Page 151 of The Five Year Lie

Beneath me, the first shooter advances slowly along the wallof the house in the direction of the shed. It’s Bryan Zarkey. Like a snake in the grass, he’s crouching low to stay clear of the windows and Woody. Then he stops and takes a position on his knees. He’s reloading the gun.

“Mama?”

“Close the door and lock it,” I hiss.

Miraculously, he does. I hear the bolt slide into place as I reach for the only weapon I’ve got—a chef’s knife. With a cardboard sheath slipping off the blade.

Beneath me, Zarkey finishes reloading. He raises the gun carefully, aiming again at the corner of the shed, where Jay’s shadow is now moving out of view so achingly slowly that I gag on nothing.

Oh, God.What can I do?

With a quick yank, I pop Jay’s cheap screen out of the frame. Then I brace the rope ladder against the window and heave the rope outside.

Zarkey whips around at the noise.

I’ve bought Jay a few seconds as Zarkey advances toward the ladder instead of firing more shots at Jay. I put the knife blade on the rope and begin to saw back and forth. The first bits of rope immediately begin to fray.

The ropes go taut as Zarkey puts weight on the ladder. I keep cutting. I’m already halfway through the first rope, and I’m hoping Jay doesn’t need much time to regroup.

Then my knife goes thunk against something hard. What the...? I saw frantically, but the rope doesn’t slice through. Instead, I see the glint of metal. There’s a steel cord inside the nylon one.

And just as I’m having this realization, I can already hear Zarkey breathing. He’s advancing quickly toward my open window.

I step back, horrified, and the next few seconds seem to last tenyears. As Zarkey climbs, I close my fist around the handle of the knife. Holding my breath, I flatten myself against the wall as the top of his head appears.

For a terrible moment, I’m paralyzed with fear. He grasps the windowsill and begins to turn his head toward me.

That’s when I come unstuck. I raise my arm overhead. And just as his gaze swings toward mine, I thrust the big knife downward toward the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

He ducks, so it’s not a clean strike. Not even close. But even so, the knife digs into his shoulder through his shirt.

He shrieks, losing his grip on the windowsill and dropping out of view.

I hear his body hit the grass, and then I peer out of the window. But I don’t even get a good look at him, because Woody emerges from a window below, jumping out onto Zarkey’s body and punching him in the head.

Jerking back from the window, I run to the closet and knock on the door. “It’s Mama. Let me in.”

The bolt slides open again, and I fling the door open and crush Buzz into a hug.

“Is my daddy okay?” he whimpers.

I don’t answer, because I don’t want to lie anymore.

Buzz cries. And so do I.

Then I hear sirens.

53

The trauma center in Traverse City is forty miles away.

I’m in the back seat of the Jeep with Buzz, who has finally passed out after two hours of crying.

For a long time we couldn’t come out of the bedroom. The cops took a while to verify that the Zarkeys—both neutralized by Jay and Woody—didn’t have backup waiting in the woods.

So we were still up there when the paramedics ran Jay’s stretcher to the ambulance. There was so much blood. Buzz watched from the window, crying hysterically, and fighting me whenever I tried to pull him away.

With me murmuringI’m sorry, I’m sorryon repeat while I tried to calm him down.