by Kyla Stone
Logan
They came in the middle of the night.
Julio, who was on watch, sounded the alarm. Two short whistles.
Logan woke with a jerk, a quick gasp of air and then he was up and alert, already reaching for the AR-15 at his side.
“Intruders at the gate!” Julio shouted.
“Get your guns!” Ezra ordered, his voice hoarse with sleep. “Get to your stations!”
Everyone was already completely dressed, shoes included. Logan gathered his weapons, ammo bag, canteen, earplugs, and handheld radio, all stashed in the duffle bag beside him on the floor.
The lights were off. He fumbled in his cargo pocket for his penlight and switched it on as he hurried to his station at the front southwestern window. He hunkered down behind the sandbags and rechecked his weapon as Dakota and Eden rushed from the ham radio room, wiping sleep from their eyes.
“Where’s Park?” Dakota asked.
“He hasn’t come back yet,” Julio said.
“What do you mean?” Dakota glanced at her watch. “It’s past midnight!”
“I thought he was just blowing off steam at Haasi’s place.” Julio shrugged helplessly. “He wasn’t dealing with the stress well.”
Park had stayed behind when Logan and Dakota had headed back with Eden. Maki had promised to bring him back later. He’d mumbled something about needing to relax for a while. Logan hadn’t blamed him. The tension and anxiety after six days were nearly overwhelming.
“Too late to worry about him now,” Ezra said. “Eden will have to cover the eastern side at the kitchen window.”
Eden pursed her lips, her eyes wide, but she nodded grimly, her shoulders straight, her head high. She signed I’m fine before gripping the Mossberg tightly in both hands.
She’d be okay. There was a toughness in her beneath that softness—Logan was sure of it.
Julio handed Ezra the handheld monitor that displayed the security camera’s feed at the front gate. Logan left his duffle bag at his station but kept his Glock and joined Ezra, Dakota, and Julio.
Dakota pressed against his side. He felt the tension thrumming through her body, felt the dread thrumming through his own. It physically hurt to be near her. He wanted to hold her close and simultaneously destroy anything that threatened her safety.
The thought of leaving her punched a hole in his chest that left him breathless.
He pushed those thoughts down deep. He couldn’t think like that, couldn’t let in any distractions. He needed to remain focused, every sense on high alert.
Everything else could wait until after tonight.
He concentrated on the monitor. At the gate at the base of the drive, the motion sensor light attached to the tallest pole blared down on five figures dressed in black, with a smaller sixth person in lighter clothing between them.
Though it was difficult to discern physical features from the grainy grayscale pixels, the figure was clear enough.
Julio gasped and crossed himself. “That’s Park! They have Park!”
Logan’s insides went cold and slippery. He swallowed.
Before anyone could react, their radios crackled. The Shepherds must be using Park’s handheld, which was tuned to their frequency.
“Since you’re watching us already,” a male voice said, “why don’t you let us in so we can talk, man-to-man?”
Dakota’s face went bone-white. She pressed her lips together. “That’s Maddox. He’s here.”
“Open the gate,” Maddox said.
“We’re not opening that gate,” Ezra snarled into his radio.
“I have a hostage here who’d like to stay alive. He’s asking—no, begging—that you comply with my request. Open the damn gate.”
Logan cursed.
“We have to do it,” Dakota said, her strained voice rising. “He’s giving us no choice.”
“It’ll compromise our position,” Ezra said. “It gets them too near the cabin.”
Anger washed over Logan, along with a resentful, grudging sort of respect. Maddox Cage wasn’t stupid. He knew his men needed to cross well over a hundred and fifty yards of open ground, where Logan and the others could’ve picked them off easily from their fortified positions.
With a hostage, the Shepherds could cross that deadly space free and clear.
“I’ll give you until the count of three, and then I’m shooting a foot.” The radio cackled
with mirthless laughter. “Let me clarify. I mean Park’s foot, not my own.”
“He could be bluffing,” Julio said, but his voice was hollow. He didn’t believe it himself.
Dakota clenched her jaw. “Maddox Cage doesn’t bluff.”
As if on cue, Maddox reached the count of three. They watched in tense, agonizing silence as Maddox’s grainy figure aimed his pistol. The gunshot cracked through the radio.
Park dropped, writhing.
“His kneecap is next,” Maddox said calmly. “Don’t think he’ll ever walk again after that one. A one-armed, one-legged man. How long do you think he’ll last out here?”
In the background, Park moaned.
Dakota turned to Ezra. “Open it, damn it!”
“If we do this, we’re putting ourselves at greater risk—” Ezra warned.
Dakota shook her head, growing more adamant. “We’ll improvise. We’ll figure it out. We have to.”
“Dakota’s right,” Julio said. “It’s the right thing to do.”
Dakota and Ezra stared at each other for a long moment, communicating things Logan didn’t understand and never would, both of their expressions grim but determined.
If it were up to Logan, he’d side with Ezra, much as he hated it. Park was a nice guy, but that was all.
Dakota was his priority, not Park. He’d let a thousand Parks die bloody deaths before he’d risk her life.
But Dakota wouldn’t. Maybe that’s what made her a better person than he was.
Maybe Ezra was thinking the same thing. Something cracked in his gaze—a glimmer of defeat. Tension deepened the groves in his face. Finally, he relented. With a curse, he dug into his pocket, pulled out a small remote, and jabbed a button.
They watched on the screen as the dented gate swung open.
The figures started up the long driveway. Park sagged between two Shepherds, limping heavily, one foot dragging uselessly behind him.
“Poor kid,” Julio said quietly.
Dakota moved quickly to the window. She pulled a pair of binoculars from the bag slung over her shoulder and peered through the window. “Something’s not right.”
Logan watched her. “What is it?”
“Maddox has five men with him. Only five. That doesn’t make sense. He’ll have more. I know he will.”
“He could be using Park as a distraction,” Logan said, “while a secondary force sneaks up on us from another direction.”
Dakota’s shoulders stiffened. She lowered the binoculars and reached for her rifle. “I think you’re right.”
“People, to your stations,” Ezra ordered. “Remain on high alert. More hostiles could come from the woods on the east or west perimeter, or from the water. Looks like they’re outfitted with automatic weapons. 5.56×45mm NATO rounds, probably. Maybe armor-piercing. Automatic rounds are gonna chew through the walls eventually, ballistic-resistant or not. Take them out before they can focus concentrated fire at us. I’ll be in the sniper’s nest.”
Everyone nodded tightly.
Dakota took the front southeastern window, Eden the kitchen, while Julio took the rear. Ezra lowered the stairs in the hallway and climbed into the attic. With the four gun ports drilled into the roof, Ezra could lend sniper fire in any direction.
Adrenaline surged through Logan’s veins as he moved back to his station at the front of the house. He checked and rechecked his guns, made sure his ammo bag filled with preloaded magazines sat by his side.
Everything was ready, or as ready as it was going to get.
This was it.
His vision sharpened, his senses taking in everything.
The night was windy. The trees stirred restlessly, and no stars were visible behind the thick, dark clouds. In the distance, heat lightning flickered. The faint smell of fried squirrel stew still lingered in the air. Soon it would be dust and bullets and blood.
This was his thing. What he was good at. The only thing he was good at.
Time to make it count.
Not everyone was going to live through the next several hours. Maybe not everyone in this house. If Logan had his way, he’d kill every damn Shepherd in existence before that happened.
For Dakota, he’d kill them all.
58
Eden
Eden watched in growing dread as Park staggered between the Shepherds. They dragged him up the long dirt driveway, three more Shepherds marching behind him, their guns trained on the cabin.
She’d left her post at the kitchen to better see what was happening. She crouched beside Logan at the western living room window, her thighs already starting to twinge in protest, her shotgun lowered.
Logan had pushed her behind him, both of them kneeling, his own focus still laser-centered on the hostiles outside, his rifle balanced against the window frame.
“That’s far enough!” Logan shouted when the Shepherds were twenty yards away. Instead of picking the Shepherds off in the open fields surrounding the house the way
they’d planned, the enemy was right in their midst.
Maddox raised his hand, and his men halted beside him.
Eden stopped breathing. There he was, right in front of her. Maddox. Her brother.
His lean, wiry body sharp as a knife blade, that angular arrogant face, that mocking smile. His features were gaunt from the radiation sickness, his eyes bright and feverish.
The last time she’d seen him, he’d held a knife to her throat.
She felt like he was staring straight at her, could see her through the window, see the dread knotting in her gut, her heart throbbing with fear. Like she was still the scared little girl she used to be.
She wanted to shout at him, to scream as loud as she could, until he was forced to hear her, to pay attention. You aren’t going to win, she whispered in her mind instead, her teeth gritted. Not this time.
Eden forced herself to look away from Maddox and examined the Shepherds with him. They barely squinted against the harsh white light blaring from the sensor lights attached to the cabin’s eaves on all sides. They stood still and ready, the wind whipping their dark clothes, weapons in hand, silent and menacing.
Her heart plummeted. These weren’t the baby-faced boys the Prophet had sent the first time. These were the real Shepherds of Mercy. The chosen ones, the army of God. Strong, well-trained, wearing bullet-proof vests with tactical gear and NV goggles perched on their foreheads, all armed with heavy-duty submachine guns.
The wind rustled the long grass. Along the perimeter of the property, the trees creaked against each other. Somewhere, an owl screeched. Outside the pool of light, darkness crouched, thick and heavy with shadows.
And then she saw it. Park was doing something with his arm. It was slow and subtle, and he was clearly trying to disguise his movement, but she noticed. Her breath caught in her throat.
She needed to tell Dakota, to warn her. But she couldn’t speak a damn word.
Across the cabin, Dakota was focused on her targets outside the window.
Eden whistled softly.
“Not now,” Dakota said.
Eden whistled again. She needed to get her sister’s attention. It was important.
Dakota risked a quick glance at her.
Eden met Dakota’s gaze, took one hand off her gun and jabbed her finger at her own forearm, her eyes widening in emphasis. She signed the letters P-A-R-K.
Dakota shook her head, confusion in her eyes. She looked back at the Shepherds.
Silently, Eden willed Dakota to see what she saw.
Between the hulking Shepherds holding him up, Park slumped, barely hobbling on one foot, his face a sickly yellowish-white. He was bruised and bloodied, his lip split, his jaw already the color of a bruised banana.
His sling was gone, his broken arm in its cast held close to his chest. He held his left arm tight against his chest, too, like he was hugging himself to help with the pain.
“Open the door,” Maddox said loudly.
“Not going to happen!” Dakota shouted back, returning her attention to Maddox.
She was crouched behind the sandbags, the rifle balanced and aimed out the window. “Give us Park, and we’ll let you go with your asses intact.”
Maddox grinned. “Oh, Dakota. How naïve you can be. You think I came all the way here to leave empty-handed?”
A big, thick-necked blond Shepherd pushed forward and seized Park’s arm. His face was broad, his eyes dull with malice. It was Reuben Cage, the Prophet’s own son. He was a vicious bulldog of a man, the kind who enjoyed cruelty but hid it well behind a veil of jokes and jovial, white-toothed smiles.
Eden’s pulse quickened, her mouth going dry.
Between the two of them, Maddox and Reuben would happily kill every person here without blinking.
Reuben pressed the muzzle of his gun against Park’s left temple. “Enough games. Open the damn door or he dies, and we shred your little house with a thousand bullets.”
“Don’t…do it,” Park managed between his split, swollen lips.
Reuben slammed a savage punch into Park’s gut. Park doubled over, groaning. But he was still moving his good arm. There was something there, in his hand. Something Dakota needed to see.
Eden motioned again, trying to get Dakota’s attention.
“What is it?” Logan whispered beside her.
She pointed out the window at Park and pointed to her own hand, trying to mime what she meant, but she only had one free hand with the rifle balanced in the other.
Logan shook his head, baffled.
They didn’t understand her. Frustration built in her chest, mingling with stress, adrenaline, and fear. She’d give almost anything to be able to speak. To save Park, to do something.
Instead, she was absolutely useless. And Park was running out of time.
59
Dakota
Dakota kept her sights on the spot between Maddox’s eyes. She lifted her head and peered through the window, taking in the entire group, trying to see what Eden was telling her.
All the Shepherds were focused on the cabin, their submachine guns trained on the door and windows, except for Reuben, who still had his pistol pressed to Park’s head.
Everything was the same. She saw no new threats, no new opportunities.
“We’ll die before we give you anything,” Logan said.
“You don’t have to die,” Maddox said. “Give us Eden. Give us Dakota. That’s all we want. We’ll leave the rest of you in peace. You have our word.”
Reuben sneered. “If you don’t, we’ll burn this craphole to the ground with all of you inside.”
“Go to hell,” Logan said.
Above them in the attic, Ezra said nothing. He was completely silent, waiting for the right moment to surprise the hell out of them. Dakota knew he was boiling with fury at these hostiles daring to threaten him on his own land.
The old man wanted nothing more than to shoot them all, Park be damned.
He wouldn’t wait for long. The window to save Park was rapidly dwindling. The plan was already shot to hell and the battle hadn’t even started yet.
Eden made another sound, a cluck of her tongue.
Dakota forced herself to scan the Shepherds again, searching for whatever she was missing. Big, burly men. Savage expressions. Weapons aimed, but no fingers on triggers. Not yet.
“I’m not an impatient man,” Maddox said, raising his voice over the
wind, “but I’m running out of patience.”
And then she saw it.
Beside Reuben, Park was moving. He was still half-bent, his hands pulled in close to his chest. At first, she thought he was clutching at his stomach. But he wasn’t.
Something glinted in the light as he straightened and slid an object out of his cast. He gripped it in his good hand. She squinted to make it out—the pocketknife she’d given him. He must’ve hidden it inside his cast before the Shepherds had gotten to him. Smart.
Dakota’s pulse surged. This was what Eden was trying to show her. Park could create a distraction. If they could take advantage of the moment of confusion and simultaneously shoot all five Shepherds without hitting Park…
There was still a chance to get him out of this alive.
“Take Reuben, the bulky blond one. I’ve got Maddox,” she said to Logan in a low, tense voice. “Eden, you’ve got the bearded one on the end. Be ready.”
Logan grunted in response.
For a moment, Park gazed straight at the cabin. He couldn’t see Dakota, not with the sensor lights blaring, but she saw him clearly—his pale round face, his mouth working in a silent cry for help, his eyes desperately pleading.
He was clearly terrified, but he was going to act anyway.
“Screw this.” Reuben clicked the safety off his handgun.
Park flicked the pocketknife open and gripped it in his left hand. Shifting slightly, he thrust the blade into Reuben’s right side just below the bottom edge of the bullet-proof vest.
With a howl of enraged pain, Reuben staggered backward, stumbling against the Shepherd closest to him, both their guns wavering wildly.
Her nerves strung taut, Dakota zeroed in, finding Maddox in her sights. Maddox ducked, already moving. She didn’t have time to aim properly, to exhale, to focus. She squeezed the trigger.
The bullet zinged past Maddox’s head. A miss.
“Kill them!” Park cried. “Just do it!”
Maddox pivoted swiftly. In one smooth movement, he pointed the muzzle at Park’s head and pulled the trigger.
“No!” Dakota screamed.
