“Keep your distance,” she said, then followed Rachel.
Dryden crossed to the door as it banged shut. He pushed it open and stepped out into the darkness and the cool air of the porch. A mile south, several blocks of the town had become a sea of police and fire response flashers. Tendrils of smoke still rose from the crash site. Closer, the field had cleared entirely of the gas. There was no sign of the two decoys where they’d been lying. There’d been more than enough time for them to wake up and leave, no doubt confused as all hell.
The Malibu was parked and idling in the dooryard, its lights stabbing through the dust it’d kicked up.
Rachel stood at the top of the porch steps. Audrey had descended them and stood five feet out from their base, training the shotgun on the car.
The headlights cut out.
The engine died.
Holly Ferrel shoved open the driver’s door and stood. She ignored Audrey and stared up at Rachel.
Seconds passed.
Holly stood there, saying nothing. Her arms were low at her sides, her posture the embodiment of defenselessness.
Dryden couldn’t read Holly’s thoughts, but he knew what she had to be thinking. It occurred to him that he was watching the most honest apology a person could offer. Words could be bullshit. Thoughts and feelings couldn’t. Holly was just standing there, letting Rachel take it all in. Here’s what’s in my head. Take it for what it is.
Down in front of the steps, Audrey was looking back and forth from Holly to Rachel. She seemed unnerved, and Dryden thought he knew why: Though Audrey could hear everything coming out of Holly’s mind, she could only guess what Rachel might be thinking in response.
To Rachel, Audrey said, “What are you waiting for?”
Rachel didn’t answer.
Dryden moved to the porch rail near the old swing, putting himself ten feet to Rachel’s right. He could see her in profile. Could see her eyes reflecting the distant city light.
They were filmed with tears.
Audrey crossed to the foot of the steps and looked up at the girl. “This is what you wanted. It doesn’t matter if she feels bad. It doesn’t even matter if she means it—that doesn’t undo what she did.”
Rachel made no reply. She didn’t even look down at Audrey. She was staring at Holly, and Holly was staring back.
“Hey,” Audrey said.
Rachel flinched. She blinked away the moisture and looked at Audrey.
“It has to happen,” Audrey said. “You know it. There’s no reason to keep listening to all this.”
For a moment Rachel didn’t respond. Then she took a hard breath and nodded.
Audrey looked relieved. “How do you want to do it?”
Rachel pointed to the shotgun. “Put it in her hands.”
Audrey smiled at the idea. She turned, crossed the dooryard, and shoved the weapon at Holly.
Holly made no move to take it. She continued staring at Rachel, her eyes searching. Begging.
Then they simply went slack.
She turned and took the shotgun from Audrey.
Dryden doubted Holly had ever touched a firearm in her life, but she cradled this one with casual ease. She turned it in the light spill from the house and clicked off the safety, pressed the slide release, and opened the action just enough to see that there was a shell in the chamber. She racked it back shut with authority.
Then she shouldered the weapon, swung it to the side, and blew the top half of Audrey’s head off.
She’d cycled another shell into the chamber by the time the body dropped. She turned toward the steps then and leveled the weapon straight at Rachel.
“No!” Dryden shouted.
Rachel spoke just above a whisper. “It has to end.”
The girl had her eyes closed. She sank to a sitting position on the top step. Drew her knees against herself. Bowed her head.
Holly advanced with the shotgun shouldered and aimed at her.
Dryden crossed to Rachel in two long steps. He dropped himself in front of her, shielding her from the gun’s firing angle.
Holly changed her position in response. She ascended the broad steps along the opposite handrail, keeping the gun out of Dryden’s reach. Its barrel stayed centered on Rachel’s head as she climbed.
It was impossible to keep Rachel shielded from all sides. Dryden settled for simply pulling her against himself, her head to his chest, so that any shot pattern that hit her would also hit him.
“It has to end,” Rachel whispered again. It came out high and cracked, and Dryden felt her body begin shaking with quiet sobs. “I want it to end. I’m sick of it all.”
The shotgun trembled in Holly’s hands but remained leveled.
“Let Holly go, Rachel,” Dryden said softly. “You’re going to be okay now. Audrey and Sandra are both gone.”
Holly was on the plank surface of the porch, the shotgun aimed down at Rachel’s face from three feet away. Dryden saw her snug it tightly into her shoulder.
“Let her go,” he whispered to Rachel. He kissed the top of her head. “It’s already over. Let her go.”