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then she ripped her arm out of Cole’s grasp; she got out of the truck and hurried after David.
    Cole looked back at Needles who still waited in the backseat, staring at the cabin in horror.
    “You coming?” Cole asked Needles.
    Even though Needles seemed afraid of this place, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. “This place,” he whispered. “Something’s wrong here. Really, really wrong.”
    “Needles!” Cole barked, and Needles finally tore his eyes away from the cabin and looked at him. “Needles, you better get your shit together. You hear me? You’re the reason we’re here in the middle of fucking nowhere instead of at the warehouse splitting the money up.”
    “But Cole, you don’t understand – ”
    “Just get it together.”
    Cole got out of the truck without another word to Needles.
    Cole and Needles met up with the others on the front porch. Frank stood in front of the solid wood front door, he had already slipped one of his gloves off, and he pounded on the door with his fist.
    They waited. No answer at the door.
    Trevor watched the window to the left of the door – no movement of the curtains inside, no lights turning on inside.
    Frank pounded on the door again.
    Trevor walked to the window and cupped his hands beside his face and peered in through the glass.
    “See anything?” Cole asked.
    “Naw,” Trevor answered. “Too dark.” Trevor tried to open the window, he lifted up, but it wouldn’t budge.
    Frank tried the door handle. He jiggled it, but it was locked. He looked at Trevor. “Go around back and check it out.”
    Trevor hurried across the front porch and hopped the railing with one quick movement; he landed down in the snow, turned the corner and disappeared around the side of the house.
    *
    Trevor hurried down the side of the house, his boots sinking into the snow that reached up to his knees in some places. He reached the corner of the cabin and peeked around to the back of the cabin. Nothing much back here: a small stack of firewood against the back wall of the cabin; a wheelbarrow overturned and buried under snow; a small wood building that looked like it housed a water pump or well. Trevor shielded his eyes as best he could from the stinging snow and walked towards the back door of the cabin set in the wall of logs.
    He climbed the steps up to the door and tried the door handle. Locked.
    He turned and looked out at the field that stretched out from the back of the cabin. The field in the back of the cabin was at least three times the size of the field in the front. He was about to head back to the front of the cabin when he thought he caught some kind of movement out of the corner of his eye in the field. He looked back out at the field, at the line of trees just barely visible in the distance through the snowstorm.
    Nothing there. No one moving. No animal moving.
    Again, he was about to go back to the front of the cabin, but then he heard a clicking noise from the back door; the noise was audible even over the howling wind. He looked at the back door as it slowly creaked open.
    “What the fuck?” Trevor whispered. He pulled out his Glock nine millimeter from the waistband of his pants and crept towards the back door. He walked up the steps and stood in the doorway and stared at the darkness inside the cabin. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but then he could see a hallway that led away from the doorway he stood in. He could make out closed doors along the hall, two on one side, and one on the other. The hallway at the other end opened up to what seemed like a living room, but the living room was too dark to make out much detail.
    Trevor hesitated for another moment in the doorway, his gun gripped in one gloved hand. The wind of the storm howled behind him, some of the snow even drifted inside the doorway onto the wood-planked hallway floor.
    “Hello?” Trevor called out.
    No answer.
    “Is someone here?” Trevor waited for another few