by Harry Dolan
“This is at Grass Lake?” the operator says. “Nobody ever goes out there.”
“They’re here now.”
“What’s your name?”
It’s a question, but she makes it sound like a warning. Like he’s going to get in trouble if this is all a hoax.
“My name is Garza,” Sean says. “Rafael Garza.”
He kills the call and hears Massoud laughing softly.
“There’s two of you, Ray,” she says.
Garza shifts around so he’s kneeling in front of her. He keeps one hand on the wound on her neck and uses the other to take out his own phone. He places a call to someone named Jansson. Sean is close enough to hear both sides of the conversation. When Garza explains where he is and what happened, Jansson sounds angry, but he’s all business. He promises to send sheriff’s deputies, local cops, FBI, everyone he can muster.
At the end of the call, Garza puts his phone away and sits again with his back to the car. As he settles in, Sean sees him grimace in pain. Massoud sees it too.
“What’s the matter?” she asks.
Garza shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he says.
But it’s not. There’s blood on the right leg of his pants. Sean finds the bullet hole in the fabric and tears it wide to get a better look.
It could be worse. There’s an entry wound on the back of Garza’s thigh, no exit wound. The bleeding seems slow.
“You lied to me, Ray,” Massoud says. “No fair.”
Sean unwraps some more cylinder seals and presses the handkerchiefs onto the wound. He secures them in place with Garza’s belt. Garza keeps his right hand on Massoud’s neck all the while.
“Just like old times,” a voice says. “Sean saves the day.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Sean can see Cole’s black boots. Cole is standing by the rear fender of the car. Another shot rings out from the direction of the chapel, and Sean, without thinking, gestures for him to get down.
“You’re a trip,” Cole says, laughing. “What have I got to worry about?”
Sean lets a few seconds pass, then gets up to a crouch and looks out over the trunk of the car. There’s no one in sight. He was worried that someone might approach while they were pinned down. He scans the chapel, sees the south-facing window on the steeple. He decides that’s where the very first shots must have come from. Where the shooter might still be.
“Get down,” Garza says. “Help is coming.”
“Sure,” Cole’s voice says. “Eventually.”
Sean sits on the ground again and reaches for his backpack. He unwraps the rest of the stones and piles the handkerchiefs in Garza’s lap.
“What are you doing?” Garza asks.
Sean zips up the backpack. “I have to go in.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Massoud says. “Tell him, Ray.”
Garza is quiet for a moment. His eyes look thoughtful. His gun is holstered on his hip. Sean wonders if he’ll reach for it.
“Doesn’t matter,” Cole says. “It’s not like there’s a lot at stake. Right?”
Garza leaves his gun where it is. “I think it would be unwise to try to enter that chapel,” he says.
“So do I,” says Sean. “But I have to go anyway.”
Garza nods. It’s a neutral gesture. He’s not agreeing; he’s acknowledging a fact.
“You believe she’s inside?” he says. “Molly?”
“Yes.”
“Still, you should wait,” Garza says. “There’s too much open ground to cross, between here and there. It’s too risky.”
Sean is thinking the same thing. The chapel is too far, but the bunkhouses are closer. If he can reach them, they’ll provide him some cover. Then he can approach the chapel from the side.
“I’m taking the long way around,” he says to Garza.
Nick Ensen
This is bad, Nick thinks.
He’s looking down at Kelly, who’s folded at an unnatural angle over one of the wooden pews. The fall must have broken his back. His arms are spread out at his sides. His gun lies on the seat of the pew.
His eyes are open, staring up at nothing.
Nick hears Molly moving behind him and turns to see her struggling to rise with her hands behind her back. She gets onto her knees and then up on her feet. But she’s hardly worth noticing. She’s a blip on the radar. Something else has all of Nick’s attention.
He can hear Jimmy tromping down the spiral stairs from the steeple.
There’s a second set of stairs that lead from the loft to the ground floor of the chapel. Nick watches as Molly rushes toward them, but she’s too late. Jimmy catches her and shoves her carelessly across the loft. She trips and stumbles to the floor.
Jimmy has his rifle slung over his left shoulder. His right hand holds his Ruger pistol.
He points it at Nick.
Nick has one just like it in the pocket of his coat. He knows better than to reach for it.
Jimmy looks at Adam Khadduri, slumped dead against the wall.
“What happened here?” he asks. “Who did that?”
“Kelly,” Nick says.
Jimmy spots the zip ties on the floor. “Did Kelly cut him loose first?”
“No,” Nick says. “That was me.”
Molly is up on her knees again. She braces one foot to stand.
“You were gonna let her go too?” Jimmy says.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Nick feels a pressure behind his eyes. His mouth tastes sour.
“I had to make a judgment call,” he says.
Molly is standing now. Jimmy shifts his pistol suddenly and fires into the floor at her feet. She backs away from him.
“What was your judgment?” Jimmy asks, turning back to Nick.
“I thought with the cops here it didn’t make sense to play this out,” Nick says. “We couldn’t win.”
“Huh,” Jimmy says. His eyes have that lifeless look they get. Unreadable. “Did Kelly share your opinion?” he asks.
“No.” Nick says.
“Where is he?”
Nick nods at the railing of the loft, and Jimmy steps over and glances down.
“You did that?” Jimmy says.
“Yes.”
“Killed my cousin?”
“It seemed like the right thing at the time.”
“Why?”
Nick shrugs. “He aimed his gun at me. It was a charged situation.”
There’s a change in Jimmy’s eyes. A spark. He smiles.
“I told you he was a hothead,” Jimmy says, raising his pistol to aim it at Nick’s face. “I warned you.”
“That’s true,” Nick says. “You did.” He closes his eyes, but it seems wrong. He opens them and looks at the muzzle of the gun, at Jimmy’s finger on the trigger. The finger starts to squeeze, and Nick braces himself.
Off to the side, Molly takes a step toward the stairs.
Jimmy whips the gun around to stop her.
“Don’t,” he says.
She freezes, then backs up against the wall.
In that moment of distraction, Nick draws his pistol from his pocket, and the draw is smooth as silk. A thing of beauty.
When Jimmy turns around again, Nick trains the gun on his forehead. The look on Jimmy’s face is not what he expected. It’s not angry. It’s impressed. Almost pleased.
Jimmy laughs. “Do you want to shoot me?”
“No,” Nick says. “I want to leave.”
And, somehow, those are the right words. They do the trick. Jimmy lowers his gun slowly and steps aside.
“Go ahead,” he says. “I don’t need you anymore.”
Sean Tennant
It’s fifty yards from the car to the eastern end of closest bunkhouse. Sean covers the distance at a sprint with his head down. The cylinder seals rattle like marbles in his backpack.
No one shoots at him.
He cuts through the space between the first pair of bunkhouses, running through wild gr
ass, and reaches the second pair. He braces himself for a moment against a wall of charred wood. The smell of the burning lingers, like smoke from a long-ago fire.
One more sprint and Sean reaches the last pair of buildings. Call them bunkhouse five and bunkhouse six. He turns the corner of bunkhouse five, and what he sees surprises him, though it shouldn’t. It’s the black SUV, the one Khadduri’s men used to abduct Molly in Knoxville.
There’s another car behind bunkhouse six. A gray Cadillac.
Both vehicles are empty.
From here Sean can see the side of the chapel, forty yards away. There are three windows of clear glass, each one divided into a dozen small panes. Half the panes are cracked or shattered.
The windows are high on the building. Probably too high for anyone to be looking out. But to be safe Sean retreats to the cover of bunkhouse five.
Standing with his back against the bunkhouse wall, he hears Cole’s voice.
“Someone’s nervous,” it says.
Sean mutters his reply. “Not now.”
“Happens to everybody,” Cole says. “Take a minute to gather yourself, and then let’s go.”
Sean smiles. “What are you gonna do?”
“Moral support. But you won’t need me. Look at you, all tricked out like a commando.”
Sean is wearing Garza’s Kevlar. He touches it, feels the rough texture beneath his fingertips. As he was about to leave, Garza told him to wait. Sean thought there might be trouble, but Garza only wanted to offer him the vest.
“Brothers in arms,” Cole says. “We all have to stick together.”
Sean has his windbreaker on over the vest, and his shoulder rig under the windbreaker. He draws out his Glock, checks that there’s a round in the chamber.
He’s got fifteen rounds in the magazine. In his pocket there’s another full mag, plus a dozen loose bullets. All the ammo he’s had with him since Houston.
“Should have picked up more along the way,” Cole says.
It’s too late now. Sean readies himself to leave the cover of the bunkhouse and cross the last distance to the chapel. But before he takes a single step he hears an unexpected sound.
An electronic double chirp.
The sound of someone unlocking the doors of the SUV.
Nick Ensen
The whole time walking away from the chapel, Nick feels an itch on the back of his neck, as if there are bugs crawling over his skin.
He knows what it is. He doesn’t believe Jimmy’s really going to let him go. He’s waiting to get shot.
He thumbs the key fob of the SUV, walks up to the driver’s door, and tugs it open.
A ridiculous feeling of joy washes over him. It makes him tremble. He drops the key.
When he gets down on one knee to retrieve it, he feels a hard touch of metal on the back of his skull.
“If you move,” a voice says, “I’ll blast your head off.”
Sean Tennant
“I’m not part of this,” the kid says.
Sean pats him down. Awkwardly, left-handed. He finds a gun and slips it into the pocket of his windbreaker.
“Do you have any other weapons?” he asks.
“No,” the kid says. “I swear.”
Sean hauls him up by the collar. Turns him so he can see his face. Pushes him against the SUV.
“What’s your name?”
“Nick.”
“Well, Nick, I know you’re part of this. The stitches on your cheek give you away. You were at the ranch in Montana.”
“That was a mistake.”
“You’re right. It was.”
“I tried to help her.”
“Molly?” Sean says. “You attacked her.”
“I mean today. I tried to help her today.”
Sean nods in the direction of the chapel. “Is she in there?” he asks. “Is she still alive?”
“Yes.”
“Who else is in there? Khadduri?”
The kid looks away. “Khadduri’s dead.”
It’s a simple declaration, but it catches Sean off guard.
“What about his men?”
“They’re dead too.”
Sean shakes the kid by the collar. “You’re telling me the guys who were in Knoxville, the ones who were driving this car—”
“Clinton and Reed,” Nick says. “They’re dead.”
Sean’s eyes narrow. “Then who’s in the chapel?”
“Just Jimmy.”
The name doesn’t register at first. Sean can’t make sense of it. When he does, it throws him. It’s an unnerving sensation, like falling in a dream. Everything around him is the same as it was before, but he feels unsteady. He leans into Nick to regain his equilibrium. He pushes the muzzle of the Glock into the kid’s chest.
“Don’t screw with me,” he says. “Jimmy’s dead.”
Nick spreads his arms like he’s sorry. “Not yet.”
Sean bears down on the Glock. “I killed him.”
“You’re hurting me,” Nick says. “Ease up. I don’t have a vest. If you shoot me, I won’t get back up again.”
Sean blinks. The air he’s breathing feels suddenly cold. The night at the high school in Tennessee comes rushing through his mind. Firing three shots and seeing Jimmy fall to the ground. Standing at a distance while he died. Not wanting to look.
Sean moves back from Nick and withdraws the Glock. He lets go of the kid’s collar.
Nick looks at him warily. “They’re in the chapel. Her and him and nobody else. I’m done with this. I want to go.”
Sean fades back another step. Pulls things together.
“There’s a cop named Garza and an FBI agent named Massoud,” he says. “You’ll see them on your way out. If you’re smart, you’ll surrender to them.”
Nick runs a palm over his injured cheek. He climbs in behind the wheel of the SUV.
“Nobody ever said I was smart,” he says.
Sean decides not to argue with him. “How far do you think you can get?”
Nick shrugs and turns the key in the ignition. “I guess I’ll find out.”
He closes the door and puts the SUV into drive. Heads toward the chapel, then past it and away. He goes slowly at first, and Sean jogs along beside him, taking advantage of the cover. When the right moment comes, Sean breaks away and runs for the front steps of the chapel.
40
Jimmy Harper
He’s standing near the ruined altar with Molly. The Ruger pistol in his right hand. He left the rifle up in the loft.
They’re waiting together in silence. It’s not exactly a comfortable silence, but it’s not a hostile one either. To Jimmy it seems peaceful.
Molly struggled when he brought her down here. Cursed him. But he put the gun to her head and said he would use it and now she’s calm. She’s staring along the length of what used to be the center aisle. Watching the two carved wooden doors at the chapel’s entrance. Waiting for them to open.
Jimmy has his left arm around her throat, holding her close against him. He can feel her breathing gently. He wonders if she might be resigned to what’s coming.
Sunlight glows in the high windows on either side of them. It falls on chunks of white marble that lie scattered on the floor, remnants of the altar.
Above them, a small brown bird flutters in the rafters.
There’s a squeal of rusted hinges as the doors open at the back of the nave.
Sean is silhouetted in a rectangle of light while he passes through. The doors swing shut behind him.
He walks along the aisle until the three pews block his way and he has to skirt around them. He glances at Kelly’s body and keeps moving.
Jimmy lays the muzzle of the Ruger against a spot just below Molly’s ear.
Sean’s gun is pointed at the floor. He has a backpack in his left hand.
He calls out to Molly: “Are you all right?”
“I’m all right,” she says. “Better now.”
Sean stops when he’s twelve fee
t away. “This is over, Jimmy,” he says. “The police are coming. FBI. This place is going to be overrun.”
“There’s time enough,” Jimmy says, “for what I need to do.”
Sean holds up the backpack. “I’ve got the stones here,” he says. “They’re all I have to offer you. If you take them now, you might get away before anybody comes.”
Jimmy shakes his head. “I told you before: those stones don’t mean anything to me.”
“Then tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want,” Jimmy says. “Drop the backpack on the floor.”
Sean lowers it, then tosses it aside.
Molly tries to pull free, but Jimmy tightens his grip on her.
“There’s a loft behind you,” he says to Sean. “I want you to throw your gun up there.”
“Don’t,” Molly says.
After a moment’s hesitation, Sean turns around and lobs his Glock underhand. It clears the railing and clatters when it lands.
He turns back and shows Jimmy his palms.
“Let her walk out of here,” he says. “I’m begging you.”
There’s a flutter of wings up in the rafters, but Jimmy ignores it. He brushes the muzzle of his Ruger lightly over Molly’s skin.
“When I asked you to stop Cole from joining the army,” he says, “what did you do?”
Sean lowers his eyes. “I’m sorry, Jimmy.”
“And when I told you not to involve him in stealing those stones—”
“I’m sorry.”
“Say it again.”
“I’m sorry.”
Jimmy feels the warmth of the sun coming through the windows, the stillness of the air all around him. He weighs things one last time.
“I believe you,” he says. “But I don’t care.”
He shifts Molly out of the way, turns the Ruger on Sean, and fires four times.
Rafael Garza
The shots sound hollow and far away.
Garza is layering the last of the handkerchiefs on Rachel’s wound when he hears them.
“That’s him,” Rachel says.
“Probably,” says Garza.
“Shooting. Or getting shot.”
