bennett, and at eighteen, I learned that blood ties don't protect you from slaughter.
It was twenty-six degrees outside in suburban Columbus, Ohio, when my father’s combat boots kicked my bedroom door off its latch. Gerald Bennett was an ex-Marine who ran our household like a military tribunal. He stood over me, his knuckles white...
Part 1
My name is Shelby Bennett, and on November 14, 2013, my world shattered in less than ten minutes.
It was twenty-six degrees outside in suburban Ohio when my father, Gerald Bennett, kicked my bedroom door open so hard the frame splintered. Gerald was a retired Marine drill instructor who ran our household like a military stockade. His jaw was...
Part 1
My name is Myra Morrison, a forty-year-old accountant living in Maple Grove, Minnesota, with my husband Nathan and our two children. For my entire life, I was defined by a single, carefully polished family legend: on a freezing night in Seoul back in 1985, I was supposedly found abandoned outside a clinic, wrapped in a blanket, until my...
