“And you did that to him?”
“You would have done the same,” she said. Her voice gained strength. “I wasn’t going to give him the chance to trap me again. He’s not the one who really deserves it, though.”
“How many more are there?” said Hunter.
“There were three. I thought they were just going to kill me, but it turns out they were pretty mad at me for causing the accident.”
“What accident?” said Michael. They were never going to get any information from her like this. And she was responsible for so much, he was tempted to leave her dying beside the shed.
“He kept crushing me with rocks,” said Calla. “Over and over again. Then healing me in fire. Said it was poetic justice. Do you understand what that felt like?”
Tyler joined them as they stepped onto the path back to the parking lot. “There were three?” He nodded toward the charred body. “That’s one. The fire marshal killed the other. So there’s one left?”
“Just one. Hunter knows. He remembers.”
Hunter made a disgusted noise. “What the hell are you talking about? I remember that you’re a psychopath who doesn’t mind killing people. I remember how you conned us all into starting a war we wanted no part of. I remember how you said you started a rockslide to kill my dad and my uncle—”
“Yeah, that.” She coughed and it took her a while to catch her breath again. “And let me tell you,” she said—but then she broke off to catch her breath.
“Let me tell you what?” said Michael.
She drew a long breath., “Jay took that rockslide really personally.”
Hunter stopped in the middle of the path. “What did she just say?”
Calla giggled, but it launched a new round of violent coughing. “This—this is why it’s—why it’s funny—”
Hunter jerked her out of Michael’s arms. She stumbled against him and could barely hold herself up. He shook her. “Talk, Calla. What did you just say?”
“I said—”
A gun fired. Calla’s head snapped sideways and blood was spattered all over Hunter’s face and shirt.
Hunter yelled and dropped her.
She was dead. Just like that, she was dead.
“Put down your weapons,” said a male voice. “Now.”
Michael turned, lifting his hands as he did so. A man stood at the junction where the trail split off to the parking lot. In the moonlight, Michael could see him clearly, but it didn’t matter. He could have been any man off the street, maybe late thirties, with lighter hair and dark clothing.
And a gun. Something large, like a rifle—with a red laser sight.
He’d snuck up on them. Even with the man this close, Michael couldn’t feel any threat through the ground. He couldn’t feel anything at all.
Hunter’s breathing was shaky, and his eyes were wide. “It’s okay,” he called. He put his gun on the ground and put his hands up. He didn’t sound frightened or angry now. He sounded . . . awed and a little determined. “It’s okay.”
“It is not okay,” hissed Tyler. “We’re fucked.” His gun didn’t leave his hand.
That red laser sight centered on his chest. “Put the gun down. Now. Three. Two—”
“All right!” Tyler dropped the gun and put his hands up.
“It’s okay!” Hunter yelled again, a little more desperately. “It’s me! You don’t have to shoot them.”
“I know who you are, Hunter.” The man didn’t lower the weapon.
Michael was replaying the last words between Hunter and Calla.
I know you started a rockslide to kill my dad and my uncle.
Yeah. And Jay took that really personally.
Michael remembered the man he’d caught sight of during the restaurant bombing, the victims’ photos where he’d caught the edge of a man’s face, with a flash of sandy blond hair.
Just like Hunter’s.
They’d spent so much time talking about his father’s experiences that Michael almost felt like they should have considered this a possibility.
How would you consider this a possibility? Dead people don’t come back.
“It’s your father,” said Michael. “Isn’t it?”
“No,” said Hunter. “It’s my uncle.”
He looked like a kid greeting a parent after a long business trip. His voice was full of eager longing, so at odds with the specks of blood on his face.
And the fact that his uncle was still pointing a gun in their direction.
“I hate to break it to you,” said Tyler, “but this dude doesn’t seem to care who you are.”
“Quiet,” said the man. He walked toward them, his gun still pointed in their direction.
Hunter stared at him, his eyes widening with each step the man took. “How are you . . . ?” His breath caught. “My dad—is he—?”
“Still dead.” No emotion in that voice.