Ted had switched to the auto body shop’s roof, crouching low to keep from becoming an easy target. She could hear him moving above them, the crunch-crunch of his boots, a reminder that he was bigger than the average man.
Will and Danny hung the Rayovac LED lanterns they had brought with them from Houston around the garage. The space was limited, but they were able to stash their supply trailers and still have enough room for the office couch, on which they laid Luke. The teenager was unconscious, and he still looked dangerously pale. She was heartened to see that he was breathing, his chest rising and falling through the day, even if he did seem to struggle with it periodically.
He’s alive, that’s all that matters.
She found Will and Danny in the diner next door and was surprised to see them packing night-vision gear. “Why are you taking those?”
“Just in case we get caught out there when night falls,” Will said. He picked up one of the Motorola radios and removed a couple of wires attached to them before handing it to her. “We don’t think the shooters’ home base is far from here. Maybe three, four klicks. They wouldn’t want to set up their ambush too far from where they can walk to and back.”
She took the radio. There was dry blood along its edges. It was part of the comms system Luke was wearing. She remembered seeing him putting it on this morning before they left, and how young he looked, wearing gear designed for men who lived and died in war zones.
He was so young. He is young.
“Kate,” Will said, his voice bringing her back.
She looked up from the radio.
“If we don’t make it back before nightfall, we’ll radio in if we can,” Will said. “These things usually have a three- to four-kilometer range, but those woods look pretty thick, and radio signals might have a hard time getting through.”
“Is all this really necessary?”
“Expect the best, prepare for the worst,” Danny said.
“What is that, some kind of motto?”
“Ranger motto,” Danny said. “Well, ours, anyway. That, and ‘Never screw a farmer’s daughter until you know how often she spends her free time in the barn.’ We learned that the hard way during a practice jaunt in Oklahoma.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Will said. “We’ve never even been to Oklahoma.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Will said to Kate, “You’ll have to watch over the others until we get back.”
“What if you don’t come back?”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“But what if.”
“That’s not going to happen.” He put down the spare magazines he had been loading, reached for her hand and pulled her close to him, then kissed her softly. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
“Promise?” she whispered, feeling childish, but unable to stop herself.
“Promise,” he said and kissed her again, more forcefully this time.
Behind them, Danny said, “Get a fucking room. I’m trying to work here.”
She and Ted watched Will and Danny leave on their ATVs from the roof of the auto body shop. They headed back in the direction they had fled just a few hours ago. Had it only been a few hours since the gun battle on the road?
“They’ll be okay,” Ted said. “This is what they do, right?”
“Yeah.”
She watched the ATVs until they were gone, leaving just the sound of their engines in the air. Soon, that too was gone. She touched the radio clipped to her hip and fought the urge to call Will and tell him to come back, that they should wait until tomorrow.
She glanced at the sky instead. It looked darker, clouds gathering.
“How long should we stay up here?” Ted asked.
“Maybe an hour before sundown.”
She sensed Ted wanted to say more, but something was holding him back. The big man fidgeted with the rifle in his hands. He suddenly looked very young to her; his imposing size made it easy to forget he was still in his early twenties.
“Are you okay, Ted?”
He gave her a grin that came out wrong. “Back there, when they shot Luke… Were you scared?”
“I was scared out of my mind,” she said, relieved by the admission. It was easier with Ted. He was like her, a civilian pressed into war. She could never be this candid with Will or Danny.
“Yeah, me, too,” Ted said. “I think I might have gotten one of them.”
“Yeah? Danny said at least one of the ambushers had been shot.”
Ted nodded. “I saw a figure in my scope. It’s stronger than yours, you know? I’m pretty sure I got one of them.” He paused, seemed to struggle with his thoughts. “When you started shooting into the trees, I saw one of them moving behind this big tree and I shot at him. I wonder if he’s dead.”
I hope they’re all dead. I hope it was painful and they lay bleeding. They can all go to hell.
“We’ll find out when Will and Danny come back,” she said instead.
CHAPTER 22
LARA
Lara felt overwhelming relief whenever they left her alone in the cabin, and suffocating fear when they returned, as they invariably did, day after day after day. It had been almost two weeks since she had become acquainted with the Sunday brothers, and each day introduced a new level of fear she hadn’t thought possible. It was a debilitating feeling, one she lived with, breathed in, and even slept with, perched on the tip of her lips. It wouldn’t go away as long as the Sundays were alive, she knew that intimately.
They were coming now, the heavy grunts and rutting noises they always made as they moved around. Except this time there was a difference. It sounded more urgent, more desperate, and for a moment she allowed herself to enjoy this new sensation. The sound of the Sundays in obvious distress made her smile.
They left three hours ago, leaving her, as usual, chained to the floor by her ankle. In those three hours, she heard gunfire and recognized the Sundays’ hunting rifles. They often hunted in the woods around the cabin, so hearing rifles throughout the day was normal.
Then she heard other gunshots that weren’t hunting rifles, and knew it was some kind of gunfight. The Sundays had found someone who was fighting back! She imagined them shot to pieces and lying on the side of the highway, bleeding slowly to death. Moaning in pain, crying out to each other.
Her fantasy lasted until she heard them coming back, their huffing and puffing, their grunting and groans of pain.
She reflexively stood up. The chain was only five feet long, so she couldn’t move very far. The doors and windows were at least twenty feet away, and the kitchen even farther. There were small bedrooms in the back — one for John, the other for Fred and Jack, the younger brothers. Not that she could have called for help even if she could reach the door or windows. There was no one out there. She found that out her first night in the cabin, when she screamed at the top of her lungs for seemingly hours on end.
There was no one out there. It was just the Sundays.
John kicked the door open and rushed inside. He and Jack were dragging Fred, the youngest, between them. They had their rifles, except for Fred.
As soon as he saw her, John gritted his teeth and shouted through his patch of thick beard at Jack, “Go unchain her!”
All three brothers were bloody, though only Fred looked hurt. It was Fred’s blood on the others’ clothes. They must have dragged him through the woods, all the way from the gun battle. They were covered in sweat and dirt and blood, the way they always looked in her nightmares.
Jack let go of Fred and rushed forward to her. He was a lanky twenty-seven-year-old, ten years younger than John, though much smaller. Fred was taller than both of them, but frail looking. John lifted his little brother and carried him to a heavily scarred oak table in the back. Fred bled all the way there, squirming uncontrollably in John’s arms. John looked almost annoyed.