Chapter 27
27
About a mile down the road toward Martha’s farm, a shocking sight brought Gunnar up short. A collection of sawhorses and armed men blocked the road. As they approached, Jared Chilkoot waved at them. Gunnar had never gotten along with Jared, mostly because he was an asshole. But now, with a shotgun in his hands and a power-mad gleam in his eyes, he looked downright menacing.
“Should I stop?” Gunnar murmured. “I can blow through those sawhorses, no problem.”
“They have guns. Yes, you should stop.”
“They’re not going to shoot us. I’m the only mechanic in town.”
She gave a near-hysterical giggle. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that anymore. There could be fifty mechanics at the compound and we wouldn’t even know.”
“Good point.” He slowed to a stop next to Jared and leaned out the driver’s side window. “Hey man, what’s up? We’re just headed back to town.”
In Ruth’s lap, Maisie clucked. Desperate, Ruth made her own squawking sound then cleared her throat, as if a bug had flown into it.
Gunnar worked hard to keep a straight face.
Jared ignored her. “What are you doing out this way?”
“Why is that any business of yours?”
“Trying to keep out anyone who doesn’t belong.”
“We were both born and raised here, Jared. What are you talking about?”
Maisie chirped again, and Ruth masked it with a sneeze this time.
“Are you sick?” Jared took a step back from the window.
“Yes, she’s sick and I’m trying to get her to that new doctor in town,” Gunnar barked. “Got a problem with that?”
Ruth coughed some more, whether to confirm that story or to mask more sounds from Maisie, he wasn’t sure. Either way, it worked. Jared waved them through with an expression of disgust.
As soon as they were well away from the compound, Gunnar let out a breath of relief. Between Maisie’s clucks and Ruth’s ridiculous attempts to cover them up, Gunnar had nearly burst out laughing right in front of Jared, and who knew how that would have ended up. Jared didn’t seem to have much sense of humor.
Ruth let Maisie off her lap. The chicken settled on the floorboards close to her leg and pecked at a crumb.
“Thank you, Gunnar,” she said softly. “Maisie’s my buddy. She makes me remember the good parts of home. And now she’ll never be part of a stew feeding nasty Jared. Also, she’s a good layer,” she added quickly, as if she had to justify the hen’s existence.
“Happy to have her along.”
Ruth beamed at him, then sobered. “Did you see what’s in the trucks?”
“Yup. Equipment I’d never seen before and crates of weapons.”
She nibbled at the edge of a thumbnail. “One thing that the aunties said really stood out. Magda said that the kids are where they need to be. But I have no idea where that is. I only saw Miller, none of the others. I’m really worried about them.”
“I didn’t see any sign of any kids,” said Gunnar, frowning. “It’s definitely different. Every other time I’ve gone out there, a whole gang of them runs up to see who it is.”
“I hope they’re okay.” Ruth felt anxiety knotting her stomach. “No one there really cares that much about the kids, especially Luke. I think he sees them as pawns to control.”
“He’s like a cult leader.”
“Yes, I suppose. Martha said that when we first went to stay with her. She said, ‘what’s going on out there, some kind of cult?’ So I went online and researched cults, and I saw some similarities. But it’s different there now.”
“How so?”
She tipped her head to the side, considering. “Before, he and Naomi had a vision of a future for us. We believed we were working toward something beautiful, complete self-sufficiency, being close to nature. Now, it all feels more hard and cruel. My aunts didn’t used to be so cold. They used to laugh and have fun. By the way, I wonder who those men were talking about when they said ‘the five-foot-eight boss.’ Luke is six-two.”
“That must be the heavy hitter Naomi mentioned.”
“We have our first description.”
When they reached Martha’s farmstead, they quickly realized that no one was home. No Martha, no Sarah, no woofers.
“I think last night might have been the end of the season for the woofers,” Ruth said as she carried Maisie into the chicken coop and set her down with the other hens.
“I’ll keep an eye on these guys,” Gunnar told her. “You go see if anyone’s inside. Maybe they left a message.”
“Okay, but don’t let the hens be mean to Maisie.”
“Never. She’s my girl. Or my girl’s girl.” He grinned at her, and she kissed his cheek before hurrying to the farmstead.
As he watched the chickens peck at the ground, a crawling sensation crept up the back of his neck. He whirled around, but saw no one behind him. Still, the sense of being watched stayed with him, and by the time Ruth emerged with a packed rucksack, he was convinced they weren’t alone.
“I grabbed some snacks and a few other things,” she said. “No one’s around, and there’s no note.”
“We’re being surveilled,” he told her when they were back in the truck. “Someone’s watching us. Act normal,” he added quickly, when she startled.
“Do you think they followed us?”
“No. It’d be hard to get away with that in Firelight Ridge. I think they’re watching Martha’s place.”
She gave a soft gasp and shrank down in the passenger seat. “Why?”
“I don’t know. But let’s get out of here.” He rolled the truck down the drive, that sensation at the back of his neck getting stronger as he went. Then—a flash of something in the woods off to the right.
“Gun,” he yelled to Ruth, pushing her head to her lap at the same time. “Get down!”
He jammed his foot on the accelerator as a burst of dust rose from the gravel about two feet ahead of them. Crouching low over the steering wheel, he zig-zagged across the road, trying to become as unpredictable a target as possible. A bullet hit the road behind them, drawing a shriek from Ruth.
“Just stay down,” he yelled as he floored the accelerator. There was no sign of a vehicle, so whoever was shooting was hidden somewhere in the trees, and if he just kept driving, they’d be out of range soon. Time seemed to warp as he steered the truck from his crunched position behind the wheel, barely able to see the road ahead.
There was a bend in the road, only about fifty yards away. If he could make it there, they’d be home free, out of range, out of sight.
Another crack of a gunshot, and a yell—then silence.
He dared to sit up enough to look in the rearview mirror, just in time to see someone tumbling through the lower branches of a spruce tree. Was someone else here, shooting at the person who’d been shooting at them? Should he stop the truck, go back, render aid, offer thanks, find out what the hell was going on?
No. He kept going. Ruth’s life was in his hands right now, and he wasn’t going to take any chances.
He took the bend on two wheels, metal screeching, and zoomed down the gravel road—which was never meant for speeds like this. As he drove, he kept his ears peeled for more gunshots, but heard nothing more. Another two miles down the road, and he finally felt it was safe to slow down.
“Are you all right?” he asked Ruth as he touched her back to let her know she could sit up. “I think we’re clear.”
“All right?” With her red hair a wild tangle and her face flushed, she scrambled back upright. “No, I’m not all right, I’m furious. Who was that? Did Luke send someone to try to kill us?” She was practically vibrating with rage. Gunnar had never seen her like this. Gone was gentle Ruth; in her place was a righteous avenging angel.
“Well, we did take his hen,” Gunnar said mildly.
A surprised snort burst from her lips, but then she pressed them together, refusing to be amused. “You’re not going to make me laugh about this. Gunnar, someone was shooting at us.”
“ I know. And I’m not trying to laugh at it. I’m pretty shaken up myself.” He lifted a hand from the steering wheel and showed her how much it was trembling. “I’ve never been shot at before, in case you wondered.”
“You really kept your cool.” She put a hand to her heart. “My heart’s still pumping.”
Yes, he had—and he knew who to thank for that. “My father used to run drills with me during sparring sessions. Once he actually set a fire and when smoke came into the room, he pretended to cough so hard that he couldn’t help. I had to handle it on my own. He trained me to think on my feet.”
He scowled at the road up ahead, recreating the sequence of events he’d just witnessed in confusing high-speed. “I think they were just trying to scare us off. They could have hit us, but didn’t. And then someone else shot at the first person. I wonder?—”
“You think it’s your father?”
He glanced over at her, happy to see she was recovering enough to speculate. “Exactly. Or maybe Jim Kelly. He could have been following whoever shot at us.”
“In which case, now they know he’s here. What’s that phrase…he’s blown his cover?”
“Maybe.” Gunnar frowned darkly. “Or maybe they’ll think we shot that guy.”
“I’m not sure that’s any better.” Ruth hugged her arms around herself and shivered.
“Right. First we take their chicken, then?—”
“Stop it!” she said, laughing. “Poor Maisie, she doesn’t deserve to be a punchline. She’s just minding her business, doing her best while—” She broke off with a sudden sob.
He reached over and grabbed her hand. “While everything goes to shit around her?”
Ruth nodded mutely.
“Listen to me, Ruth. My father once said something to me that keeps coming back to me. He said, the bad times are when you really find out what’s important to you. I never really knew what he meant, until now. We’re in this together, okay? You’re…important to me.”
That sounded like just a fraction of what he felt, of what he wanted to say.
“Very important,” he added. Was that really any better? There was more, so much more, but they were hurtling down a gravel road with gunfire in the rearview mirror and mysteries swirling around them. Maybe that was enough for now.