Chapter 36
The second attack came just as the sun was coming up. The first sound was shouting, faint at first, then rising until it filled the square. Mary Anne jerked awake on the clinic floor, her muscles stiff from the night before. The smell of gunpowder still clung to the air.
Suddenly, Hale burst through the door. “They’re back,” he said. “North road.”
Mary Anne was on her feet in an instant. “How many?”
“More than yesterday, and Harlan’s with them.”
“That’s not possible.”
“I saw him,” Hale said. “He’s leading them.”
Rick appeared behind him, rifle in hand. “He’s alive all right. Looks half mad, but he’s the one shouting orders.”
Emily stepped through the doorway. “You’re sure?”
“I’d know that voice anywhere.”
Outside, the shouting grew louder. Through the broken window, Mary Anne could hear it clearly now—the ragged roar of a man preaching through the sound of gunfire.
“The Lord’s wrath falls upon the faithless.” Harlan’s voice carried across the square. “He will cleanse what was stolen in His name.”
“He’s lost his mind,” Emily said.
Hale’s voice was hard. “He had a head start on that.”
Gunfire erupted again. The first bullets struck the outer wall of the clinic, splintering wood. Mary Anne grabbed her med bag and pushed Emily toward the cellar door. Two children huddled in the corner, wide-eyed. Rick threw his shoulder against the door as another volley hit.
“Go,” he shouted. “We’ll hold the front.”
Mary Anne pulled the children toward the cellar stairs.
Emily followed. The air filled with dust as another bullet tore through the window frame.
They reached the steps just as a lantern fell from the shelf above.
It struck the floor and shattered, oil spreading in a gleaming pool. Fire followed quickly.
Emily shoved the children ahead of her, pushing them down the narrow stairs.
The smoke thickened almost immediately, crawling up the walls in dark waves.
Mary Anne grabbed a bucket from the corner and threw water over the flames, but it did little more than hiss.
The oil had already spread under the table, the fire climbing fast.
“Get them out,” she yelled. “I’m right behind you.”
A crack sounded overhead. The ceiling groaned. A beam split from the roof and fell sideways, striking Emily across the shoulder. She cried out and crumpled to her knees.
Mary Anne dropped to the floor beside her. The fire was closing in, licking across the wall. She hooked her arms under Emily’s and pulled with everything she had. “Get up,” she said. “Come on, you’re not done yet.”
Emily tried to speak but only managed a gasp.
Mary Anne dragged her toward the cellar steps, her legs sliding through ash and debris.
The children screamed from below. The doorway behind them collapsed in a burst of heat.
Smoke filled the air, choking. Mary Anne couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead.
She pulled Emily down the last steps and into the cellar.
The children reached for her, helping to drag Emily the rest of the way in.
“Stay low,” Mary Anne said. “Don’t breathe too deeply.”
Above them, the fire roared through the clinic. The floorboards glowed red. The sound of gunfire outside grew sharper. The defenders were fighting in the streets again.
Rick’s voice cut through the noise. “Hold the line. Keep them away from the doors.”
Mary Anne pressed her hand against Emily’s neck. There was a pulse, faint but steady. The children clung to each other, their faces streaked with soot.
One of them whispered, “Is she going to die?”
“No,” Mary Anne said. “Not today.”
She tore the bottom of her sleeve and wrapped it around Emily’s shoulder, where blood was soaking through her shirt.
The wound looked deep, but not fatal. The heat in the cellar grew unbearable.
Ash drifted down from the ceiling. Mary Anne grabbed a metal rod from the corner and pried open the small hatch that led to the alley behind the building.
“Out,” she said. “Go now.”
The children scrambled through the opening and disappeared into the alley.
Mary Anne followed, dragging Emily after her.
Outside, the world was chaos. The street was filled with smoke.
Bodies lay scattered near the barricades.
The air rang with shouting and gunfire. The smell of burned wood filled every breath.
Rick appeared through the haze, rifle in hand. “You’re alive,” he said.
“Barely,” she said. “Emily’s hit.”
He helped her lift Emily to her feet. Together they half-carried, half-dragged her toward the sheriff’s office. They ducked behind a sandbag wall as another shot whined past. The noise was deafening. Hale’s voice carried from somewhere ahead. Mary Anne looked past the wall.
Harlan stood at the far end of the street, shouting scripture between bursts of gunfire. His robe was torn and filthy, his beard matted with soot. He raised a pistol in one hand and a wooden cross in the other. “Return what you stole,” he bellowed. “The Lord’s mercy demands obedience.”
“He’s raving.”
“He’s dangerous,” Mary Anne said.
The militia surged forward behind him, firing as they ran. The defenders answered in kind. The sound was constant, a relentless thunder that made conversation impossible. Mary Anne crouched over Emily, shielding her with her body. Splinters rained down as bullets struck the barricade.
Freddie appeared from the side, shouting to Rick. “They’re pushing from the left.”
“I see them,” Rick shouted back.
Freddie tossed him a fresh clip, and Rick reloaded and fired into the smoke.
One of the raiders fell. Another stumbled and crawled back into cover.
Mary Anne’s heart pounded. The smell of gunpowder mixed with the acrid scent of burning wood.
She forced herself to stay focused, checking Emily’s breathing.
“She needs medical attention,” Rick said.
“I’ll be happy to give it to her, but we need a roof first.”
Hale limped over, rifle still smoking. “They’re losing ground. We can push them back.”
“Do it,” Rick said.
Hale nodded and turned to the others. The defenders moved in small bursts, firing between pieces of cover.
The militia faltered. Some turned and ran.
Harlan screamed at them to hold, waving his cross, but few listened.
Rick stood long enough to take aim. The shot cracked, and Harlan’s pistol flew from his hand.
He dropped to his knees, clutching his hand.
“Now,” Hale shouted.
The defenders surged forward. The remaining militia broke completely, scattering into the hills.
Harlan tried to run but stumbled and fell face-first into the mud.
By the time they reached him, he was on his knees again, muttering prayers through cracked lips.
His eyes were wild, his skin streaked with soot and blood.
Rick grabbed him by the collar and hauled him to his feet. “You’re done,” he said.
Harlan spat. “You can’t stop His will.”
Hale stepped forward. “Your will just cost thirty lives. You’ll answer for that.”
“You think this town can stand without faith? You think you can live without Him?”
Mary Anne stood behind them. “We already are.”
“You brought this on them,” he said. “You made them forget their place.”
“I taught them to survive.”
“Survival is not salvation.”
“Then I’ll take survival,” she said.
Freddie dragged Harlan away, his protests fading into mutters.
The rain returned as the last echoes of gunfire died.
It fell soft and cold, mixing with the smoke that hung over the square.
Mary Anne turned back toward the clinic, or what was left of it.
The upper floor was gone, and the roof had collapsed. The smell of wet ash filled the air.
Rick followed her, his face streaked with soot. “We’ll rebuild it,” he said.
Her eyes were on Emily, lying on a stretcher near the well.
Hale had ordered her moved there once the shooting stopped.
Mary Anne dropped to her knees beside her friend.
Emily’s face was pale, her breathing shallow but steady.
The bandage on her shoulder was soaked through, but the bleeding had stopped.
“She’s alive,” Rick said softly.
Mary Anne nodded. “For now.”
Emily stirred faintly, her eyes flickering open. “Did we win?”
“We’re still here.”
“That’s enough.”
“Rest,” Mary Anne said. “You’re safe.”
Emily’s eyes closed again. Around them, the defenders moved through the wreckage, collecting weapons and tending to the wounded.
The fires hissed under the rain. The square looked like a battlefield, mud and blood blending together until there was no telling them apart.
Hale limped toward her, leaning on his rifle.
Rick wiped his face with a rag. “Harlan’s alive. We need to decide what to do with him.”
“Later,” Hale said. “Right now, we bury our own.”
Rick crouched beside her. “You did well.”
“Not good enough.”
“We’re still breathing. That counts.”
She looked at Emily again. The rain ran down her friend’s face, washing away the soot.
Rick followed her gaze. “He’ll pay for it.”
“He already has. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
The survivors gathered near the well, silent and soaked. The smoke from the burned buildings curled upward, blending with the gray sky. Hale gave quiet orders to move the wounded inside what remained of the sheriff’s office. Freddie and the others obeyed without a word.
Her hands trembled as she adjusted Emily’s bandage again. She lifted her head and met Rick’s eyes. “We’re not dying for him,” she said quietly. “Not for his madness.”