Molly had flat out refused to come with her this time.

"Last time we did this I had to walk a mile down some backwoods creepy road hunting for cell coverage. No thank you."

"But we'll have a truck this time."

"No thank you."

This time, she put on running shoes and jeans. She pulled the gun holster down from the back of her closet, and tucked her .22 caliber pistol into it, covering it up with a light leather jacket. The gun had been a birthday present from her mother, who worried about her moving to the "big city". Sierra made it out to the shooting range once a month or so, and wasn't too bad a shot. She wasn't that good a shot either, so mostly she hoped she never had to use it.

She decided to go after dark, hoping that might help her presence go undetected. She still had no idea what she was hoping to find, or who exactly she was worried may find her looking.

After sitting patiently through Molly's unsuccessful attempt to talk her out of it, Sierra set off in the rented black F150 just before sunset.

Thankfully she had had her GPS on the previous trip, or she never would have been able to find that unmarked dirt road again. Where the Prius had lurched on every bump, the F150 lightly jostled. It practically scoffed at the deadly mud bog that had sucked her in last time.

The road wound through the trees for another twenty minutes, twisting and turning until Sierra had no sense of direction anymore. The good news was it remained a single road, no veering paths she could elect to follow or inevitably get lost on. No road signs though. No markings of any kind. The longer it went on, the more curious Sierra became about where it was leading. Surely the city had not planned this road (if you could even call the narrow, single dirt lane cutting through the words a road). Yet someone had put it in. Someone was clearly also maintaining it. Here and there she spotted patches of gravel filling sinkholes. In some places, there were dirt piles and tree branches on the sides of the road where someone had recently cleared it. And the many sets of tire tracks looked fresh. It was like a glorified driveway. A single road with no turns could only mean it went to a single place, and this place was alarmingly well off the beaten path.

Suddenly, she could see lights up ahead through the trees. Sierra immediately shut off the headlights and killed the engine, not wanting to attract any attention. She hopped out of the truck and continued down the road on foot. She could only pray that no one else would be coming or going down the road any time soon. The foliage was too dense to pull the truck off the road, let alone to try to hide it. Her sneakers squished softly in the mud as she hiked towards the lights. She noticed after awhile the lights were flickering, like bonfires or torches. There was a lot of noise filtering towards her now too. Voices. People shouting. Yelling in...fear? Anger? No...cheering. It was the unmistakable roar normally associated with sporting events. And something else too. A different kind of roar. More like animals.

Sierra slipped into the trees next to the road as she drew closer.

The road let out into what looked like a small housing project. There were at least thirty nondescript houses lined up in rows. The houses had a rough look to them, more like cabins, but without the charm. They were mostly unpainted, rough wood the constant rain had turned black and green with moss. Were there people living out here?

Sierra crouched low and hugged her body against the buildings, trying to avoid the windows. It didn't look like anyone was home. She suspected they were all out cheering for whatever event was taking place. Sierra pressed on towards the noise. Between some of the houses, a large space had been devoted to a vegetable garden. She spotted grape vines, rows of corn, and tomato plants. There was even a little pot growing in one corner. The garden could have easily fed all the people who lived in these houses. It was then that she noticed several fruit tress scattered among the buildings. There was a well next to the garden and a distillery propped against one house. It appeared that this was a self-sustaining community. She thought of hippie communes. Then she thought of cults. Did these people just want to live off the grid, or did they have something to hide?

Sierra ducked behind a trashcan and peered over the top, finally able to see the source of the noise.

Men, women, and children were gathered in a circle around a pit. The area was lit up with tiki torches and the light of the full moon. Most of them looked a lot like Eric. Lots of tattoos, blue jeans and boots or no shoes at all, and torn up clothes. Lots of long hair in braids or dreadlocks. They were drinking PBR's and cheering for the action down in the pit. A lot of them were waving money and placing bets. The kids were either watching the action down in the pit or playing on the outskirts of the crowd. Some of them were clutching sparklers. There was a mom sitting at the edge of the pit breast-feeding a baby while scolding another child.

Sierra craned her neck to see what they were all looking at.

Bears. Two of them. Seven foot tall, 500-pound black bears. The larger of the two, one with deep black fur, let out a roar and launched itself at the smaller white one. The white one dodged, then slashed his claws at the larger opponent.

They were fighting, Sierra realized in horror and amazement. Like medieval bear baiting, these people had captured wild bears just to watch them kill each other. It made Sierra sick to her stomach. The formally friendly, community sporting event vibe she had gotten from the scene before seemed perverse now. This was animal cruelty any way you spun it. No better then dog fights.

She looked away as the black one pinned the white, baring his long yellow teeth at his throat. She didn't want to see the end.

Is this what Joe was hiding? Bear fights? Illegal gambling? Is this what the charity money went to? Bile rose in Sierra's throat as she recalled kissing that monster the night before. She should have trusted her instincts about him.

The fight was clearly over. There was muttering from the crowd about the next round. Cheers and applause came from the victors and the unlucky betters surrendered their cash.

"Look, I'm good for it," she heard one man say to another. "I left my wallet in the house. I'll be right back."

The man started walking right towards her. Struck with a terrible vision of being thrown into the pit with the surviving bear, Sierra frantically searched for a place to hide. Desperate, she ran around the corner and let herself in to the darkened house, praying no one was home.

She shut the door quietly behind her and looked around.

The house had a small kitchen with scrubbed wood table currently taken up by a jigsaw puzzle. Kid's artwork adorned the refrigerator. The living room had a stained floral patterned sofa and a glass topped coffee table. There was an old cathode tube style TV.

And in the middle of the living room was a cage.

And in the cage was a little girl.

The girl was about six. She was wearing footie pajamas with frogs on them. She had dark skin and her hair was pulled up in two poofy pigtails. Whoever put her in the cage had provided her with a sleeping bag and pillow, but the girl wasn't sleeping. She was staring up at Sierra with big eyes.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm Sierra. What's your name, sweetie?"

"I'm Brenda."