Mercy Kill

by Lori Armstrong

  Sneaking into position on foot had been my first choice, but for timing issues, I might be cutting it close, even on a machine that traveled twenty miles an hour. If the fire was spotted immediately, as the property owners we’d get called right away. I had to be home, tucked in bed, and surprised as hell when that happened.

  With my rifle case strapped to the back, I pushed the ATV through the fence, trying to avoid mudholes. By the time I’d gotten far enough from the barn to start the machine, sweat poured down my body.

  Took three tries for the engine to catch, and it released a puff of smoke. Yeah, this was some stealthy fucking machine.

  On the earlier run from the Newsome house, I’d mapped out the path. Not the most direct route, or the fastest route, but the flattest route.

  Clouds covered the moon. I relished the solitude and the stillness. Night air feels different after midnight. Colder. Fresher. Sweeter. It was exhilarating, traversing the great outdoors while the world around me slept.

  My machine scared a raccoon family from the underbrush. The glowing eyes were accusatory and then gone. The back end of the ATV bogged down on a sharp rise. I revved the engine to max power. Anyone who heard the distinctive whining noise would assume the members of the LifeLite Church group were sending out ATV patrols, which they did all hours of the night.

  I studied the ground, bumping over chunks of shale and whole yuccas. I became so mesmerized by the variances in the vegetation that I nearly smacked into a squat pine tree. I swerved at the last nanosecond and almost pitched myself ass over teakettle.

  Pay attention.

  I slowed when the shelterbelt came into view. This section veered off the path and the terrain was trickier. Standing gave me a better view of the sinkholes and big rocks randomly scattered about. I traversed nature’s obstacle course and reached the fence. From there, I’d be on foot.

  Since the ATV redefined piece of junk, I couldn’t chance it not starting, so I kept it running. I jammed rocks beneath all four tires.

  I cracked open the rifle case. Assembly, even under the cover of darkness, was quick. Once I snapped on the scope, I held the rifle by my side and jogged up to the hole in the fence line.

  As I dashed across the field, my internal focus was absolute. I was one with the night—my breathing, my gun, my mission. This was my own personal nirvana.

  I crouched by the flat rock with a bird’s-eye view of the front of the house. I loaded the blue-tipped bullet, a .338 Lapua incendiary round I’d been saving for a special occasion. I dinked with the night-vision scope, gauging the target with my left eye. I tweaked the viewfinder again until I had the perfect angle for the front window.

  Aim.

  Breathe.

  Fire.

  Mental prep done, I was ready for the real deal.

  One shot. Four hundred yards out. Piece of cake. I could do this with one arm tied behind my back. I could do this even with my left eye.

  Finger on the trigger.

  Eye on the target.

  Breathe in.

  Breathe out.

  I fired.

  Click.

  The whomp, whomp, whomp as the fiery gas expanded from room to room echoed back to me was followed by … BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

  A blast of heat rushed across me as the house disgorged a ball of fire. Beautiful and grotesque. A red-orange orb, laced with roiling black clouds. I hadn’t heard glass breaking, although I could see jagged pieces littering the ground like dirty ice. The windows were gaping holes, eerie open mouths, screaming in shock. The entire front of the house had blown outward. Pieces of lumber scattered the yard like a giant’s game of pickup sticks. Chunks of plaster smoked, and tufts of insulation fell.

  I grinned. “Thar she blows, matey.”

  Flames licked the walls with hungry red tongues.

  The roof ? Poof.

  This house was completely uninhabitable.

  No guilt or pride surfaced as I ejected the spent shell casing and shoved it in my pocket. Time to retreat, not gloat. I ran low to the ground, to the break in the fence. I ducked through the barbed wire and heard the sputtering engine of the ATV beneath the cacophony of crackling wood. After breaking my rifle down and fitting the pieces back in the case, I checked my watch.

  Mission accomplished in under thirty-four minutes.

  Now the real race began.

  TWELVE

  Nervous sweat plastered my hair to my face, my neck, and coated my scalp. In my room I shoved the gun case back in the closet. I ditched the ninja clothes at the bottom of the laundry basket and slipped back into my pajamas. I brought the covers under my chin, too wired to sleep.

  I was half surprised I’d made it back to the house before the phone rang. Best-case scenario? No one reported the fire until it’d burned the house to the ground. The neighboring property belonged to the LifeLite religious group, and they hadn’t volunteered to help when we’d had a fire on our ranch last summer, so I expected they’d turn a blind eye now.

  My main concern was the volunteer firemen called to the scene to risk life and limb to save the structure I’d torched.

  Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Twenty. Just when I believed the fire would burn unattended, a knock sounded on my bedroom door.

  Talk about jumping like a scalded cat. I didn’t answer, just waited for the next knock.

  “Mercy?” Jake said, a little louder. “Phone.”

  I opened the door. “Who is it?”

  “Wouldn’t say.”

  Snatching the cordless from his hand, I entered the living room. “This is Mercy Gunderson. Who’s calling me at three o’clock in the goddamn morning?”

  “Clayton Black with the Eagle River Volunteer Fire Department. There’s been an explosion at the old Newsome house.”

  “An explosion?” I repeated.

  “Where? What’s going on?” Hope demanded behind me.

  “Something at the Newsome house,” I said, turning my back on her. “What happened?”

  “We’re not sure. Looks like a gas leak. We wanted to let you know we’re doing all we can to save the house—”

  “Forget about saving the house. There’s nothing in it. Keep the firefighters safe.”

  “But the structure—”

  “Might as well collapse, if it’s as bad as you say.” I looked at Hope; her face was as pasty white as her frilly nightgown. “Can you hold off on doing anything for the next ten minutes until my sister and I get there?”

  “I guess.”

  I hung up and said to Hope, “Go throw on some clothes, and I’ll meet you out front.”

  “But I can’t leave Joy—”

  “With her father? Come on. You’ll have your cell if Jake needs something.” I put my hand on the wall. “I might need you to drive since I’ve been sick.”

  “Then Jake can drive you. I’ll stay here.”

  “Jake is a manager, not an owner. You will be a full participant in whatever decision we make, Hope. So get changed and meet me by my truck.”

  She raced upstairs, Jake behind her. I threw on sweatpants, slipped my feet into a pair of flip-flops, and grabbed my keys.

  We reached the truck at the same time, and Hope climbed in the passenger’s side. “What do you think happened?”

  “They said some kind of gas explosion.”

  She was quiet, not the good kind of quiet. I felt her studying me, but I kept my eyes firmly on the road.

  “Don’t you think it’s … convenient that after I tell you I want to move into the Newsome place, something like this happens?”

  I looked at her. Hard. “Don’t you think it’s a goddamn good thing something convenient like this happened before you moved in with Joy and Jake?”

  A comprehending look of horror crossed her face, and she shut up.

  We saw the flames from a half mile away. They’d died down since the initial blast. I dodged parked vehicles lining the drive and rolled down my window upon reaching the Eagle River County Sheriff’s Department blaz
er blocking access.

  Shit. I hoped it wasn’t Dawson. I so did not want to deal with him right now.

  Deputy Jazinski leaned in the window. “Gonna have to leave it parked here, Miz Gunderson. Clayton’s waiting for you around the left side of the pumper truck.”

  “Thanks.” I was sorry I’d worn flip-flops as Hope and I picked our way through smoking piles of debris.

  Once we had a clear view of the burned-out shell, Hope reached for my hand and gasped. “Oh my God.”

  From far away, I’d experienced the detachment I’d honed after taking out a target. Aim. Fire. Verify. Move on. Even now, faced with the destruction I’d set in motion and my sister’s emotional reaction to it, I didn’t feel a single ounce of remorse.

  But I did have to fake it. “It’s just … gone.” The catch in my voice was a nice touch.

  A man in a full firefighting suit approached and removed his headpiece. “Mercy. Clayton Black. We’ve never officially met, but I responded to the fire at your place last summer, and I was on scene at Clementine’s.”

  “I imagine the next time you hear my name you’ll head the other direction.”

  He smiled, making him look far younger than he’d sounded on the phone. “No. I’ve always been the type to run headlong into danger rather than away from it.” He turned toward the house. “As you can see, there ain’t much left.” He pointed to the roof, which had broken into three pieces upon impact with the ground. “At this point we’re treating this as a propone explosion. None of the outbuildings were affected. And we’ve had enough moisture that the flames scorched the ground in places but didn’t start a full-blown fire.”

  “That’s something, I guess.”

  “Since we spoke, we’ve been keeping an eye on it, and I gotta say, it’s … unnatural for a bunch of firefighters to stand around and watch something burn.”

  “I imagine it is. But I’d rather see them safe on the sidelines than risk their lives on a building that ain’t worth saving.”

  “And that’s the question of the night, isn’t it?”

  The reddish glow from the flames backlit the man, emphasizing the fact that he wore street clothes, not a fireproof suit. His face was shadowed, but I knew who he was.

  His gaze flicked between us. “Mercy. Hope. Thanks for getting here so quickly.”

  “No problem, Chief.” Dave Klapperich had headed up the volunteer fire department for as long as my dad had been sheriff. During the week Dave ran a successful trucking company and was a shrewd businessman, so I wasn’t surprised by the suspicion in his eyes. He suspected arson. I’m sure everyone did. But there was one glitch in their theory.

  Klapperich cut to the chase. “So I’m curious as to why you told Clayton to let it burn.”

  The moment of truth. “Because it’s not insured.”

  A collective pause.

  Klapperich leaned forward. “Did you say this place wasn’t insured?”

  I shook my head. “When we learned of the first-right-of-refusal option in the Newsome will, we felt … obligated to buy it. Money was tight. Took all our extra cash just to put a down payment on the land. Then medical bills starting coming in, and we had to choose what took priority. Adding liability insurance on this structure wasn’t on the list. I’d planned to do it next month.”

  Stunned silence.

  “That’s why I didn’t want the firefighters taking chances. Damn place might as well burn to cinders, as much good as it’ll do us now.”

  Hope cried softly.

  I put my arm around her, and we watched the east wall cave in. Not a single wall was left standing. A sense of relief washed over me, but I kept my face somber.

  Klapperich and Clayton Black seemed embarrassed by my confession of Gunderson money woes. I hadn’t embellished that part. Now with my retirement pay rolling in and a great calving season behind us, things were looking up.

  “We’ll stick around and put out any embers until the last of it’s burned away.”

  “I—we—appreciate it.”

  Hope shook herself out of her stupor. “If you don’t need us, I have a baby to tend, and Mercy needs to get back in bed. She’s been sick all day.”

  I ducked my face from view. The last thing I needed was Klapperich to ferret out my “sickness” being from breathing propane fumes while rigging this place to blow.

  “No problem,” Clayton said. “Feel better, Mercy. And good luck in the election.”

  “Thanks.” I noticed he hadn’t offered his support.

  We walked back to the truck in silence. I didn’t argue that I was perfectly capable of driving when Hope snatched my keys.

  Halfway home, she stomped on the brakes. My body jerked forward as we skidded sideways to a dead stop in the middle of the road. Before I could snap, “Jesus. A little warning next time?” she whirled on me.

  “You didn’t think I deserved to know there wasn’t insurance on the Newsome property? Did you forget I own just as much of the goddamned Gunderson Ranch as you do? I should’ve been in on that decision.” She beat her fists on the steering wheel. “Dammit, Mercy, I felt like such an idiot standing there, not knowing any of this stuff.”

  “Good.”

  Hope’s mouth dropped open. “Good? That’s your response?”

  “Yes. It’s about time. Since Joy came home from the hospital, you’ve shown an interest only in her. I understand babies need full-time care, and without doubt you are a great mother.”

  “But?”

  “But whenever I tried to talk to you about anything besides your baby, you tuned me out.”

  Her hands opened and closed on the steering wheel.

  “So yeah, since I was saddled with the books, I made some decisions.”

  “You made them? Or you and Jake made them?”

  “Just me.”

  “Good, because Jake is a manager, not an owner,” she tossed back at me.

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. But I preferred feisty Hope to fickle Hope. “What would you have done?”

  “I would’ve put insurance on the Newsome property no matter what.”

  “Something had to give, sis. I looked at the books and went eeny, meeny, miny, moe and picked the one we could do without at the time.”

  “That’s no way to do the books,” Hope scoffed.

  “If you think you can do a better job, you’re more than welcome to take over.”

  “Seriously? You’d let me handle the book work for the ranch?”

  The word no hovered on my tongue, but in truth, I couldn’t do it all. I didn’t want to do it all. Pretending I could handle every fucking thing thrown my way was beginning to feel more like a martyr complex than extreme efficiency. Everything would just get more complicated if I won the election. I sighed and rubbed my temples. Damn headache was back with a vengeance. “Yes. I’d gladly hand the books over to you if you’re serious enough to stick with it.”

  The engine ticked, and her angry breaths slowed.

  Her change in demeanor got my back up. I prepared myself for an epic fight. So I was completely stunned by Hope’s squeal of delight. Then she hugged me.

  What the fuck? I was used to her abrupt mood changes, but this bordered on manic. From sadness to anger to delight in mere minutes? I squinted at her, wondering if she’d accidentally breathed in toxic smoke fumes.

  Her laughter bubbled out. “Don’t look at me like I’ve lost my marbles. Doing the books is a rite of passage for the women in our family, and I’ve always wanted to do my part since I can’t do nothin’ else around the ranch. But Daddy claimed I didn’t have a head for numbers and refused to discuss it.”

  Heat rose in my cheeks on her behalf. For all Dad’s good points, sometimes he could be downright mean. “To be honest, I think you’ll probably do a better job than me.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. It’s not my thing. So schedule an appointment with Carol. She’ll give you the lowdown on weekly stuff. I want to keep her on to file p
ayroll taxes and all the rest of that junk. As far as day-to-day expenses? You’re in charge. You’ll be dealing with Jake. Will that cause problems in your relationship?”

  “Nope. He’s already used to me calling the shots.”

  That did make me laugh.

  She hit the gas, and we were lost in our own thoughts on the way home. She parked and shut the truck off. Before I hopped out, she said, “Mercy, wait.”

  “Look, Hope, before you say anything, I know you had your heart and mind set on living in the Newsome house. And I do understand that you want a home of your own for your family.” My grip tightened on the door handle. “I promise we’ll find you something. Even if we have to take out a loan and build you a new house, okay?”

  “Okay. Jake don’t say much, but I know he’s not comfortable living in the house where his grandmother works as a housekeeper.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you mad?”

  “No. But the deal is, no matter where you end up, Shoonga stays with me.”

  She smiled crookedly. “You and that dog. You spoil him as much as Levi did.”

  Levi. Just saying his name brought sadness that filled the air between us.

  Hope whispered, “I miss him.”

  “I know.” I swallowed hard. “I do, too.”

  “Joy is … well, the joy of my life. But she’s not a replacement for my son. I think that’s why I don’t go out much. People in the community think I should be happy that I have another child. But having Joy hasn’t erased the pain of losing Levi. He’s still in my heart, and I wish to God he was still …” She sniffled. “Maybe that sounds stupid, but do you know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, I think I do.”

  Hope wiped her tears. “Sorry. Anyway, I keep forgetting to thank you for the frog. Joy loves it.”

  I squirmed. I wasn’t a good gift giver. Whenever I bought something new for my niece, I’d sneak into Hope’s bedroom and place the stuffed animals in Joy’s crib, or I’d set the clothes on Hope’s dresser. “Um. You’re welcome.”

  “She needs you, too, you know. Beyond the cute outfits and toys you buy her. As she’s growing up she’ll need a strong woman to look up to.”

  I was beginning to think my little sister was much stronger than I’d given her credit for. I reached for Hope’s hand and squeezed, then bailed out of the truck before either of us said something that would ruin the moment.