“Whoa.” Bode’s forehead crinkled. “Nice gun, but … they issuing Glocks these days?”
“No.” He saw that Emma was very still, but her eyes were wide, the question on her face practically a shout. He dodged his gaze back to Bode. “It was my dad’s,” he said.
“How many rounds?”
One less than it started the day with. Back at the cabin, everything had happened so fast, he hadn’t bothered to check. Knowing Big Earl, the clip would be full. Shucking the round in the chamber, he popped out the magazine. “Been fired once today already,” he said, wanting to kick himself for mentioning that and not looking at Emma at all but busying himself with thumbing in the bullet he’d shucked from the chamber into the clip. Butting the magazine back into place, he jacked the slide. “So, fourteen plus one.”
“Holy shit.” Chad’s eyebrows shot for his hairline. “That many?”
“Whoa.” This seemed to be Bode’s go-to. “That legal, Devil Dog?”
“Um … sure, my dad had …” He caught himself. “He bought it at some gun show.”
“That’s a lot of bullets,” Chad said.
Puzzled, Eric felt his eyebrows draw together. “It’s a Glock nineteen, standard fifteen-round mag. You can buy them all over. I’ve even seen them with that huge thirty-three-round clip.”
“Thirty-three?” Bode said.
“That’s it, man,” Chad said. “I got to get me one of those. Hell with that measly eight-shot Colt.”
“Huh.” Bode shook his head. “Well, nice as that is, best you leave that here with her. It’s only good close in anyway. More distance between us and the bad guys, the better.”
“Wait a minute.” Emma put her hands up in a warding-off gesture. “Get that thing away from me.”
“No, he’s right, Emma. You’ll be all alone here.” He proffered the weapon. “Come on, take the gun.”
“But I don’t know anything about guns. I mean, yeah, I’ve read about them …”
“What’s to know?” Bode said. “Only pick it up if you’re gonna use it. Glocks don’t got a safety, so just point and squeeze the trigger. Oh, and make sure you don’t shoot one of us.”
“Ha-ha,” Emma said. “No one’s shooting anybody.”
“Not yet,” Chad said, sourly.
“Some gook comes busting in,” Bode said, “you’ll have to.”
“What?” She shot Eric a mystified look. “What are you talking about?”
“The enemy, of course,” Chad said.
“Listen, if I’m leaving this behind, do you guys have weapons?” Eric said.
“In the house.” Bode hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Bolt-action rifle, shotgun. I think there’s something we can dig up for you, too. Give us two minutes to get our shit together, Devil Dog.” Wading back up the steps, Bode jerked his head at Chad. “Let’s go.”
Chad opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind, shrugged. “You’re the boss.”
When they were gone, Emma said, “Why can’t we all stay together?”
“I’m not having this discussion. Please, Emma, take the gun. If you don’t want to do it for yourself, do it for me. You don’t want anything to happen to me?” He extended the weapon, grip first. “Feeling’s mutual.”
Some emotion flashed through her pinched, anxious features. She nodded. “All right,” she said, although she looked as if she’d be happier to accept a python instead. “What do I do?”
“Keep the muzzle pointed at the ground. Don’t aim that thing at anyone unless you’re going to shoot. Other than that, there’s not much to it. There’s a round in the chamber. Like Bode said, there’s no safety, so be careful. You probably shouldn’t keep it in your pocket either. If you need it in a hurry, you don’t want it to hang up or snag. I’d carry it behind, tucked in your jeans around back, the way I did, all right?”
“Okay,” she said, awkwardly stiff-arming the weapon down and out to one side. “Just point and shoot, right?”
“That’s the size of it. But you got to loosen up. Here.” Stepping around, he fitted her back into his chest and reached down her arms to cup her hands and seat the gun. “Come on, ease up, you got a death grip on this thing. It’s not going to go off by itself.”
“Right. Sorry.” Working out her shoulders, she blew out in annoyance. “Like this?”
He felt the tension leak from her stance as she relaxed into him. “Yeah, good. But always keep your trigger finger outside the guard until you’re ready to shoot. Bend your knees a little, too, like this.” She wasn’t a small girl, but at six-two, he thought he had a good five inches on her. Stooping a little, he butted the points of his knees into the back of hers. “Bend … that’s good. And spread your feet … Excellent. See? Just like the movies.”
She exhaled a shaky laugh, then half-turned until he felt her cheek on his chin. “Wonder which one we’re in.”
Not one with a happily ever after, he thought, grimly. Not for me. When this was over, he’d have to turn himself in. It had been crazy to run, a panicked and brainless move, and that was no kind of life for Casey. But before that, he could save his brother, and keep Emma safe. Of course, when everything came out about Big Earl, she wouldn’t want to have anything to do with him. But I can do a few things right before then.
“This is important,” he said. If she turned her head just a little more … Idiot; stay sharp. He forced himself to pull his head back a little. “In the movies, they pump out those bullets really fast because they’re firing blanks. No kick, no climb; they never have to draw down again. But you’ll have to, okay? So aim for center mass. You have a much better chance of actually hitting someone that way. But that means you’ll have to wait until whoever’s coming is close. I know that’s scary, but …” His eyes scoured her face, and he knew that he really should let her go; she seemed to have figured out how to hold the weapon. But this moment may never come again. “You’ll have to bide your time, Emma, pick your shot. Okay?”
“I can do that.” She paused. “This is going to sound stupid, like one of those bad movies? But Eric … please be careful.”
“Yeah.” The voice came from the porch, and Eric looked up to see Chad, shotgun in hand, scuffing down the steps, with Bode just behind. “We will,” Chad said. “Thanks for your concern.”
In the wash of light spilling from the house, Eric saw Emma’s cheeks color as she stepped out of his arms and turned. “Eric, I mean it—”
There came a rolling boom, distant but unmistakable, and Eric knew: that was not thunder. He looked over at Bode and Chad. “We have to go, now.”
“Got that right.” Bode shot the bolt of his rifle. “Playing our song, man.”
Emma looked at Eric. “What was that?”
But it was Chad who answered. “Nothing real good.”
CASEY
Where’s His Tongue?
“TONY!” RIMA CRIED. “Oh my God!”
Jesus. Casey felt all the air wick out of his throat. Tony was pressed against the glass, palms flat, fingers splayed, like a little kid peering into a toy store window. Tony’s face—what was left of it—was a macerated, staring mask of blood and skin, bone and muscle, grinning teeth with no lips and bulging eyes with very little flesh. When the boy opened his savaged mouth, more blood gushed, slick and steaming, to splash the glass.
No tongue, Casey thought, crazily. He hasn’t got a tongue. Where’s his tongue?