Chapter Fifteen
The wind howled, pelting Max with dirt as he cut a swath through the sagebrush, winding his way toward the back of the house. He could feel a storm rolling in, the sky already blackening to the east. He could smell the approaching rain as the day darkened around him.
He kept low, keeping an eye on the house.
A threadbare ragged curtain blew out one of the windows, snapping in the wind.
Jagged glass edged all but one window that seemed to have miraculously remained.
It was that window that worried him because there was darkness behind it, making him unable to see if Grimes was standing there watching him approach.
Max told himself that the man wasn’t expecting them until after dark. But that didn’t make him any less anxious. Out here in the sage, he was too visible even with the change in light from the storm. Once he got to the house—
He ran the last few yards and pressed his back against the house, listening.
But it was impossible to hear anything inside with the wind and the storm coming in.
Stepping to one side, he reached over and turned the knob.
The back door swung in with a groan, and a rancid smell wafted out, but nothing else happened.
Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe Grimes had lost his touch. Or maybe the man hadn’t arrived yet. He stepped in, moving quickly through the long narrow house, a shotgun house, as they used to call it.
While there was no sign of Grimes or the women he’d taken captive, memories ambushed him at every turn, making his stomach roil. He’d reached the living room and just seen the cut zip ties lying on the floor next to the old radiators when he heard the sound of a vehicle.
As first he thought it was Grimes leaving with Goldie and Josie. But as the roaring grew louder, he realized it was someone coming up the road. Not Cordell, surely he wouldn’t—
He had only a second to make the decision. He ran for the back door as automatic-weapon fire burst across the front of the house. He heard the path of gunfire tear through the house, splintering the old, dried wood and burying itself in the walls.
Max threw himself toward the back door and almost made it. He felt the bullet rip through his side in searing pain. He was hit! He crashed out the back door and started to turn toward where he’d left Cordell.
But as the gunfire continued to ravage the house, all he could do was throw himself down on the ground next to the foundation. As the gunfire continued, decimating every inch of the house, he lay bleeding in the dirt, terrified that he was going to get them all killed.
* * *
Cordell had tried to stay behind as his brother asked—until he heard the roar of the vehicle barreling up the road out of the darkness of the storm.
He’d grabbed the handgun he’d loaded and picked up the rifle before slipping out of the truck. The van sped by so fast, he doubted the driver had even seen the truck parked back in the gully where his brother had left it.
When he heard the gunfire only moments later, he’d taken off at a run after the van. He could still hear it. What he hadn’t heard, though, was any return fire.
His first instinct was to get to find Max, but he knew he stood no chance of getting near the house, not with the van idling outside and Grimes still firing.
His only hope was getting behind the vehicle without being noticed. The sky darkened around him, the wind growing stronger. Running crouched down, he raced toward the back of the van and realized that the shooting had stopped. He half expected the van to take off before he could reach it.
All he could see of the driver was a large dark shape behind the wheel and the black of the AK sticking out the driver’s side window facing the bullet-riddled house.
* * *
When the bombardment of gunfire ended, Max lay still, his weapon drawn.
He wasn’t sure how badly he’d been shot.
His side felt on fire, and he was bleeding badly, that much he knew.
He waited to hear the sound of a van door opening and whoever had been behind the wheel to come make sure he was dead.
Instead, all he could hear was the idling engine.
Sliding over to the edge of the house’s foundation wall, he could see the swath of light from the van’s headlights. Nothing moved through it.
Where was Cordell? He knew his brother. There was no way he had stayed put in the pickup. Max just hoped he didn’t put himself in Grimes’s line of fire. Even as he thought it, he knew Cordell was probably doing just that.
With a curse, he lay back in pain and did what he could to stop the bleeding. He was trapped here. If he tried to run in either direction away from the house, he would be seen by whoever was sitting in that idling van. He figured it was Grimes patiently waiting for him to show his face.
But Max couldn’t stay hidden knowing his brother was out there about to do something. He just didn’t know what.
* * *
Staying low, Cordell ran through the sagebrush half expecting to hear gunfire again and feel the burn of bullets. But as he dropped to the ground again some distance from the van, he heard nothing.
Catching his breath, he knew what he had to do. Max could already be dead. He had no idea where Josie and Goldie were. Maybe in the back of the van. Hopefully, they hadn’t been in the house now full of bullet holes.
Cordell had never wanted to come face-to-face with Roger again.
Now he had no choice. He’d also never wanted to kill another human being.
But then again, Roger Grimes was a monster.
All he could hope was that Max was still alive and that they would be leaving here together with the women they loved.
He broke from his cover and sprinted the last few yards to the van to drop down in the back, hoping he hadn’t been seen.
Another burst of gunfire erupted from the van.
Leaning the rifle against the back of the van, he pulled out the handgun.
He would have to make sure his shots counted as he stayed low and moved along the passenger side of the long vehicle until he was crouched under the passenger side door, noticing that the window was down.
The gunfire had stopped again. He listened, half-afraid Grimes had seen him approach and was sitting behind the wheel waiting for him to stick his head up.
On the count of three, he rose suddenly, raised the gun and fired into the cab of the van at the driver. He quickly dropped back down as a spurt of AK fire erupted and stopped just as quickly. He felt deaf from the close reports of gunfire. He could barely hear the low-idling rumble of the engine.
There was nothing beyond it but silence. It would be just like Roger to be playing possum, waiting with that AK in his big hands, his finger on the trigger.
* * *
Max heard the sound of a handgun, then a blip of gunfire from the AK, then nothing. He waited, expecting to hear the AK fire again. The pain in his side was excruciating but all he could think about was getting to Cordell.
When he didn’t hear any more gunfire, he eased out from behind the house, moving swiftly along the side before he broke into an awkward run toward the back of the idling van. He could feel blood running down his arm, his hand holding his weapon slick with it.
Lightning split the sky open, followed almost at once by thunder.
He felt the first raindrops hit him and for a moment thought Grimes had opened fire again.
Then he saw his brother come around the back of the van, the pistol still in his hand, and noticed his expression.
Cordell looked shocked and physically ill.
Max couldn’t help but think of the night he thought he’d killed Grimes.
Without a word, his brother opened the back of the van. Even in the growing darkness of the storm, he could see that it was empty before Cordell closed the door. “Where are Goldie and Josie?” he said more to himself than to his brother.
“I don’t know.” Cordell sounded like a sleepwalker. “I’d hoped they would be in the van. But neither is Roger.”
“What?” Max thought he must have misheard. “The man behind the wheel wasn’t Roger Grimes?” His voice broke as the pain in his side tried to double him over.
His brother’s eyes widened. “You’re hit!” Cordell swore as he moved his brother’s coat aside to see the blood-soaked clothing beneath. “You need to sit down.” He reached to help but Max shook his head.
“We have to find Grimes. We have to find the women.”
“I think I killed that friend of Roger’s, Dave, the one you told me about who was picked up down in Cheyenne in a van with Florida plates.”
Mind whirling, Max only had an instant to consider what to do.
Cordell seemed out of it and Max feared he was almost too weak to keep standing, let alone fight off Grimes as he heard the sound of another engine start up, then saw headlights flash on and sweep toward them through the rain.
Engine revved, a second van roared toward them.
* * *
Cordell felt dazed. Still, he tried not to let his brother see how shaken he was. He’d just killed a man. It didn’t matter that the man had been trying to kill them. He stuffed the handgun in his waistband, then looked at Max as he heard the other van roaring toward them.
His brother was leaning against the van trying to lift his weapon, clearly hurt much worse than he’d said. Cordell felt as if he were on autopilot as he heard the van coming down the bumpy road, its engine screaming as it rocked toward them.
“Go get him,” Max said and gave up, letting his own weapon drop to the ground. “You can stop him. It’s up to you now.”
Cordell reached for the hunting rifle and moved to the passenger side of the van.
Dave’s van was still running, its headlights cutting through the storm like a signal for Roger to follow.
He laid the rifle over the side mirror and for a moment he was blinded by the headlights of the van racing toward them.