An outside movement caught Olivia Cooke’s eye as she rinsed the potatoes under the kitchen faucet.
Cammy? Her neighbors familiar figure raced across Liv’s front lawn, barefoot, clad in only a short nightgown.
With a look of sheer terror etched across her face, the woman half-turned looking back for whoever or whatever had her on the run. Seconds later, another figure came into view, this one slightly larger but just as recognizable under the hazy streetlight. David? Half covered in what looked like mud, Cammy’s husband stumbled after her, one leg dragging behind him as he plodded on, determined to catch up to her.