Standing naked and wounded on the road outside this field, she had known she was going to die. Not of old age, not of some unforeseen event waiting to claim her in a few decades time, but right there and then, bleed to death from wounds inflicted on her by maniacs. The terror had been as potent as the pain and she had looked to the tree, looked to anything that could, to her shocked mind, be compared to a figure of salvation. And she had seen her mother. The tree had held out its arms, beckoning to her, promising a reprieve from the pain in its maternal embrace, and she had tried, wept as the barbed-wire kept her at bay like the restrictions imposed on her by her own lack of faith.
She began to walk. There is something afterward, she repeated in her head. Katy, Daniel and Stu are somewhere else, at peace. It was not yet a conviction, and barring proof of some kind beyond what she had seen here tonight, she doubted she would ever fully believe it. But it was a start, a step forward from pessimism. All that remained was for her to find the same succor.
“What the hell did you do?” Stella asked her husband, daubing the cuts around his broken nose with antiseptic that made him feel as if she were applying it with a heated needle.
“Already told you,” McKindrey said. “I weren’t catchin’ nothin’ down at the creek so I headed up to the far side where the river’s wider. Tried to climb up that steep edge where those Pike boys got themselves drowned few summer’s back, and I fell. Did a real job on my foot.”
“How come you ain’t scratched no place else? That place is full of thorn bushes and stickers.”
McKindrey shook his head, irritated. Not only was Stella being a pain in the ass with her questions, but she was also blocking his view of the TV, so he couldn’t even have that as a distraction. She had bandaged up his foot so heavily he couldn’t fit his boot over it, so instead he’d had her wrap strips of an old shirt around it. It would do for a while and at least he wouldn’t have to be stuck in the house listening to her for God knows how long. He took a long draw of whiskey, felt it numb him and fill his nose with fumes that took the edge off the pain. He was mad as hell, but had reined it in for now. Wouldn’t do to be trying to explain to Stella why he was filled with murderous rage over his own stupidity.
“Oh, damn it to hell anyway,” Stella said now and backed away from him as if afraid he was going to hit her.
He took another sip of whiskey, winced and looked at her. “What’s the matter?”
“You got a call while you was out.”
“So?”
“It were the state police guy from Mason City. Marshall Todd.”
“What did he want?”
“Said he got a call from the sister of that poor girl got herself in trouble down here few months back.”
With great effort, McKindrey sat up, his bandaged foot resting on an old ottoman. “And?”
“And she told him the girl’s on her way back down here. Should already be here as a matter of fact if she’s comin’ at all. Asked if you’d keep an eye out, and bring her in if you can. They’ll have someone here in the mornin’ to help you out. But I can call him and let him know—”
He raised a hand. “No. I’ll take care of it.” And thought, It’s gettin’ to be a good time to retire from this shit.
“How you gonna drive with that foot?”
“Very goddamn carefully,” he said.
-35-
It seemed grimly ironic to Finch that Beau, after practically interrogating him about his willingness to kill children, had been the one to do it first. He watched his friend reach the foot of the mountain, saw through the night vision binoculars the eerie green shape of him raising a hand in the air and signaling that he was going to proceed toward the house. It was also Finch’s cue to head for the tree line and approach from the left side of the valley so they would be coming at the cabin in a pincer movement.
“Last chance,” Beau had said. “If you want to turn back, now’s the time to say it.”
“No,” Finch told him, without pause for thought.
“That kid looked to be about twelve.”
“So what?”
“So are you gonna be able to shoot him if he draws down on you?”
“Beau, he might be a kid, but he’s also a killer. They kill indiscriminately. We’re going to do the same.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I am, and if you’re in this with me, you need to be sure too or you’re the one needs to turn back.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
Up ahead, the cabin looked abandoned. Oddly, at some point a poor attempt had been made to put a slate roof atop it. Now most of the slates were gone. There was one window in the front, but the dirty yellow curtains were drawn, denying them a peek inside.Feeble light showed through cracks in the wooden door.
Finch was surprised that the shot hadn’t drawn the family out of the cabin, or from wherever they were hiding. He’d fully expected to see dark shadows springing up and screaming, armed with axes or knives as they charged at Beau, intent on taking him down for killing one of their kin.
But there was no sign of anyone, and now even Beau had disappeared.
Reminding himself that time was not a luxury he could afford to squander, he kept low and darted to the left, toward the thick crowd of pines, his eyes flitting from one imagined shape to the next, waiting for one of them to break free and come at him. But he made it into the thick of them unchallenged, and paused to catch his breath, the Glock raised in front of him, his body pressed against the trunk of a pine sticky with sap. His breathing sounded like a bellows, and he imagined at any second someone would hear it and come find him. His heart pounded so hard in his chest his whole body vibrated. Let them come, he thought. He shut his mouth, drew short breaths through his nose, felt his limbs quiver with adrenaline. He estimated the distance to the cabin was less than a hundred yards from where he stood, but it would take him longer as he would have to approach it slowly, and with as little noise as possible. The darkness in the field had been nothing compared to the cloying, impenetrable blackness in the woods. He told himself that such poor visibility worked both for and against him. On the one hand, he couldn’t see a damn thing, but then it was unlikely anyone else could either, and he at least had the NV binoculars so he could watch them from a distance if it came to it. It didn’t, however, help at close quarters, and he cursed himself for not instructing Beau to buy night vision goggles. It was an oversight he feared they would pay for. Spotting the child on the mountain had been sheer luck. If he’d stayed down, they’d have missed him, but just as Finch was scanning the peak, he rose, and Beau was off and running.
Too late now, he thought, and said a silent prayer that the luck that had reduced the number of their enemies by one would hold out for a little while longer.
Counting to three in his head, he steeled himself.
Stepped out from behind the tree.
And his legs were torn from under him. He went down fast and hard, twigs and pine needles puncturing his skin, the hand holding the gun bruised by something unyielding beneath the leaves, the other pinned beneath him. Struggling to find his breath, he desperately tried to turn, knowing he would not be able to see his attacker, but willing to take the chance that the shot would find its target.