We reached the outskirts of Iowa City and almost immediately saw the glint of a campfire burning in the distance. Dad pulled the truck over, Mom got behind the wheel, and Dad, Alyssa, and I approached the fire on foot, walking in the deep snow on the far side of the berm.
When we got closer, we peeked over the embankment. A sentry was camped right atop the Highway 1 overpass over I-80, which sliced through the north side of Iowa City. He had a tent pitched near his campfire and a motorcycle next to it. It was a good spot: He’d be able to see anyone approaching from I-80 or Highway 1. But the campfire made him too obvious. I wasn’t complaining, though-the fact that we’d seen him first made this whole crazy idea possible. My role in the plan was to shimmy up onto the roof of the chiropractic clinic and get a drop on him.
I pulled myself up with a gasp of relief, flopping in the deep snow. The roof was sloped so that I would be invisible from the far side until I reached the peak.
Pushing through the snow was hard. I worked my way up to the ridge on my stomach so that only my head and the barrel of the rifle I carried were visible. The sentry was still there, sitting atop the overpass, silhouetted by his fire. I’m not very good with a rifle, but even I could probably hit him. That wasn’t our plan, though. We needed this guy alive.
We weren’t even certain he was a member of the Dirty White Boys. But to survive this close to their base, he had to have some connection with them-a connection we planned to exploit.
I looked backward at Dad and Alyssa waiting below. I gave Dad a thumbs up and turned back toward the sentry. I still thought I should be the one down there with Alyssa. I’d argued with Dad about it to no avail.
I knelt and rested the rifle on the ridge, drawing a bead on the sentry. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dad and Alyssa walk slowly into view. Dad had his hands up in a gesture of surrender. Alyssa’s hands were bound behind her back, she was gagged with a strip of cloth, and a piece of shipping twine led like a leash from her neck to Dad’s hand.
The sight made me queasy. I knew she had a paring knife in her back pocket. I knew the noose was tied loosely enough that she could duck out of it and the gag would slip over the top of her head once her hands were free. I didn’t want to believe this was the world I lived in now-one where it wasn’t shocking to see a girl treated like livestock. Before the volcano, Alyssa’s biggest concerns might have been homework, swapping snark with friends on Facebook, or completing college applications. Now she was risking her life and freedom to help Darla, a girl she’d never met. Or maybe to help me. Either way, I didn’t feel good about it.
It took a while for the sentry to notice Dad and Alyssa. He snatched a rifle from the ground and turned. I struggled to keep the rifle sighted on him as he moved. I kept moving the barrel too fast, getting the sighting U misaligned with the rifle’s post and then overcorrecting.
The sentry stopped, aiming his rifle at Dad. I got the Remington lined up again-the U-shaped front sight, rear post, and the center of the sentry’s body formed a neat line starting at my right eye. I was ready.
“Who are you?” the sentry yelled. Even from my post above him, I could hear the sneer in his voice.
“Just here to trade,” Dad yelled back.
“Trade what?”
“Her.” Dad yanked on the cord around Alyssa’s neck, making her stumble.
A grin spread across the sentry’s face, reminding me of a hyena looking up from his kill. He lowered his eye to the rifle, preparing to shoot my father and take the spoils for free.
Chapter 78
“You shoot and you’re dead.” Incredibly, Dad was smiling, too.
“You’re at the wrong end of my gun, bud,” the sentry said.
“And you’re at the wrong end of my son’s.” Dad gestured up at me, on the rooftop to his left.
The sentry swiveled, pointing his rifle my way.
I waved. Most of my head and shoulders were protected by the ridgeline. Unless he was exceptionally good with that rifle, I didn’t think he could hit me.
“Boy can hit a squirrel in the eye at 300 yards!” Dad yelled, which was a total lie. “Lower your gun. We just want to trade.”
“Why would I want to trade with you?” He lowered his gun slightly, but I couldn’t relax.
“You’re a Dirty White Boy, right?”
The guy pulled up his shirts. DWB was tattooed in ornate letters across his chest, arching over an outline of Illinois. “To the death.”
“Heard you guys were pimping the hottest girls in Iowa.”
“Yeah, not hags like that one you brought.”
He was talking about Alyssa? Was he blind?
Dad unzipped her jacket and lifted her shirts, revealing a white bra that had been worn and washed so much it was starting to turn gray. He hooked his finger beneath the underwire and roughly lifted it, exposing one breast to the icy air.
I started to look away, realized I was putting us all in danger, and forced myself to look at the sentry again. I wanted to shoot the sentry to put an end to this farce. Even though Alyssa had hatched this lunatic plan herself, it was my fault she was in this position. I swallowed hard, struggling to concentrate.
Dad squeezed Alyssa’s breast. “This isn’t some hag. This is primo ass. Young and fresh.”
Why did Dad have to be so damn crass? I was seized by an irrational desire to shoot him. But it was working. The sentry was chuckling. “Yeah. I’d hit that. But I can’t negotiate. We gotta go see Wolfe.”
“I’ll give you a ride,” Dad said. “We’ll show up in style.” He turned and waved his arms over his head, signaling to Mom to drive the truck up. She was watching with Ben from a spot about a mile down the road.
“I can’t leave my sled.” The sentry safetied his rifle and slung it over his shoulder. He walked up to Dad and Alyssa, and their conversation dropped in volume so that I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
They shook hands. Then the sentry reached toward Alyssa’s still-exposed breast. Dad slapped his hand away. They exchanged a few more words I couldn’t make out as Dad pulled Alyssa’s bra and shirts back into place and zipped her coat. I slid down the front side of the roof, trying to hold my rifle ready and keep one eye on the guard.
By the time I got down, Mom and Ben had pulled up in the UPS truck. The sentry was telling a string of crude jokes to Dad, who laughed and replied with a few of his own.
Dad introduced the sentry as Chad, talking like he was an old friend. Chad told us to follow him and started his motorcycle. Dad pushed Alyssa into the back of the truck with me, then walked around the front to the driver’s side. Mom scooted over into the passenger seat.
I mouthed, “You okay?” at Alyssa.
She responded with the barest hint of a nod.
Chad led us through Iowa City on a winding series of plowed roads. We reached a rundown section of town full of auto repair shops and industrial sites. Suddenly the road ahead narrowed to one lane, partially blocked by snow and ash that had been bulldozed to form a huge wall. Two guys warmed themselves at a small fire just inside the wall. Chad pulled up next to them, his bike blocking the lane. He held out his palm, motioning for us to stop.
The two guys got up from the fire and turned toward our truck. They each wore an assault rifle slung over one shoulder. Dad cranked the truck through the fastest three-point turn I’d ever experienced, leaving it facing back the way we’d come.
One of the DWB guards left, jogging toward a nearby building. The other one was talking to Chad near the fire.
Dad turned around in his seat to offer Alyssa a hand climbing out of the truck. The gentlemanly gesture was completely spoiled when he grabbed the end of her noose with his other hand. He took a couple of steps from the truck and then stopped, one hand holding Alyssa’s leash, the other jammed into his coat pocket.