Janet Boxley nudged the SUV deeper into the desolate backwoods, peering through the passenger’s side window, searching for her pups’ eyes.
Once she’d made it back to camp, she slammed the truck into park and grabbed her flashlight from the glove box before stepping out; her breath pluming the crisp air.
Her sandals sank into the moist ground and mud squished between her toes. “Dammit!”
She waddled her way to the back of the rusted out Ford Explorer and lifted the hatch. Inside were supplies for the upcoming hunting season which started in the morning: gallon-sized jugs of water, some large plastic water bowls, and several bags of food which she’d either been given by local restaurants or stolen from their dumpsters.
She hated the trips she was forced to make into town, but they were a necessity. The small town was none too kind to her. She was…
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