Page 21 of So Far Gone

“The signal will be me saying ‘Rhys, get the fucking gun out now.’?”

Kinnick laughed, a nice release for them both. Chuck opened the driver’s-side door and stepped out. Gravel crunched beneath

his feet. Clouds strobed the sun’s harsh light, in and out, then back in.

Between the house and the church was a five-foot hymn board with a badge-shaped sign nailed to it—the sort of thing a different

church might have used to alert believers to the songs being sung during that day’s services. On one side, Chuck read this:

Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day; Nor for the pestilence that walketh

in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday. A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right

hand; but it shall not come nigh thee. Psalm 91: 5–7

“The word of the Lord,” Chuck said. He’d been raised by an occasionally devout, often-exhausted Catholic mother, who stopped

taking her five kids to mass when Chuck was about ten. But such phrases still popped into his head whenever he encountered

religion—or whatever this was. “Peace be with you,” he muttered, and he walked around to the other side of the hymn board

and read this:

Blessing of the Week: When the communist groomers send in the military to control the people, remember this.

The Lord Thy God has His Soldiers in their midst. Top per capita US military enlistees by state: Georgia, South Carolina, Idaho, Alaska, Texas.

Be not afraid, for when the Blue Helmets come across the border to rape and kidnap and kill believers, these brave men touched by the Lord shall fight alongside you.

Chuck let out a deep breath. “Well, okay, then.”

“You just missed them!”

He turned around. A young woman had come out of the chapel. She was maybe twenty-five, freckled, in a long prairie dress,

brown-rimmed glasses, hair tied back in a bun.

Chuck shielded the sun. “Aw, shoot, they’re gone already, huh?”

“Yes, Brother Dean said there might be one more coming. He said to tell you they were training down along the south ridge.”

She pointed the opposite way they’d come in. “He said you could catch up to them down by the fence line. He has his cell if

you want to call him.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that, thanks,” Chuck said. “I’ll call and tell him I’m on my way.” That’s why the gates were open. They were

expecting more toy soldiers. “Did they walk or—”

“No, they took the ATVs. But they left one.” She pointed at the barn, where a red Honda four-wheeler was sitting off by itself.

Then she shielded the sun from her eyes to look at Chuck’s pickup truck. “Wait, are there two of you?”

“Oh, yeah,” Chuck said. “But he can ride on the back. We’ll snuggle.”

The woman looked confused. And then, from behind her, a young face peered out of the chapel door.

The passenger door to Chuck’s pickup opened, and Kinnick jumped out. “Asher!”

The woman turned, just as the little boy stepped out of the chapel, squinted so that he could see better, and said, “Grandpa

Rhys? What are you doing here?” He started moving toward Kinnick. “And where’d you get that shirt?”

The woman looked from the boy to Kinnick and back again. “Did you finish the assignment, Asher?”

“Yes,” he said, “it was very easy.” He didn’t look at his teacher as he spoke. Instead, he walked toward his grandfather,

who met him in the dirt between the truck and the chapel, dropped to his knees, and took the boy in his arms. Chuck could

see him bury his face in the boy’s neck.

Asher pulled back to look at Kinnick. “Is your face okay?”

“It’s fine.”

“What are Glass Animals?”

At first, Kinnick didn’t know what this meant, but then he looked down at the shirt he was wearing. “Oh, right. It’s a band,

apparently,” Kinnick said. “Someone gave me the shirt. Because I didn’t smell very good.”

“Well, it’s cool,” Asher said. “I like the pineapple.”

A girl came out next. “Grandpa Rhys, your eye!” she said. “Are you okay?” She ran toward him.

“I’m fine,” Kinnick said, “I’m good,” and he hugged the girl, too.

They held this embrace, the three of them, Kinnick on his knees, the kids surrounding him, Chuck alternating between resolve

and regret over his own shitty parenting as he watched this little reunion.

“We’re in the middle of Bible lessons,” the young woman in the prairie dress said to Chuck. “Leah, Asher, you need to get

back inside.”

“I have a note from their mother,” Kinnick said, and reached in his back pocket. “I’m taking them home with me.”

Three other children’s faces appeared in the door of the chapel, looking out to see what the commotion was about.

“Can you kids go and get your backpacks?” Kinnick asked.

“I don’t think—” The teacher looked around nervously. “That’s not—”

But Leah and Asher walked past her, and past the other kids, into the chapel.

That’s when, from behind them, the back door to the main house opened. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

Chuck turned. He recognized the pastor he’d met when he’d served papers up here before. At the time he had expected David

Gallen to be a stern figure with one of those Old Testament beards, but Gallen was a small, clean-shaven man with round glasses

and hard-combed hair that looked like it had been parted with a steak knife. In fact, he looked less like a Christian Nationalist

preacher than he did the sort of local insurance agent who wore short sleeves with ties and worked out of a mall.

Kinnick straightened up.

Chuck turned to face Gallen. He took two steps, carefully placing himself between the pastor and Kinnick. “Hello, Pastor,”

Chuck said. “I’m Chuck Littlefield. You might recall, I was up here serving papers last year on a fence line dispute with

your neighbors. Listen, you may not be aware of this, but a couple of your church members knocked my friend around yesterday

and took his grandchildren. We’re taking them back to Spokane as per their mother’s wishes.”

“I see.” The pastor used his index finger to push up the bridge of his glasses. “I was made to understand, by their father,

that Bethany had gone off on another drug binge.” He shook his head. “Such a shame.”

Chuck looked at Kinnick, whose face was knit with worry. “Well.” Chuck turned back to the pastor. “I can assure you, that’s

not the case. Just some good, old-fashioned marital difficulty. Nothing the family can’t handle themselves.”

“Good. I’m glad. I like Bethany very much. Poor, troubled soul. I should’ve reached out to her after her mother passed.” The

pastor smiled and gestured to the house. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t you two come inside. I’ll put on some tea, and we

can talk about this.”

“You know what,” Chuck said, “I feel like we just talked about it.”

The kids came out then, returning to Kinnick’s side with their backpacks.

The pastor gave a disarming smile. He craned his neck to look past Chuck. “Leah. Is this your grandfather?”

“Yes, Pastor Gallen.”

“And you’re comfortable going with him.”

“Yes, sir. Our mom wanted us to stay with him.”

“How about you, Asher?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I see.” He smiled. “Well then. Maybe you kids can ask your grandfather if he’d like to come inside and have a cup of tea

with me. If some of my church members have been disrespectful, I would like to hear more about it. Then we can call your father.

I’m sure we can get this whole thing settled.”

Again, Chuck interrupted. “Like I said, Padre, I think it’s been settled.”

That’s when Chuck heard the whine of a distant engine. Over a dip in the fence, he could see, on the other side of a thick

stand of pines, a dirt trail running along the hill below the Rampart, dust rising from the trees. One of the ATVs must be

returning—probably a mile away but coming fast. The pastor must’ve called them before he came outside. Chuck walked purposefully

to his truck, leaned in the passenger door, and opened the glove box. He took out the gun case.

As he opened it, he turned to Kinnick. “I want you to take the truck.” He set the key fob on the driver’s seat.

“What—”

“I’ll be fine. I’m just gonna talk to these guys. Slow their roll. Buy you a little time.” He got the gun out, popped the

magazine in, and tucked it into the back waistband of his pants. He walked over to Kinnick. “Take the kids and go.”

Kinnick stood there, frozen.

“Rhys.” He spoke quietly but firmly. “Take your goddamn grandkids. I’ll catch up to you later. I promise. Now would you please

go.”

Finally, Kinnick nodded and hurried the kids into Chuck’s pickup. He jumped in the driver’s seat, started it, and began driving toward the gate.

Chuck watched the taillights on his pickup flash once, like a warning, and then his truck passed through the open gate and

turned onto the dirt road leading down the hill.

Strangest thought popped into his head then: two more payments and that truck would be paid off.

Through the same dip in the fence, Chuck could see, below the Rampart, the ATV had cleared the tree line and was coming up

the hill on the other side. Chuck turned back to the pastor. “I don’t suppose you have herbal tea, Padre. I probably shouldn’t

have any more caffeine.”

***

Kinnick drove quickly down the dirt road, Chuck’s pickup truck jostling in the ruts. He tried to go easy, but his adrenaline

was spiking, and he kept thinking the word escape . Asher and Leah were silently double-buckled in the front seat next to him. As he descended the Rampart’s hillock, Kinnick

saw another pickup emerge from the tree line, coming toward them on the narrow road. Rhys slowed and pulled over to the side

to let the other truck pass. The young man driving wore a dim smile underneath a baseball cap. He nodded and waved, Kinnick

nodding and waving back, then watching the truck go by in the dusty rearview mirror. Rhys continued along slowly until he

reached the woods, then stepped on the accelerator.

“Where are we going?” Leah asked.