He flung the door open and rushed into the chilly garage amidst the screams from Elise for him to talk to her, to say something. He ignored her. He approached the closed backdoor to the garage. The doorknob was freezing cold. He pulled it toward himself, opening the view of the backyard. Including Sean’s unmoving body.
He took one cautious step forward, raised the shotgun toward it, and then took another. Sean lay just twenty feet ahead of him. He inched across the snow that Sean had packed down and cleared. The air pricked at his face and ears. Mild gusts of wind. Everything seemed calm except the rush of blood to his head and a chill running through his body, knowing he was about to face the man he had killed.
Snow and ice crackled under his boots, one agonizing step after the next. The area around the body was speckled with blood, and the base of the trunk was stained red. The holes in Sean’s back steamed. Michael adjusted his grip on the shotgun. He needed to see. Needed to face what he did.
“Michael,” he heard Elise scream behind him, “what are you doing?”
He came upon the body and paused. The man’s limbs rested against the wood in the most unnatural of positions, one arm below his body and the other reaching out for something. Michael lowered his weapon.
“Michael,” Elise yelled from the garage.
He bent at his waist and put his hand on Sean’s shoulder, ready to turn him over.
Elise called out, “Michael, where’s Kelly?”
He froze, his hand gripped around a shoulder that should have been broader, sturdier. His eyes shifted and for the first time he noticed the blonde strands of hair rising out of the hood of the coat, tossed up and blown about in the wind.
Chapter 34
A MIND THAT fails to plan, plans to fail, so the adage goes. Michael was never much of a planner. If he hadn’t been at Sean’s house the moment of the disaster, he would have been dead long ago. But luck was good to him, and so he survived the last six months because of a man who did plan. Sean always anticipated—never reacted. Men lose their cool when they’re reacting, so he decided early to be proactive.
Michael had never understood that. He was always reactive. It didn’t matter that Michael was trying to turn Elise against him, because by the time Michael realized the threat, Sean was already way ahead. She was always the glue of the family, the bridge between everyone. Whoever won the heart of Elise, won it all. Always the way it was. So Sean just needed to convince her to look past his transgressions. Until she understood.
But Michael was too busy reacting. So his plans failed.
Sean stuck the axe into the stump when he felt his phone vibrate. The attackers had taken the generator, but the solar panels and batteries kept him with just enough juice to keep his essential devices going strong. He knew why it had vibrated before he looked at the screen. He darted into the garage, set his rifle against the wall, bit his glove at the fingers, pulled it off, and then swiped at the phone. The bluetooth video feed he had set up in Aidan’s room played back to him with a new image every five seconds. He watched Michael take a seat behind the gun. The sneaky bastard. He expected less subtlety from Michael—like using the shotgun in the living room. That was Michael’s style. The rifle in Aidan’s bedroom was the method he was sure Michael wouldn’t go for. But, Sean planned. And so he didn’t fail.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket. Michael would hear him coming up the stairs, and if he could get the gun free from the mount on the window, then Sean would walk into danger. It was a slim chance, but he didn’t want to take the risk. Ideas jetted back and forth in his brain before it settled on one.
It wasn’t the way he wanted things to happen—the very idea made him sick to his stomach. But things needed to be done sometimes. Things he wasn’t necessarily comfortable with. He thought through the plan. It could work, but it was risky. Though not riskier than facing Michael head-on. That might get them both killed. The entire thing knotted up his stomach.
But Michael had forced his hand.
He hurried into the house without making a sound, sneaking in on his toes. His garb would make an astute mind question what was happening, but his target wasn’t all that astute. He felt bad for Kelly. She had experienced the worst of everything this whole ordeal offered and was still alive. Her life, though, would be over soon. Even if she held on a little while longer, once the food situation got truly dire, she would be the first to go. She barely weighed over ninety pounds and was deteriorating more each day. Starvation was a terrible way to die, and he was sparing her from it.
That’s what he told himself. That it was merciful.
He crept up next to her and shook her shoulder. She resisted waking at first but looked up at him after a few seconds. He pulled his scarf down and smiled at her. Pressed his finger against his lips. Motioned with his head for her to follow. She clearly didn’t understand, and so he motioned again. Kelly always expected the best in everyone. She was a sweet woman. But she was still living as if the ash hadn’t fallen—under the old code of things. She was trusting. So trusting.
She got out of her sleeping bag and followed his lead by sneaking around toward the garage door. She grabbed her coat and hat and gloves and cracked the door open. With a confused look, she went out into the cold air before him. Sean grabbed another coat from the couch before slipping through the door and shutting it behind him.
Kelly was sliding into her jacket and gloves. “Put my coat over yours. It’s freezing this morning,” he whispered. She paused, Sean removing his jacket and handing it to her. “You ready to learn?” he said, flashing a smile.
She slid his coat overtop her other one. “Learn what?”
He looked at her, dumfounded. “Michael didn’t tell you?”
She shook her head.
He sighed. “I’ve been thinking, I might not be around forever. Things happen. I think it’d be good if everyone knew how to chop wood, not just me and Elise and Michael.”
Sean pulled the other coat onto his shoulders. It was a lot thinner than his other one, but it didn’t matter. It only had to shield him from the elements long enough. Just long enough. “I should have told you myself. I thought he—I thought he told you.”
“He never told me anything.” She paused. “What’s going on, Sean?”
He blinked. They stared at one another for a few seconds, listening to the wind outside. “You need to know how to chop wood. It’s a very important—”
“I don’t want to die.” She looked down at the ground and then up to him. “I don’t.”
He smiled. Thought he was selling it. “What are you talking about?”
She looked to the side and back to him. “I’ll scream.”
He held his gaze on her and pounced. She didn’t see it coming, so by the time she could start yelling, it was too late. He sealed his hand around her mouth and peddled her back against the work bench. She screamed into his palm and coated it in warmth, the muffled sound eclipsed by the wind. She slapped his arms, but it was like taking blows from a child. With one hand, he grabbed a roll of duct tape, bit down on a corner, ripped a length, and tore it off. He stuck it to the end of the bench and looked Kelly in the eyes. Tears streamed down her face into his fingers. He said, “Please, Kelly. Stop. Kelly.”
She stopped screaming into his hand, but her body shook.
“I’m going to take my hand off.”
She nodded.
“Please don’t scream, okay? Please.”