by Harley Tate
A booming crack burst from the north and a bullet threw dirt and grass onto Madison’s shoe. She jerked her head up in alarm and pushed harder. Diving for the cover of the wash house, Madison tore the door open as another bullet lodged in the wood siding. She ducked inside and the door slammed shut behind her.
Eileen’s camp was out there and they were hunting. Maybe that’s why they waited. They wanted to pick us off one by one in the daylight.
Madison’s heart struggled to keep time with her runaway thoughts. Where were Peyton, Anne, and Barry? Had they been captured? Ambushed?
Wouldn’t I have heard something?
Madison checked her rifle. Full magazine. Enough rounds to take out all the hostiles if it came to that. For a moment, she wished her father were there. Fighting side by side gave Madison courage and hope.
But it didn’t matter. She would do this on her own.
“She’s in there!” A muffled shout reached Madison inside the wash house. She crouched beneath the frosted window, unable to see enough to defend herself. Why did I run in here? It was the worst possible location to hide.
“Burn her out!”
Madison rose up in a panic. They wouldn’t set fire to the cabins. Not if they wanted to take them over. She spun around in a circle. The only way out or in was the front door or the window on the side.
A shot echoed from the rear of the property and Madison leapt into action. No time to think or prepare. She had to get out of there and help her family. With a well-placed kick to the door, Madison launched it wide open before turning to the window.
The door swung on its hinges and slammed into the outside wall of the cabin before swinging all the way back around and banging into the casing. While it rocked back and forth, Madison shoved open the window.
Please let me escape without a bullet wound. Please.
Hoisting herself up, Madison eased out the window and fell to the ground. Her knees buckled and she hit hard. Air rocketed from her lungs and she struggled to breathe.
More shouts. More gunfire.
She covered her head and crouched against the side of the building, but the shots didn’t pierce her skin or end her life. She peeled her arm away. No one was there. Madison took the chance and ran.
The forest loomed ahead of her, but motion caught her eye to the left. She turned to see Barry crouched down at the corner of the bunk house, rifle on his shoulder as he took aim. He fired into the tree line as more shouts erupted.
Where was Peyton? Madison ran for the trees, rifle up and ready in her hands. I can do this. I can make it. Her lungs burned and her head throbbed. It took all her strength to propel herself forward, but Madison refused to stop. She refused to back down.
“There she is! Get her!”
She swung in an arc, rifle up as a woman from the forest camp came into view. Madison didn’t hesitate. She pulled the trigger, but the woman didn’t stop. She kept right on running at her with nothing but a knife in her hand and her mouth wide open in a scream.
Madison took aim and fired again. The bullet slammed into the woman’s chest dead center. She kept coming.
Was she wearing a vest? Madison fired again and again pulling the trigger four times in a row. Each bullet hit the woman in her torso, but still she didn’t drop.
The gap closed between them. Thirty feet. Twenty. Ten.
Madison screamed in rage and fear and shot again. The bullet pierced the woman’s skull right between the eyes. Madison didn’t even wait to watch her hit the ground. She turned toward the forest and ran.
Chapter Twenty-Five
COLT
Clifton Compound
5:30 a.m.
Brianna held up a hand and Colt slowed. “The field Madison and Peyton tilled is straight ahead about a hundred yards.”
“What’s beyond that?”
“A small orchard, maybe twenty trees. Then our pasture. It’s only about an acre, but we’re raising pigs and chickens.”
“Buildings?”
“We’ve got a barn and a storage shed to the right of the pasture, but the living area is divided into three cabins: kitchen, bunk house, and wash house.”
Colt nodded. The layout fit a build-as-you-go homestead. Start small and work up little by little until the entire place is built out. It made protecting it damn difficult. He scrubbed a hand down his face and checked his Sig. Full magazine and two more shoved in his pockets. It would be essential for any close-in fighting.
He opted to forego the rifle this time, leaving the long-distance shots to Larkin and Walter. Colt would be the front line, side by side with Brianna. Splitting up gave Colt and Larkin a chance to contribute without having to guess who was on what side. With Walter and Brianna leading the way, there would be no cases of mistaken identity.
“My dad will shoot first and never ask questions. You’ll need to call out if we get separated.”
“What does he look like?”
Brianna flashed a smile. “Big guy, bad attitude. Can’t miss him.”
Colt nodded in appreciation. A man like that would earn his respect in a heartbeat. “All right. I’m ready.”
As Brianna took a step toward the property, a shot rang out. Colt grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to the ground. He’d hoped to beat Eileen’s crew and set up a defense, but they weren’t so lucky. “We’ll have to flush out the attackers.”
Brianna nodded and eased forward. Together, they crept toward the new field. As the trees thinned, a large patch of dirt opened up in front of them. Beyond it, an organized row of trees. The orchard.
Colt inhaled. What is that? He reached for Brianna. “Do your parents use wood for heat?”
She nodded. “But not during the day. And that doesn’t smell like our wood.”
Colt motioned toward the pasture. “Let’s hurry. If there’s a fire, we need to contain it.”
Brianna hustled in a half-crouch, half-run around the plowed patch of dirt with Colt on her heels. A pig squealed. Chickens clucked and fluttered. The whole pasture was in commotion and panic.
Colt spotted the flames first. “There!”
Brianna’s mouth fell open. “They’ve set fire to the chicken coop! It’ll take the whole pasture with it!” She rose up to run, but Colt grabbed her arm.
“Don’t. You’ll get yourself killed.”
She tugged against his grip. “I have to do something.”
“We will. But rushing in there without a plan won’t help. Where’s the biggest source of water?”
Brianna chewed on her lip. “The well. It’s deep water, but we don’t have an easy way to pump mass quantities.”
Colt frowned. “What about dirt? Do you have a wheelbarrow?”
“We have two. They’re over by the shed.”
“Lead the way. We can use the dirt in the open field to smother the flames. But we’ll have to be quick.”
Brianna took off, skirting the pasture and the orchard. She stopped at the edge. Two wheelbarrows leaned against the wall of a metal shed fifty feet away.
Colt sucked in a breath and readied himself. “Give me cover. I’ll get them.”
“You can’t get both.”
“Watch me.”
Colt took off as fast as possible and reached the wheelbarrows without incident. They were large farm versions with thick, white-walled tires and metal handles. He flipped both over in a nestled stack and threw a pair of shovels on top. Bracing himself, Colt lifted the bottom handles. The full weight came to bear on his arms and he grunted.
Nothing like a little workout under fire. He took off, running as best he could with a hundred pounds of awkward metal in his hands. A bullet hit the ground beside his feet and Colt jerked his head up.
A man crouched beside the edge of a cabin thirty yards away. Big. Mean. Calm.
Barry Clifton.
Colt shouted. “I’m with Brianna!” He scanned the forest for the girl, hoping she could see and lend a hand.
Her father took aim.
C
olt swallowed. He thought about what only a friend would know. “Go Aggies!”
Barry paused and Brianna’s voice hollered out. “Dad! Don’t shoot!”
Brianna came flying out of the woods, blonde hair like a curly halo around her head. She stuttered to a stop in front of her dad. “The chicken coop is on fire!”
Barry stood up in a rush. “We have to stop it or the whole pasture will catch. The orchard, too.”
Shouts erupted from the forest. Gunshots rang out. A bullet hit the side of the wheelbarrow. Colt flipped them on their side and crouched behind them. Barry and his daughter ducked behind the side of the building.
With his head down and finger on the trigger, Barry scanned the forest. He shouted at Colt. “Who the hell are you?”
“Walter’s friend.”
“Walter’s back?”
Brianna peered around the corner of the building. More gunfire. “Yes. He’s brought two men with him. Colt and Larkin.”
“Good. We need the help.”
Colt kept himself hidden by the wheelbarrow as he turned around. “I’m getting dirt from the tilled field to smother the fire.”
Barry grunted his approval. “Go. I’ll cover you.”
Brianna rushed up to Colt’s side. “I’m coming, too. You’ll never be able to push two wheelbarrows full of dirt.”
More shouts echoed from the woods.
“Hurry! We have to save the animals!”
Colt reached for the handles of the first wheelbarrow as Brianna did the same with the second. “Get as much dirt as you can, as fast as you can.”
Brianna nodded and they took off under the cover of a volley of shots from her father.
The wheelbarrows canted and tipped and Colt almost lost the shovel, but they made it to the clearing without a bullet to the head. He grabbed the shovel and stabbed the ground, loading up the wheelbarrow as fast as possible. Brianna did the same, but at a third of his size and not nearly the same strength, she couldn’t keep up.
Colt motioned to the heaping wheelbarrow in front of him. “Take mine. I’ll fill yours.”
“What do I do with it?” Brianna shoved her shovel into the overflowing dirt and reached for the handles.
“Use it as a break. Get the dirt on the flames that spread off the coop, nice and thick. Smother everything that spreads to the pasture. I’ll be right behind you.”
Brianna took off, racing as fast as her smaller legs could manage with such a heavy load. Colt hoped like hell her father could give her cover.
Scanning the tree line with every scoop of the shovel, Colt blinked the sweat from his eyes. A blur of blue caught his attention and he dropped to the ground.
A man slinked through the trees, head bouncing like a bobblehead on a dashboard. Could he be Peyton, the young man Walter told him about? Colt didn’t know and he didn’t want to shoot a good guy. He waited, hiding behind the wheelbarrow as the man approached.
From his choppy steps, to the way he kept scratching at his head, Colt guessed he’d spent a good many days getting high in the woods. All he needed was confirmation.
Thirty seconds later, he got it. A woman with white hair tied back in a braid emerged from the trees. She took the man by the shoulder and pointed toward the flames. Eileen, the leader. Colt couldn’t hear the words, but he could tell by her pointing and smiles that she was pleased.
She wouldn’t be once Colt took her and her minion out. With a regulated exhale, Colt took aim. He squeezed the trigger and the man crumpled to the ground. One down, six adults to go. He turned to Eileen and took aim. She dropped to the ground, using the man’s body as a shield. Colt pumped five quick shots into the area before abandoning the cover of the wheelbarrow.
He ran toward the man, gun out and ready.
The body loomed ahead. No Eileen. Colt slowed and approached with caution, scanning the forest for any sign of the woman. Nothing.
Colt checked the man’s neck. No pulse. He swiveled in a three sixty, but came up empty. Could she have escaped without a single wound? Did he miss every time?
Thanks to his training as an air marshal, Colt found that incredibly unlikely, but the evidence stared him in the face. Eileen was gone.
He turned and ran back to the wheelbarrow before shoving his gun in his waistband. Brianna needed his help. Leaving the fire to her so he could hunt down a fugitive wasn’t in the cards. With a grunt, Colt grabbed the handles, hoisted up the load, and ran.
By the time he reached the fire, Brianna was dripping in sweat and soot and her wheelbarrow was empty. The flames still licked the walls of the chicken coop, turning the painted plywood and wire into a charred mess of scrap metal.
A gaggle of pigs and chickens snorted and squealed and carried on behind Brianna, but she’d managed to keep the flames from spreading. Colt set the wheelbarrow down and she attacked it with her shovel, dumping more dirt in front of the flames.
“Where is everyone else?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about your dad?”
“He’s gone off to hunt them down.”
“Your mom?”
“Haven’t seen her. I think the people from the forest are as scared of the fire as the pigs.”
Colt nodded. “I’ll give you cover.”
“No. Go find them and kill them. Every last one.”
Colt regarded Brianna for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
WALTER
Clifton Compound
6:00 a.m.
Daylight brightened the forest, forcing Walter and Larkin to take cover behind an outcropping of rock. While a series of gunshots rang out on the Clifton family property, Walter went on the offensive, tracking down the source of the bullets.
Between him and Larkin, they’d chased a pair of Eileen’s people into a natural pen of boulders and impossible brambles. Neither could get out unless they ran by Walter, and he wasn’t about to let them leave alive.
He motioned to Larkin who guarded the other side of the corral. The sooner they killed these people, the faster it would all be over. Tracy wouldn’t approve of what he was about to do, but she wasn’t there and this was war.
Walter eased around the rocks on his side of the entrance and Larkin did the same. The woman crouched against the rock, squeezing into an impossibly tight space, while the man paced back and forth, wagging his finger at nothing in particular and shouting at the air.
Did they really think they could go toe-to-toe with Walter, Barry, and the rest of them and come out the victors? Walter almost felt sorry for them, but then he remembered the hell they put his daughter through.
He lifted the rifle and stepped into the clearing.
The woman shrank back, snarling as she stared at him.
The man stopped walking and pointed at Walter. His fingernails were torn and bloody; his face sallow and hollow. “You! You did this! We must cast you out! You’re the curse. You’re the devil!”
Walter pulled the trigger. A bullet pierced the man’s head and his body hung in the air for a moment, dead but still standing. As he hit the ground, the woman lunged. A knife caught the light and Walter fired.
She took the bullet like a kick to the chest and staggered back, staring down in disbelief at the blood spreading across her dirty shirt. As life fled her body, she fell, joining her friend in the leaves at Walter’s feet.
He turned to Larkin. “Get to the cabins. See if they need help.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m searching for any stragglers.”
Walter took off without another look behind him at the man and woman they just killed. With Larkin, Colt, and the rest of them fighting it out at the homestead, Walter kept parallel to the property line, searching the surrounding forest for any member of Eileen’s party that escaped.
They would never be coming back to hurt his family.
With quiet steps, he eased through pockets of ferns and over fallen logs, around groves of
tightly packed saplings and vines covered in unripe blackberries. A hawk screeched and took off into the open less than a hundred yards ahead. Walter sank into a crouch. A thicket of gangly bushes gave him cover as he crept forward. Whoever was out there would not get away.
Ahead, a hill rose in a gentle slope and Walter took his time, watching and waiting. After a few minutes of silence, he was rewarded. A flutter of leaves and another twitter of a small wren or cardinal. The hint of a shape moving in the shadows.
With the sunrise officially upon them, Water could see far enough to pick out a person up the entire slope. He wouldn’t even need to move to make the kill.
He brought up the rifle and used the scope to root out the noisemaker. A flash of white caught his eye and Walter froze. Eileen.
She limped in agonizing slowness up the hill, twisting around every few steps to check for any pursuit. From the way she cradled her left arm it was either broken or severely injured. Good.
The woman deserved to suffer after what she put her group and his own through. According to Tracy, Madison could have died. Walter wasn’t letting the woman responsible slink away and nurse her wounds.
He would be the end of her. She would forever regret trying to steal what wasn’t hers.
Walter slung the rifle over his shoulder and unholstered a Glock. Not his handgun of choice, but beggars and all that. He would never turn down a weapon again.
With the gun out straight and ready to fire, he closed the gap, gaining on Eileen with every step. She stumbled and Walter seized the chance, running forward without care for noise or the element of surprise.
She flailed and scrabbled against the ground, flipping over just as the barrel of his gun lined up with her face.
Walter could have pulled the trigger right then and ended it, but he paused. He owed it to his wife to try.
“Where are the kids, Eileen?”
Her face pinched and the color on her cheeks deepened. “What’s it to you?”
“Let’s just say I’m interested in child welfare. Unlike you.”
