Page 107 of Jensen

These have to be Caudill soldiers. They must have found the wreck and tracked the truck into the gorge. That’s the only thing that makes sense.

Brothers wasn’t fucking around when he said the state was crawling with these motherfuckers. It’s no wonder he’s trying to get rid of them. The way they clocked us immediately and ran us down in the swamp is concerning.

Them finding us here is even more concerning.

I move out, keeping to the front wall as I move to the side. My senses are wide awake, the way they were in the swamp. There arefour men at the barn. I can hear the slight changes in their voices. That puts me between them and their getaway vehicle, unless they have another car hidden somewhere. But I can take them before they get that far.

Gun at the ready, I creep around the west side of the house. To my right, I see their shadows in the pale light of the barn. Yeah, there’s four of them motherfuckers, all in familiar security uniforms.

They’re talking, real low. I wait until they turn their back to the house to make the quick dash to the front side of the barn. Back against the wall, I listen. They’re talking, but it’s so quiet, it takes me a few minutes of listening to realize I was right.

They’re looking for us.

I know it’s a rental, but I’m ripping the license plate off that truck in the morning.

The truck hums from the road. The men are still conversing, not moving off. I start edging back until I can slip through the side opening and into the dark barn. The horses are outside, sleeping. That’s a relief, because Godspeed would be throwing his head, begging for food the second he laid eyes on me.

Their backs are to me. I could take them out with my pistol, but if there are others in that truck, it’ll blow my cover, leaving Della exposed.

I push my gun into the front of my pants, beneath my belt. Moving silently, I leave the shadow of the barn.

“Hey,” I grunt.

They turn, and my instincts kick in. The way they always have. The way Brothers trained them. I close my hands on the nearest man, ripping him back into me, and take his head between my hands. There’s a moment when I see horror on the three men’s faces. Then, I jerk my arms, snapping his neck, and his body falls like a wet rag at my feet.

They raise their guns, but they have the disadvantage of being barely a foot from me. I grab the barrel of the closest AK, jerk the owner forward, and slam my forehead into his nose.

Crunch.

He goes down, and I swing the gun around, whipping the man next to him across the face. The final man has the advantage. He stumbles back as I reach for his gun, pulling it from his body. Then, he spins and takes off running across the yard.

Livid, I take off, overtaking him by the tree just off the porch. He goes down, kicking hard. We both tousle, rolling and grunting until he manages to wriggle out from under me. It’s dark as fuck under the tree, and I can’t see well enough to know what I’m trying to hit.

He starts running at the house this time, taking a pistol from his belt.

Nope, that’s not going to work for me.

Fear is a strong drug, and the second I think of her face to face with that pistol, I’m up and after him. He stumbles on the side steps. I swing and hit his elbow, sending it flying. My fist closes on the front of his shirt. I yank him up, using my head as a battering ram to slam his nose.

Blood pours over us both.

He’s sputtering, begging.

Fist tearing into his shirt, I haul him up to shoulder level and slam his head into the porch railing. It’s the kind of crunch I never get used to, no matter how many times I hear it. Just nasty and grisly. I’m impressed by how well the ancient railing holds up. It must be reinforced by metal.

His head is less lucky. It smashes in at the temple, blood and something thicker seeping out.

I haul him back and slam him into it again for good measure, mostly because I’m pissed. The white railing is deep red in the moonlight. His body slumps, tumbling past me to the dirt. An engine revs in the road at the same moment as a light goes on in the house.

No, no, stay inside, Della.

Heart pounding, I crash in through the front door. She’s standing by the stove in her nightgown. Her face goes white, and she backs up as I burst in, soaked in blood. Swiftly, I move past her, taking up the AK from the counter.

“Caudill soldiers,” I say, keeping my voice even. She’s already scared enough. “You take that revolver and go up into the loft. Do not come down until I say.”

Her lips tremble.

“Della, get your ass up into the loft,” I order.