Still I heard and saw nothing. I reached the boulder crossing that would take me to the far side of the stream and stepped from the shadows amid a flutter of nerves. Moving from rock to rock over the dark water, my legs quavered and I held my arms straight out. Balancing in the moonlight like that made me feel obvious. Laid bare.
But I reached the other side. From there it happened swiftly, a clattering downfall, like the clipping of an angel’s wings. First, I heard a noise. It sounded like a grunt. Only I couldn’t tell where it had come from. Or how far away it was.
I stumbled forward, tripping on rocks—that pebbly shore. The tent and the campfire were straight ahead, I knew that, and I followed the scent of burning wood, the pungent smoke. Reaching the edge of the shoreline and stepping into meadow grass I was able to walk faster. Dew gathered on my ankles. The glow of flashlights came into view. Or what I thought must be flashlights: shining orbs in the night, all moving erratically.
I started to run.
That’s when I heard the first gunshot. Followed quickly by a second.
“Fuck!” A third gunshot rang out, a sharp bang, echoing off the canyon walls so loudly it was as if the earth were being split in two. My flight response took over and I ran on instinct, desperately, veering sharply from the campsite and heading back down the gorge, before turning into the shadowed woods to seek shelter.
I pulled up as I swept beneath the trees, into darkness. Gripping the needled branches of a crooked sapling with one hand, I bent over, clawing my lungs and gasping for air. My legs shook and my chest heaved.
“Ben!” a voice hissed. “Ben! Over here!”
I yelped in terror, shying sharply to my left before whirling like a top and straining to see who was talking to me. Relief flooded my veins. It was Shelby and Clay. They were crouched in the underbrush not five yards from where I stood and both were waving frantically at me.
More flight. I bolted toward them, diving into the brush and crawling as close as I could. I huddled against their warmth. “What the hell is happening?”
Shelby squeezed my arm. Clay opened his mouth to answer.
That was when the screaming began.
—
It was a woman’s voice. Or a girl’s. That was all I could tell. The screaming went on and on, piercing the night and scraping my soul. A whole symphony of anguish. Was it Rose? My Rose? I lunged forward, driven to do something.
Shelby grabbed for my ankle, holding me back. “You can’t go down there!”
“Someone has to! Don’t you hear that?”
“They have guns! They’re shooting!”
“I know that!”
“Then stop! You’re being stupid! You’ll get killed.”
There was another gunshot right then, making us jump. This was followed by more shouting.
And then silence.
Shelby whimpered. Clay looked like he was going to cry.
“Oh, shit,” I breathed. “Shit. Who’s down there?”
Clay wiped his nose. Then wiped it again. “It’s Dunc, Archie, and Rose. They were going to . . . they weren’t supposed to actually run into anybody. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Arch said their plan was foolproof. They were going to make sure those people were all sleeping before they took anything. No one was supposed to get hurt. Not like this!”
I was dumbfounded. “He thought he could just walk up and take half a million dollars? That they wouldn’t notice? Did he actually believe he was fucking invisible?”
“I don’t know! Don’t yell at me!”
“What are you two doing out here?”
Clay looked at Shelby. “We couldn’t do it. I didn’t really think we’d make it down here in the first place. Then when . . .”
“When what?”
“Archie had a gun, Ben,” Shelby whispered. “A real one!”
My throat tightened. “Yeah. I know.”
“You knew?”
“I saw it earlier today. That’s why I came down here. To keep him from doing anything stupid with it. It’s why Avery’s getting Mr. Howe.”
“She is? Are they here?”
“They’re coming behind me. That’s all I know.”
“We need them now,” Clay whined.
“What about Tomás?” I asked. “Where’s he?”
Shelby shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“What?”
“He’s not here,” Clay said. “He turned back before we even got down here.”
No, he didn’t, I thought. I would’ve passed him.
“Let’s see if we can get closer,” Shelby whispered. “Maybe they’re fine. Maybe they’re doing what they said they would and something else is going on.”
That seemed doubtful, but inaction was impossible. We crept toward the campsite, as quietly as we could. Someone was wheezing, a rattling sound that pricked my nerves and set my heart racing. I assumed it was Clay who was breathing like that, but soon realized I was the one making the noise—my lungs betraying my fear. Shelby, on the other hand, was absolutely silent as she snaked forward, her jaw tense, lips tight, as if she were holding her breath. As if she planned to hold it forever if she had to.
We kept going. There was no fog in the woods, just gloom on all sides and above. It didn’t take long before lights flickered ahead and we heard voices. We inched toward the campsite, following smoke scent like moths to their maker. The fire came into view first, the flames crackling and hot.
Then horror.
26.
TWO MEN STOOD in the clearing. One I recognized: Elvin the Preacher, dressed in all black, a leather jacket and jeans, his thin face sweaty and tense. He paced restlessly while another man, one I hadn’t seen before, aimed a military-style rifle at a group of people who sat on the ground with their hands on their heads.
Hunkered in the shadows, I had to lean forward, stretching my neck to confirm who they were: Archie, Dunc, and Rose. My first reaction was a shaky sort of rapture; Rose wasn’t dead. She wasn’t the one who’d been screaming.
The Preacher swore, throwing something against the rocks circling the campfire. Whatever it was shattered, making him swear again and kick at the dirt. The rage on his face was in sharp contrast to the cool, collected mannerisms I’d found so distasteful when we’d met earlier.
My stomach burned; I wanted my Rose. Shelby pinched my arm and grabbed for Clay’s. She pointed at something that was on the other side of the fire, away from the armed men, but not more than ten feet from where we were.
Clay clasped his hands over his mouth. It was a body, right there in front of us. A woman’s body. Not Maggie—it was the woman I hadn’t spoken to, the one who’d followed Avery and the Preacher down to the water. She lay sprawled on her back in a dark pool of what could only be blood.
Archie yelled something. I couldn’t make out what it was, but I saw his mouth open and his face go red. Beside him, Rose lifted her chin, beautifully defiant in the firelight, while the Preacher stalked over and shouted back, spit flying from his mouth, his body rippling with violence.
“Did Archie shoot that woman?” hissed Clay.
“I don’t know,” Shelby whispered.
“That’s what it looks like,” I said.
Clay fretted. “We need Howe. We need him now.”
I looked at Shelby. She looked back at me.
“What’re we going to do?” she asked.
“Clay,” I said. “Do you think you can make it back across the stream and up to the ridge?”