by Penn Gates
Nix smiles. “Who could forget that exit?”
Terry leans forward earnestly. “But I remember that he didn't seem all that different from the rest of us guys at first—except he kept running his mouth about how he was a star athlete.” He pulls a face. “Like football players belong to some sort of exclusive brotherhood or something. He was desperate to let us to know he was a member—an important one. I kinda thought the guy was a dick. He just didn't get it. None of that bullshit matters anymore.”
“So, your point is—”
“The other day—I couldn't help thinking he looked like he'd joined a new team.”
“I was never big on sports myself,” Nix says. “You might want to tell me what you’re talking about from another perspective.”
Terry frowns, trying to find the words. “Some guys, they always have to belong to a team. It's like they don't exist by themselves.”
“OK, I get that,” Nix says. “But why would a follower want to be the leader?”
“The guys he's running with now are street rats, but the man they're taking their cues from is one scary dude." Terry makes a face. “I think he’s the real brains, and Jason is the guy’s sock puppet.”
“Tell me about the other guys who were with him—did you know any of them?”
He shakes his head. “None of my old team mates were along for the ride.”
Nix is suddenly tired of talking after the lovely silence of the past couple of weeks. “Let's save some time here,” she mutters. “Brittany already told me you're doing extra patrols because you freed up guys by stringing barbed wire at the tree line. Anything else I need to know?”
Terry shakes his head, wary of her change of mood.
“All righty then. Here's what I need from you. The second you see that pack of coyotes, you come get me. From this moment, it's your business to know where I am at all times." She gives him a hard look. “You got that?”
“Yes, ma'm,” he answers, sitting straighter.
“Now go on—get out of here. I'm sure you've got things to do." Nix keeps a smile on her face until he leaves the room.
By the end of the day, it's like she's never been off duty. She's exhausted, and that's her excuse when she asks Margaret for a sandwich or something she can take back to the shack.
Margaret looks at Nix for a few seconds, then apparently decides not to make any comment. She puts hot food in a bowl and makes a tent over it with a dish towel. “Eat it all,” she says. “You must regain your strength. You will be needing it.”
Nix conscientiously follows Margaret's advice and washes it down with some nasty tasting coffee from the morning. It's been sitting on the wood stove all day and reminds Nix of espresso, which she's always hated.
She turns in early because she really is almost too tired to move, but once she's blown the lantern out, she lays in the dark and tries not to think of Cash. If he really cared about me, she thinks, it would have taken more than comparing him to a fucking fictional dog to make him walk away. I get why he was angry, but why did he leave me?
◆◆◆
For the next few days Nix concentrates on getting back in shape. She has three full meals a day, even though she feels like choking when she forces herself to eat. She does push ups in the morning and sit ups at night. And mid afternoon she runs the path up to the western pond and back without stopping.
Margaret doesn't force Nix to come up with a new excuse every day about why she's not joining the rest of them in the new dining hall. Instead, she sends someone with a food package anywhere Nix happens to be when it's time to eat.
Often, while Nix is cleaning guns or bringing firewood into the shack, she finds herself wishing or hoping—maybe even praying—that the cretins over at Frank's farm find a stash of booze somewhere and go on the mother of all benders. Choke on their own vomit and take themselves out of the gene pool. Short of that Darwinian solution, they might still forget about St Clair farm until the drinks ran out. But Nix has never believed that wishes come true or prayers are answered, so she's not surprised when Terry finds her early one afternoon to tell her the stake body truck was spotted at the end of the driveway.
Nix makes it up to the house just as Frank's old truck appears around the curve in the drive. She has her gun stuck in her belt so they'll have no doubts about her mood. Terry and Michael stand with her. She’s confident the others are hidden, with eyes on the situation.
She focuses her attention on the five men standing in the back of the truck. Even though they don't move a muscle, she feels the violence radiating from them. These aren't just tough guys—they’re predators. She tries to scan each face without letting on that she's doing so.
The passenger door creaks open and Jason climbs down slowly, holding the frame for support. Nix is shocked by the change in his appearance in a few short weeks. He's skinny as a rail, with the telltale bloat of the serious drinker. He lifts a shaking hand in greeting.
“Whatever you have to say, make it quick,” Nix snaps. “We’ve got stuff to do.”
“Not goin' so well over at Frank's place,” Jason quavers. “Maybe you could see your way clear to lettin' us join up with your crew. You can always use a few more strong backs, right?”
Nix gives him an incredulous look. “We've got just enough strong backs to feed the mouths that go with 'em,” she tells him. “Don't need any more.”
She notes that beads of sweat pop out on Jason's forehead as he glances nervously behind him at the driver who's remained behind the wheel, his face obscured from view.
“Ah c'mon, Nix,” Jason says in the wheedling voice of a kid who wants another cookie. “For old times' sake.”
“You weren't here long enough for us to have any old times,” Nix says coldly. “You chose to leave—and you're not coming back." She glances at the five guys staring over the wooden slats of the truck like vultures on a fence. “And I don't know these guys at all. Who's gonna vouch for them? You?” She laughs.
Nix senses movement to her right, and she knows without looking that it's Cash who is suddenly standing next to her.
“You best get off our place now,” he says, and gestures with his rifle for emphasis.
There's a moment of tense silence, then the driver slides across the seat and salutes Cash with a familiar gesture. It's that prick, Sammy. “You can keep this little piss ant if you want. We don't need him any more.”
It's a blatant admission that they've used Jason to scope out a place that has something worth taking. Even Jason finally comprehends what's happened and his shoulders sag in despair, while his eyes plead with Nix.
He'll be lucky to last the night, she thinks. I should rescue him—again. So he can betray me—again. She shakes her head and he staggers as if he's been punched, then turns away and climbs slowly into the truck.
As they all stand watching the brake lights wink into the distance, Nix probes her memory like a tongue looking for what's causing the toothache. Something is nagging at the edge of her mind, but it eludes her.
“It appears we might have a fight brewin',” Cash comments to no one in particular.
Chapter 27
When Nix finally closes her eyes and tries to sleep, all she can see is Cash's unsmiling face on the back of her eyelids. After Sammy and his circus left, she and Cash had very briefly compared notes. The five today had been with Jason when they'd run into him in Hamlin. With the five leftovers from Frank's team, and Sammy, who is obviously running the show, there are about a dozen guys to worry about. Cash had nodded in agreement and turned away without another word. Apparently there was nothing else to discuss.
Nix rolls over restlessly. Do those scumbags have the balls to attack when the odds are even? Or will they try to sneak up on us? Suddenly Nix shivers. The tunnel into the house from the root cellar! Jason knows about it—he helped knock out the stones. That was what that final remark of Sammy's was really about. Sure we can keep him, Nix thinks. So he can sneak down in the middle of the night and open th
e root cellar door. Son-of-a-bitch! Nix throws the covers back and gropes in the dark for her clothes. She needs to tell Cash right now. There’s no lock that can keep out someone armed and determined to get in.
Just as Nix steps out of the shack, a black silhouette detaches itself from the deep shadows of the barn and gives a low whistle. It's the signal they use to identify each other in the dark. She waits impatiently for the figure to get close enough so she can see who it is.
“It's me, Nix,” Terry whispers.
Any other time she'd point out how idiotic that sounds, but she has more urgent business—although she can't help asking, “You're not actually guarding me, are you?
“I was circling the barn—just happened to be on this side when you stepped out.”
“I need to talk to Cash like right away,” she whispers. “Do you know where he is?”
“He's grabbing a couple hours sleep.”
“God damn it, Terry—where?”
She can't see his face clearly, but she hears the confusion in his voice when he answers. “He's in the machine shed. He's been—” Terry stops talking.
“Stand by for a change in plan,” Nix tells him and goes through the shack to the machine shed.
“If you're in here, wake up!” Nix shouts into the dark. “I know where they're going to attack.”
She hears a groan and then movement. “Are they here?” Cash croaks.
“Not yet—but I remembered what's been driving me crazy because I couldn't remember it." She trails off into embarrassed silence.
“You've always been crazy,” he says, suddenly standing in the pool of light from the open door.
“Come in and get warm,” she says opening the door wider. “You must be freezing.”
“I'm all right,” he says. “I made myself a kennel.”
She hears the sarcasm in his voice, but there's no time to go there right now.
“It's the tunnel to the root cellar,” she says. “Jason helped with the stones—he almost took Doug's thumb off, remember? He'll tell them—if he hasn't already.”
Cash runs his fingers through his hair. “Then why did they come back the second time and try to weasel their way in? Why not just go ahead and surprise us?”
“I figure they wanted to leave Jason so he could open the door.”Nix's legs go weak. “Unless—he hasn’t told them,” she says, her voice shaking. “And when he couldn't talk his way in, they were through with him. Sammy offered to leave him behind—to fuck with us, let us know who was really running things."
“I wouldn't let him stay, even though I knew he was a goner,” she says bitterly. “He hadn't narced about the tunnel—but he will. It's the only card he has left to play.”
“This can still work for us. We know their strategy, but they don't know we know it.”
“You think?” Nix asks doubtfully.
“Yeah, I do.”
He never loses it, she thinks. He's always been here to cool me down when my brain overheats. She mentally shakes herself. He's cool enough now, that's for sure.
“Did you hear me?” Cash asks impatiently.
“I'm sorry—what?”
“Go up to the house and let Michael know. I'll be there in a few minutes.”
“OK.” She doesn't trust herself to say anything more.
“And Nix—”
“What?” she asks, her heart skipping a beat.
“Take Michael and make sure the root cellar door is secure. Too many people in and out of there. All it takes is one who forgot to lock it and we're fucked.”
The half moon is just enough to see by as she gropes her way toward the house. She physically aches as if she's been punched hard in the gut. Do not get all girly, she tells herself sternly. We'll work together because it's a crisis, but remember—there’s no such thing as happily ever after.
Once in the house, she finds Michael quickly. “Before anything else, we've got to check the tunnel and the root cellar door.”
Her police issue flashlight is the only light they allow themselves as they descend to the cellar. Nix pulls herself over the stones into the chamber under the porch. She puts her ear against the wooden door leading to the tunnel and listens for a full minute.
“You in position?” she whispers in Michael’s general direction.
As soon as he confirms, she pulls the door open, moving quickly backward to get out of his line of fire. Nothing.
They creep down the tunnel and Nix climbs through another hole in the stones.
“Cover me from there,” she whispers to Michael from the darkness of the root cellar. “If I turn out to be the guest of honor at a surprise party, get back and warn them.”
Another full circle, she thinks as she creeps in the darkness filled with the pungent smell of apples. Was it just a year ago Martin and I ran down those stairs to safety? Her heart beats so loudly she's afraid it can be heard outside. At the top of the stairs she risks a quick look using the flashlight, then snaps it off as she remembers the old wooden door has gaps wide enough to let light through. Her hand reaches out and turns the knob. Locked. She breathes a sigh of relief and retraces her steps.
“Jason was always a weasel,” Michael says from behind her as they climb the stairs. “Sneaky and lazy.”
“I made the mistake of writing him off as just another teenage jock,” Nix says over her shoulder. “Turns out he can hold to resentments better than he could ever grip a football.”
Cash is in the kitchen waiting for them. “Terry and Rick are down by the road keepin’ an eye out for visitors. These are city boys. They're not gonna navigate across rough terrain if their objective is an easy walk up the drive. And once they put feet on that path, we got 'em.”
“That's assuming they do what you think they're going to do,” Nix comments. “But if all our men are spread out along the driveway, what's protecting our rear?”
“There's only gonna be two guys coverin’ the drive,” Cash says. “Michael and me. We’re gonna be on the high ground, on either side. We'll catch 'em in our crossfire.”
Before Nix can make any suggestions, he adds, “There’s also gonna be shooters to the left and right of the fork, with a full view of the root cellar. They won't get any farther—that’s a guarantee.”
Nix squints at Michael in the dim light. “Are you OK with that, Michael? Because if you aren't, nobody will think less of you.”
“Cash and I are the best shots,” Michael says cryptically.
“What am I going to be doing?” Nix asks. “And don't say nothing because you know I won't stay out of it.”
“I saved the fun part for you,” Cash says. “How's your pitchin’ arm?”
“It'll do,” she says. “Please tell me you brought home some grenades as souvenirs.”
“I wish." He turns and pulls something out of his old knapsack.
“It's either dynamite or—”
“It's a flare. If you catch sight of 'em first, light that sucker and toss it off the front porch. Otherwise, as soon as you hear the first shot.”
“I can do that,” Nix says, although she immediately amends that in her mind to off the porch roof. It'll make for a better arc so she can lob the thing right above the bastards.
“So we're all primped up for the dance,” she says. “Hope we don't get stood up.”
“Figure they'll show right about the time the moon sets—at least that's what I'd do,” Cash answers.
◆◆◆
Nix wakes Brittany and M & M first to explain what's going on. They waste no time rounding up the kids, the rescued girls, and Mr. Forrest, who makes such a fuss that Dicey takes charge of him. They retire to the only sensible place to be during a siege—the cellar.
“I'm not going into the basement,” Brittany announces. “Give me a gun, Nix. I'll be on the landing, and if anyone comes through that door I’ll shoot them if they don't give the whistle.”
“Been spending time with at least one of the guys, haven't you?” Nix asks suspiciously
.
“As a matter of fact, they've been taking turns teaching me how to shoot,” Brittany answers. “And it's strictly business.”
“I believe you have the nerve to shoot a person if you've got to,” Nix says, making a quick decision. “As long as you remember the basics, have at it.”
Brittany's eyes mist up. “That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.”
“You're as crazy as I am,” Nix snaps.
“Second nicest!” Brit says and gives her a dazzling smile.
After making sure they're all safely tucked away, Nix climbs out the upstairs hall window and straddles the peak of the porch roof. There's another freeze tonight, and while frost on the driveway makes for a nice backdrop for armed intruders, frost on shingles is like sitting on a block of ice. If I get shot, she thinks, I hope it's in the butt—I won't feel a thing.
While she perches there, high above the ground, waiting for action, she visualizes how she'll remove the cap of the flair, strike it, and throw it into the darkness. She frowns as she realizes that in the time it takes to light the flair and pitch it, she'll be a sitting duck. She calculates she'll fit nicely into the angle where the base of the center peak meets the slope of the main porch roof. She slithers down and sits cross-legged, as close to the edge as she dares, scanning the driveway, which grows darker and darker as they lose the moonlight.
The moon is almost below the horizon, and Nix is just about convinced no one's coming when she catches a suggestion of movement along the edge of the gravel. She continues to stare at the center of the drive, knowing her peripheral vision is more effective than if she tries to focus on dark figures creeping in the shadows.
One or two of them have already broken cover, and her heart begins beating rapidly. She takes deep, calming breaths to keep herself from slipping from hyper-alertness into panic. As she breathes, she begins to count the blobs of black against the frost. When she gets to ten, she pulls the cap off and strikes it against the end of the flair. Then she heaves it over the driveway, as far and high as she can. The second she releases, she throws herself flat against the trough of the roof. Even as she watches the flair tumble end over end, bathing the scene in a hellish red glow, she twists her body so she can pull her gun from its holster.
