Tami asked, “How come you never showed us a picture of him before?”
He shrugged. “I never had any. When I left home, I didn’t bring any pictures with me. After all those years, my memory of what he and my mother looked like was kind of fuzzy.”
Easing back onto the couch, he picked up the stack of papers. There was a series of written tutorials. Some of the titles made Hatfield grin. They reminded him of his father’s wish list. All the stuff he had talked about constructing but never had enough money or time for, such as installing an iron stove and adding a filtration system.
He thumbed through the articles, recognizing the words' sharp, unyielding cadence as the way his father talked. By the time he’d reached the end of the tutorial on infrared installation, a smile had landed on his face. It concluded with words heard from the sergeant hundreds of times. Remember guys, if a job’s worth doing…
Hatfield spoke the words out loud. “… it’s worth doing right.”
The den’s door swung open. A young homesteader stuck his head in. “You’re needed, Mr. Hatfield.”
He kissed his wife, hugged his kids, and headed out.
“Go get ‘em, Dad!”
AS THE OTHERS lined up and waited at the back door, Cecil pulled Hatfield aside. “Here’s how we’re going to take care of things. We will take two, maybe three trips there in the Hummer, taking just about all the men we have with us. That means I’m going to need you on car duty.”
“Sure, whatever you want me for, I’m ready.”
“Now, am I correct in understanding that you do not have a military background, son?”
Hatfield hesitated. “Well, that’s true… but I’ve handled several guns at the range—mostly pistols and 45s, but I dealt with a few rifles, including an M-16 a couple of times and—”
Cecil stopped him with a hand. “Okay, well, I can respect that. So what I need you to do for us…” he reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a holstered pistol, and handed it over, “is hang in the rear and hold down a strong backup in case somebody gets past the front line. Can you manage that?”
“I’m sure I can.” That felt like a demotion to Hatfield. But he swallowed his disappointment and tucked the holster away.
“Fantastic. Now, as I said, to the other fellas, if all goes well, there will be no need for combat. Hell, if our timing is good, we won’t need to fire a single shot. It may just be a matter of maintaining a strong presence to frighten away any troublemakers.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“But if the need for combat emerges, I’m going to have to insist you stay to the role I assigned you. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“Great, let’s go take care of business.”
THE EARLIEST PART of the plan worked without flaw. Hatfield drove the first group there, then headed back to the compound as the early arrivals set up formation at the hospital’s front door. The second time through went the same way. By the time he headed back to the compound to pick up the final group, the precision had begun to make the whole thing a little boring after all the build-up in his mind.
Waiting in the Hummer as the last group of five guys left the house, Hatfield heard a murmur build behind him. He turned and saw nothing. But as the guys slipped inside, his antenna remained up. He didn’t move for several seconds.
“Mr. Hatfield, shouldn’t we be on our way by now?”
“Shh!” he demanded.
A loud crash at the compound followed, bringing everyone in the car to alert.
FROM THE MOMENT the Hummer pulled up outside, Nathan had a smile on his face that he couldn’t chisel away. He had a feeling his plan would work out masterfully.
Zan was the first to notice the Hummer. He tapped his boss on the shoulder, and they all got into position. They crouched in hidden corners and squatted behind equipment, waiting in the dark shadows to strike.
They were all armed and prepared. And they had the homesteaders outnumbered. Best of all, they had the information given to them by those three who had fled from the compound. Thanks to those outcasts, they had a basic sense of how the operation was run. Nathan could barely contain his laughter as he saw those camouflaged ducks fly right into their rifle scopes. It was going to be fun.
He also relished the knowledge that these pathetic paramilitary dudes would get an even bigger surprise when they returned to the compound. That was where the real fire was about to be ignited.
16
Seconds after the loud crash at the compound, everybody in the Hummer had sprung outside and crouched into defensive positions. Hatfield crouched behind the open door of the Hummer’s driver’s side, his pistol trained—but on what?
Without leadership, it wasn’t clear what the next move would be. It wasn’t even obvious what they were shooting for. Somebody needed to step up and take charge. They all waited, motionless.
Hatfield gasped to himself, recalling who was inside the place. “My family!”
A voice came from the front porch, amplified by the same source that greeted the Hatfields when they first arrived. But this message was very different: “We’ve got your place, man! It’s ours now! Try to come closer and you’ll regret it!”
No movement from the homesteaders. No words, either.
“Don’t believe me?” the voice asked.
Seconds later, a greasy, tattooed thug emerged holding Tami by the neck, yanking her body out the door and into full view against her efforts at pulling herself free. Another thug came out the door, this one with Justin in his grip. Both kids fought back hard, hair and limbs flailing. Biting, scratching, kicking to be free. But against these muscled-up monsters, there was nowhere to run.
Hatfield stood and crept closer. He quietly addressed the homesteaders. “Hold your fire, guys. But don’t step back. Stay right where you are. Guns up unless I tell you otherwise.”
“Got it,” somebody answered.
“Where’s their mother?” Hatfield demanded. “What have you done to her?”
His son screamed a frenzied answer, “They’re holding her, Dad! They tied her up—”
A thug's hand muffled Justin’s voice. “Shut up!” he yelled.
With hands lifted in surrender, Hatfield slowly approached the fence. “Let the kids go!” he yelled. “If you need a hostage, take me instead!”
The thugs greeted his offer with a round of belly laughs. “Two hostages for one? You think we can’t count?”
“Take all of us if you need to! Whatever you need! Just leave the kids out of it!”
They gave no verbal reply. Instead, Hatfield saw the one holding Tami give a slow and exaggerated shake of his head.
Hatfield took slow steps closer, careful to keep his hands up, his body still. A number of questions raced through his mind in double time. What have they done to Jess? What do they really want? Are the homesteaders returning from the hospital?
Each of those questions bombarded him as he stayed in motion, edging closer at a snail’s pace and hoping they wouldn’t notice it and object. They didn’t at first, so he tried again and again. Soon he was within a few feet of the porch. Not that he was sure what he’d do once there.
Struggling to keep the kids under control, the thugs seemed amused by their efforts to wrangle free. And this amusement distracted them a little. Hatfield wondered if he could use this.
“Keep still, you little shits!” one of them yelled, his amusement fading.
Now only a yard or so away, Hatfield started to lower his hands in slow motion, hoping his body’s position would escape their notice. So far, so good. But he didn’t push his luck, keeping his hands at waist-level. From there, he could reach into his holster and pull his pistol free. It was clear how many shots he could take or how many he would need. But he was close enough to fire from point-blank range, putting his kids in no danger. All he needed now was more distraction.