“That’s Albert Edlin,” Bishop said. “A farmer. He’s hurt.”
Forty yards away, Albert Edlin limped out from behind a stalled blue Toyota. In his seventies, with a bent back and stooped shoulders, he wore dusty jean overalls beneath a ratty red coat.
Liam recognized him as one of the men who’d confronted him at Fall Creek Inn, accusing him of antagonizing the militia.
Corinne Marshall had chewed him out; Edlin had apologized after Liam cut his buddy down to size with a well-timed punch.
For an instant, Liam thought of Rob McPherson, another old man in another town.
Albert Edlin drew closer. He dragged his left foot behind him as he clutched his right arm to his chest. Something about that coat…
Liam squinted, dread coagulating in his gut.
The coat wasn’t red. It was stained with blood.
“Alpha Two is retrieving the old man,” Liam said into his radio. “Provide cover.”
“Copy,” repeated several voices.
“Go get him,” Liam said to Bishop. “We’ll cover you.”
Bishop gestured to Jonas to aid him. The boy slung his rifle across his back as they jogged out onto the road and headed for Edlin. Each got an arm beneath his armpits. They turned and half-carried, half-dragged him behind the blockade.
Liam kept his head on a swivel, checking for the threat they couldn’t see. He motioned to Whitney and Mike Duncan to keep watch while they tended to Edlin, even though two dozen pairs of eyes were already on the road.
Bishop eased Albert Edlin down against a large wooden barrel. Aghast, Quinn and Jonas huddled on either side of him, their faces white.
Edlin took in shallow, rattling gasps. A disconcerting gurgle bubbled up from his chest. Blood leaked from a wound beneath his broken arm. Fresh bruises marred his wrinkled face.
This was no accident. The man had been beaten. More like tortured.
“He needs a hospital,” Jonas said.
Bishop knelt next to Edlin. “We can’t move him. He’s already lost too much blood.”
“Call Lee and Evelyn!” Liam barked. “Get them here now!”
Quinn nodded, already reaching for her radio.
“Why didn’t our scouts warn us?” Jonas asked. “They should have seen him.”
“He turned off Dean’s Hill Road,” Whitney said. “His farm is out on Dean’s Hill, on Range Road. The scouts are further out on Old 31. He’s between us and them.”
Liam retrieved fresh bandages and Quick Clot gauze from the first aid kit in his go-bag and handed them to Bishop.
After unzipping Edlin’s coat and unsnapping his overalls, Bishop tended to the man’s wounds. “Who did this to you?”
“That damn…general.” Blood dribbled from Edlin’s cracked lips. “He sent his goons…they killed Wendy…they killed my wife.”
Liam’s face went hot. A low, terrible fury roiled through him. “How the hell did they get inside the perimeter?”
“Edlin’s farm is outside the town limits,” Bishop said. “Off the major roads. We can’t watch everything.”
As much as he hated it, Bishop was right. Dozens of homesteads and farms sprawled outside Fall Creek itself. The area was too large to protect.
Annette had sent out her teenage runners to warn everyone and suggest they move into the town proper until they could deal with this newest threat.
The farmers were a stubborn bunch; none of them came. Not the Hadleys, Kroger-Myers, the Morrisons, or Chuck Wallace with his hundred acres of vineyards.
There was too much to do to prepare for spring planting. If they didn’t get the farms going, come harvest time, everyone would starve.
They had a point.
“He sent me…as a message…” Edlin mumbled.
“You shouldn’t talk,” Bishop said. “Save your strength.”
Edlin shook his head dully. “I got to…last thing I gotta do.” With a tremendous effort, he raised his head and met Liam’s gaze. “He’s here for you.”
Liam went rigid.
“What do you mean?” Quinn asked in alarm.
“The General says to tell you…to tell you he will spare Fall Creek. But he wants you…” He paused, wheezing, struggling for oxygen. “Twenty-four hours. He’ll give us twenty-four hours to turn you over. Bring you to the Boulevard Inn. If we don’t, he sends in the calvary…five hundred men, a dozen armored vehicles, machine guns...he’s got a Black Hawk, with rockets...”
With growing horror, Liam imagined Fall Creek’s last stand—his friends behind their measly fortifications, trapped and helpless as a volley of targeted artillery came screaming from the sky. They’d be slaughtered in a minute or less.
Quinn straightened and inhaled sharply. She stared at Liam; the blood drained from her face. “Holy mother of—”
“The General said we were terrorists…that we turned against our own government…” Edlin coughed up a mouthful of blood. It leaked down his chin and splattered his gaunt cheeks. “That you murdered his daughter.”
Whitney let out a dismayed whimper. Liam couldn’t take his eyes off Albert Edlin. “What else did he say?”
Edlin’s bruised, shriveled face contorted. He raised his shaky left hand, grasped the lapel of Liam’s jacket, and drew him close. He stank of coppery blood, sour sweat, and impending death.
A blade of fear slid between Liam’s ribs.
He didn’t pull away. “Tell me everything.”
“They shot my wife between the eyes.” His words were gritty and gasping. But his eyes—his rheumy eyes flashed with grief and rage. And hate. “They shot her, Coleman. Because of you. He will raze Fall Creek to the ground…and everyone in it…because of you.”
Spent, Edlin slumped against the barrier. His withered hand fell limp to his side. His papery eyelids fluttered and slipped closed.
Reeling, Liam rocked back on his heels.
The General’s message had come through loud and clear. If he could torture an old farmer, he was capable of anything.
They were facing an enemy with more men and more firepower. This man, this faceless enemy, was worse than Rosamond.
Rosamond had been a knowable quantity. The General, however…
He’d just made this conflict very, very personal.