Something struck his back.
Will, stumbling into him.
Kelsey spun about, saw that this next attacker was too close, and jabbed the barrel of the gun into the man’s stomach. He yanked the trigger twice and watched the man skip backward. He’d fired the gun four times. Two bullets left. Strike that. Five times. He’d forgotten the shot in Will’s room. One goddamn bullet left. He hoped like hell there weren’t many more of these hood-wearing motherfuckers skulking about.
Will stared at him, wide-eyed and shaking. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, FUCK!”
“Calm down. We’ve got to leave.”
Will trilled nervous, high-pitched laughter. “Oh, hell yeah. Let’s get moving.”
Kelsey shook his head. “Not yet. Follow me.”
He led the way through the archway this time, leading with the pistol. They rushed down the short hallway and entered Blake Mackeson’s office. Kelsey’s stomach flipped at the sight of Will’s father, who was still duct-taped to the leather chair. His throat had been slit. The gaping wound looked like a second mouth. Kelsey wrenched his gaze away from the hideous tableau and rushed over to the still-open gun cabinet. He shoved shells into his pockets. Then he opened the.38’s cylinder, filled the chambers, and snapped it shut.
He looked at Will.
Will’s gaze was riveted to his dead father. He was sobbing.
Kelsey gripped him by the shoulder and stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the dead man. “We’re going, Will. This sucks. I know. But we’re fucking going.”
He tightened his grip on Will’s shoulder and turned him around, steering him toward the archway. Another hooded figure surged through the opening.
“Goddammit!”
Kelsey shoved Will aside, took aim, and fired.
And missed.
The bullet punched through the throat of yet another hooded man, but Kelsey didn’t see that. He was too consumed with his imminent death. The man he’d missed was fast. And strong. He seized Kelsey’s wrist with one hand, twisting the gun away as he swung his other hand around. A big hunting knife sliced through the air on a precise, direct arc toward Kelsey’s temple.
But the man’s aim faltered.
The air exploded out of him and he bent over at the waist. It took Kelsey a moment to realize that Will had propelled himself headfirst into the man’s midsection. Will was on the floor, dazed by the impact. Kelsey touched the.38’s barrel to the top of the gasping man’s head and pulled the trigger. Blood and brains blew out the back of the man’s head as he toppled backward.
Kelsey extended a hand to Will and helped him to his feet.
“Move!”
They got out of the office in a hurry and made it through the kitchen without encountering any more of the hooded assassins, then left the slaughterhouse that had been Will’s home. As Kelsey fumbled with the keys to his Oldsmobile, the sound of sirens rose in the distance.
“Shit!”
He managed to locate the right key and get the door open. Then he reached across the seat and unlocked the passenger-side door. Will slid into the passenger seat and yanked the door shut. Kelsey got the engine running just as the first flashing lights appeared at the far end of the street. Leaving his headlights off, he put the car in gear and backed out onto the street.
A quick glance in the rearview mirror put the closing cruisers at three blocks away.
He shifted gears again, stomped on the gas pedal, and slipped away under the cover of darkness.
For a while, the only sounds were the hiss of tires on asphalt and the receding sirens.
Kelsey finally exhaled. “Fuck. We got away. I don’t believe it.”
Then it came-the hitch in Will’s breath.
He cradled his face in his hands and sobbed for a long time.
Kelsey kept his mouth shut. No words of comfort could possibly be adequate. He kept his eyes on the road and allowed his friend the opportunity to vent his grief.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
They watched television. The late news played like a series of reports from the front lines of some new war. It was crazy. All this shocking news coming out of the formerly sleepy community of Rockville, Tennessee. In addition to the police station massacre-a story that had even made the national news-sketchy reports were coming in of yet another mass killing in Rockville, this one in an affluent neighborhood called Oakdale. One channel showed a live scene from a helicopter-police cars and ambulances with flashing lights jammed the street in front of an opulent home.
Trey groaned. “Jesus.”
Jake glanced sideways at him. “What’s wrong?”
Trey’s face twisted with worry. “I know that house. One of my best friends lives there. Will Mackeson. Fuck.”
Jake watched the footage of sheet-covered bodies on stretchers being loaded into ambulances with increasing dread. The names of the dead hadn’t been released yet, but things didn’t look good for Trey’s friend. One of the reporters said, “According to a police source, there is no one alive in the residence.” The reporter’s permed blonde hair shifted minutely in a stiff evening breeze. “Very grim news, indeed, for a town that’s already endured so much tragedy this evening.”
The brothers flinched when the phone rang. Again. It had been ringing all night, and Jake was tired of answering calls from scoop-hungry reporters. What part of “No comment” didn’t these piranhas understand? This time, he stayed where he was. The ringing continued until the answering machine picked up, and yet another reporter left a message and a string of phone numbers.
Jake pushed a button and the television screen went black. He set the remote on an end table and turned to face Trey, whose limp posture made him resemble a rag doll at the other end of the sofa. Trey’s eyes were red and his eyelids hovered at half-mast.
“Why don’t you go on to bed? You can take Stu’s room. Come on.” He got to his feet. “I’ll show you where everything is. We’ll crash and start dealing with all this shit tomorrow.”
Trey’s posture changed in an instant. He sat up straight and scooted to the edge of the sofa. He stared up at Jake, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. “Not yet, okay? I have to tell you some things. You won’t believe any of it, but please listen. There’s this girl-”
Then some kind of seizure rippled through him, distending his jaw and making his eyes and veins bulge and his body shake. The fit lasted just a moment. All at once, Trey’s limbs stopped jerking and awareness returned to his eyes. As he looked at Jake, his eyes were brimming with tears. “She’s back!” He gave his head several emphatic shakes and wailed like a baby.
Then he screamed.
Jake was scared shitless. What had he just seen? Trey was too coherent for that to have been an actual seizure. Probably it was just a delayed reaction to all the day’s trauma. But was Jake really prepared to care for someone as obviously disturbed as his half brother? He wanted to do it. It felt right to do it. But maybe this was a job for professionals. Maybe the kid should be under observation somewhere for a few days, until his mental condition stabilized. It didn’t sound unreasonable, but just thinking it made Jake feel guilty. He had a duty, a solemn obligation, here. He was all the kid had left.