I reached over my shoulder to touch the rifle on my back, and then slid my hand toward my hip, where I had my CZ 75. It was my favorite handgun—the one I didn’t ever take out of the safe unless I knew I was doing something dangerous. It was what I’d carried in Afghanistan whenever I had a choice, because there was less muzzle flip when you were firing quickly.
I’d grabbed it the moment I had a free second in town. Having it at my hip now made me feel more confident. If something went down, I’d have it out in a second, and whoever was attacking us was going to be sorry.
Henry was carrying his own hunting rifle, a Savage Arms Trophy Hunter that he’d modified with a more accurate scope. It was such a good piece that I’d suggested he keep that rather than taking any of the guns out of the armory. This was the one he was most familiar with, and if we were going into battle, I wanted him carrying something that he knew like the back of his hand.
Yes, it would take longer for him to get it off his back and get it sighted on whatever he was trying to shoot. But that was what my CZ was for.
Between the two of us, we were going to present one hell of a wall of bullets for anyone coming our way. I just hoped it was enough. Hell, I hoped we didn’t have to use the guns at all. I hoped we could get in and get out without anyone knowing a damn thing. I just wasn’t counting on it.
It took another twenty minutes for us to struggle our way to the end of the forest, and the clearing where Randall and his band had decided to set up camp. By that time the sun had reached the peak of its arc and started to descend toward the horizon, and though it hadn’t gone very far—it was only one in the afternoon, after all—I still glanced up with some nervousness.
It got dark early in the evening in this part of Michigan during the winter. I estimated that we only had until 4:30 or 5:00 at the latest, before we were looking at dusk. Given the hour it would probably take us to get back to the bridge, that meant we had two hours here—three, max—before we needed to be on our way.
“Hope someone makes this easy for us,” I murmured, sinking to my knees behind the last tree before the clearing began and peeking around us.
Henry came to a stop behind another tree, and we both stared out into the camp.
We were close enough now that I could see everything without the binoculars, and I ran my gaze quickly over the camp, cataloguing everything I saw and filing it away to think about later. I was really only here to listen to someone. Everything else could wait until we were back in town—and I had Marlon at my disposal for brainstorming.
The camp looked exactly like we had thought, from the other side of the river. Lots and lots of tents, a few outhouses (which seemed peculiar, given how quickly they’d set the place up) and those mysterious sheds, which shouldn’t have been possible. There was the three-sided shed that was housing their armory—which I would look at if we had time—and on the other side of the camp…
Ah. Yes, it turned out that Randall was indeed still preaching over there, the group of men captivated by whatever he was saying.
“Well that makes this easier,” I murmured.
I scouted the route in front of us, finding the most likely road between us and that meeting—including which structures we were going to hide behind—and then looked quickly for any guards.
“Looks like you were right about Randall not seeing the need for guards,” I told Henry. “He didn’t even try to secure his camp. Unbelievable.”
“Told you he wasn’t smart enough to think of it,” Henry replied, the gloating in his voice unmistakable.
I shook my head, though, confused at the lapse. Randall might not be intelligent, but he was crafty. He definitely knew how to take care of himself. And he’d known enough about how to make a nuisance of himself that Marlon had actually left his house to travel with us to Ellis Woods because he wasn’t sure he would be safe alone if Randall came for him.
Randall had to know that we would try something. He didn’t know me well, but he’d come up against me once, and he did know Marlon. Surely he would have guessed that we’d be making a move against him—and sooner rather than later. I just didn’t trust that he wouldn’t have some trap set up on the off chance that we did get close to his camp.
It was too obvious. Too easy. And too easy always made me nervous. It was too easy for a reason.
Still, we didn’t have a lot of time for me to sit around here trying to figure it out. We definitely didn’t have time for me to go back and forth about whether it was safe for us to move forward or not. We had to move forward, and we had to do it quickly.
“Okay, here’s the plan,” I said quietly. “We’re heading for that tent over there”—I pointed to the tent in question, which was about three tents to the right of the one straight in front of us—“and from there, we walk like there’s no problem. Like we’re just some of the guys from the camp. Like we’re definitely not there to do any spying on anyone and get back to town. No one but Randall and his cousins knows us, and even if they do, they won’t know for a fact that we’re not there to join them. If my guess is right, every man has been called to that meeting, which means there shouldn’t be anyone there to see us anyhow, but if you see anyone, you duck behind the nearest tent and get down, got it? If you need to, move around the tent you’re hiding behind and go to another one. And then another, and then another. But always keep an eye on the route we’ve been traveling, because that’s where you’ve got to get back to as soon as it’s safe. We stop at the last tent before the opening where they’re having the meeting. And then we listen like hell and hope he says something helpful quickly. Got that?”
Henry paused, pressed his lips together, and then nodded. “What do we do if we see Randall?”
“We won’t,” I said shortly. “He’s too busy holding that meeting so he can brag to his men about what he’s doing. If that meeting finishes while we’re still in camp—if you hear him stop talking, and the men stop cheering—then we get behind whatever tent is closest and figure out our next step.”
Another pause, then another nod.
I was just about to tell him to start running toward the camp when I heard the safety click on a gun and felt the muzzle come up against the back of my head.
“Randall told me we might see you again. Have to admit that I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to try to sneak up on us. But now I see that he knew you better than I thought he did.”
7
Marlon stared at the forest to the north of the encampment, his heart in his mouth as he waited for John and Henry to appear there. They’d crossed the bridge—he’d checked his watch—forty-five minutes ago, and it was only a mile, max. Granted there’d be deeper snow in that forest. Undisturbed by wind or animals, most likely, especially that close to such a large encampment of men.
But he was sure it shouldn’t have taken them forty-five minutes to make that journey. Even taking into account Henry’s lack of conditioning and them attempting to be careful, they should’ve made better time than that.
Had something happened? Had there been someone hiding in the forest, just waiting for them? Or was John just being cautious? Marlon turned his binoculars back to the camp itself, wondering if there was any additional action there. Any sign of Randall gathering the troops because they’d caught a prisoner. Or a spy.
But there was nothing. Randall was still holding his meeting, and Marlon suspected that he had called every man on deck for it. Whatever he was saying, he would have wanted every member of his tribe to hear it.