Camp Brotherhood
Southern Pines, North Carolina
I rushed to my cousin, Heath, sliding across the hardwood on my knees. He was unconscious, and his breathing was erratic. I turned to Martin Dale. “You’ve got to help him. You don’t want a death on your head. This is my cousin. Call an ambulance.”
Owen Seifert stared at me. “What the fuck was he doing, sneaking around in the woods?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “He was looking for me. He came here with me in case I needed him. He was my emergency contact, and when he didn’t hear from me before dark, he came looking for me.”
Seifert turned to Martin. “What do we do with them?”
Martin paced the cabin. “You fucking... Are you kidding me? This guy is a reporter, and he wants to tell our story. He wants to tell the world what we’re trying to do to support our young men who are under fire by the predators on the left.
What the hell is he going to say now? You’ve beaten the shit out of his cousin, Owen. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Seifert turned to Martin. “What’s wrong with me?
What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re giving an interview to a goddamn reporter while Judith and the team are in DC to kill Sean Fitzpatrick?
Martin, you’ve lost your mind. We’ve been recruiting for years, and we have branches spreading across the country. We don’t need a goddamn reporter.”
Seifert reached behind his back and pulled a pistol, aiming it at Martin Dale and pulling the trigger before he aimed it at Heath and fired, striking him in the head. I screamed until he turned the gun on me.
“Here’s your headline, faggot.” The next thing I knew, he put the gun to his own head and pulled the trigger, blood and brains exploding out the other side.
People were running and shouting as they headed toward the large cabin where Martin lived. I quickly searched through Heath’s clothes until I found his phone. I quickly dialed 9-1-1, grateful it was answered so quickly.
“9-1-1 dispatcher. What’s your emergency?”
“Send ambulances and police to Camp Brotherhood. Suspects are armed and dangerous.”
I hung up and shoved the phone in my pocket before reaching down to touch Heath’s neck. There was no pulse that I could find, and guilt immediately washed over me. It was my fault that my cousin was dead.
“I promise this won’t go unpunished. Thank you for always being there for me. I love you, Heath.”
The door flung open and Art Judge skidded to a stop. “What the fuck—!”
Suddenly, he had a gun and cracked me in the head with it. I heard the sirens in the distance before everything went black.
“Young man, can you hear me?”
My left eye was pulled open and a bright light flashed into my line of sight. When the light moved away, a woman in blue gloves was kneeling next to me. She shone a light in my right eye before whisking it away quickly. “Pupils are reactive. Trooper Riley, he’s awake.”
I tried to reach up and bat that damn light away. My brain was pounding as if someone was beating it like a drum.
When I lifted my right hand to shield the glare, there was the clatter of metal and a flash of silver around my wrist making me realize my hands were cuffed together. I was in handcuffs. The police thought I’d shot my cousin, Martin Dale, and Owen Seifert.
The paramedic helped me sit up, and the trooper squatted. “What’s your name, son?” I noticed little yellow plastic things with numbers scattered around the space, and a gun on the ground next to my knee. That didn’t look good at all.
This had to be the longest fucking day of my life.