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Thirty-Five

“Dan.”

John has been drifting—almost unconscious—but hearing his son’s name causes him to jerk awake. Where is he? It takes a second to realize that he’s crouched in a pen, weak and trembling, his body braced awkwardly against the post. He looks up the farm in time to see Daniel crumple, like a chimney collapsing, one moment upright, the next gone entirely.

Dust puffs up into the bleary, crisscross streams of light when his body hits the ground.

And then he lies still.

John tries to call out— Daniel! —but he doesn’t have the strength left to speak. All he can do is cling to the post and watch as Craig Aspinall stands over Daniel for a moment, looking down at him. John can see enough of the man’s face to recognize the rage burning there. Aspinall crouches down beside his son, the blackjack in his hand, and John visualizes him bringing that weapon down on Daniel, again and again and—

Do something!

But he can’t.

He has nothing left.

All he can do is watch. Aspinall reaches out with his free hand and turns Daniel’s head, then peers down into his face. It looks like he says something. But even though John can’t make out the words, he has the impression that Aspinall is checking Daniel isn’t dead.

Please , he thinks.

Please, please, please …

Aspinall nods to himself.

He discards the blackjack and picks up something from the ground beside him. John squints, trying to make out what it is—and feels a lurch of horror when he does: a knife, glinting briefly in the light for a second. Then Aspinall stands up, his free hand gripping Daniel’s wrist, and he begins pulling his body down the compound.

Down toward where John is crouching.

Three empty pens between them.

John watches helplessly as Aspinall passes the first, dragging Daniel behind him. Coming closer. He seems so strong, so effortless. It’s horrifying to see his son’s body being pulled across the ground like dead weight, but there’s a deeper sense of horror too—

Past the second pen.

—because John knows that the three of them—Sarah, him, Daniel—are the last remaining victims in Aspinall’s chain. And there’s only one possible reason why Aspinall needs Daniel to be alive. When he kills John and Sarah, he wants Daniel to be aware of what’s happening. He wants him to see and feel every second of it, and—

Past the third pen.

Brace yourself , John tells himself.

You’ll only have one chance.

Aspinall reaches the entrance to his pen. John wants to hold his breath but knows that he’ll faint if he does. All he can do is hope. And Aspinall doesn’t turn his head. He doesn’t care; he doesn’t see. He just keeps going, dragging Daniel behind him, focused on the next pen along. John knows there will only be a second before the man sees the ragged hole in the ground where the post once was. Before he realizes the pen is empty.

He forces himself to his feet.

He only managed to move a little way from his prison before collapsing, and he’s so much weaker now, but he tries to gather some last trace of strength inside himself. Stumbles out of the pen, his vision blurry, the farm off-kilter and turning around him. Aspinall is still holding both the knife and Daniel’s wrist, staring into the next enclosure, caught in that split second between seeing and understanding that offers John his only chance.

Come on, old man. Keep going.

Aspinall starts to turn—

And John launches himself at him.