Chapter Twenty-Nine
Jake had to drive the truck practically at a crawl along the slick, rutted road, one cautious foot at a time. The tires sloshed and slipped in the mud, fishtailing whenever he touched the brakes too hard or tried to accelerate too fast. Twice, the truck dipped dangerously into unseen holes.
The first time, Jake rocked it free by backing up and easing forward, again and again, his jaw clenched so tight it felt like his teeth would crack.
The second time, he and Bobby had to shove it out—in knee-deep cold water.
Mud sucked at his boots, and Jake didn’t want to think about Bobby’s bare feet.
To his little brother’s credit, he didn’t complain.
Jake’s hands trembled as he climbed back behind the wheel, soaked, their breath steaming the window.
Jake turned the defrost on high, and put the heat on for Bobby’s feet.
He didn’t say anything. Neither did Bobby. He wanted to ease Bobby’s worried mind, but didn’t know what to say. His headache pulsed behind his eyes with every bounce and lurch of the truck.
“We’ll get home,” he finally said as they started forward again.
“I know,” Bobby said. And that was it.
Bobby trusted him, and Jake needed to earn that trust by keeping them safe.
He was even more worried about Avery than about the storm they were driving through. Where was she? Was she safe? Would he ever see her again?
The rain had let up just enough for the wipers to smear the windshield into something that resembled visibility.
But as the rain lightened, the wind rose, shrieking through the trees.
Leaves and twigs slapped against the glass.
A chunk of bark bounced off the hood with a loud clank that made Jake’s spine jolt straight and Bobby yelp.
He turned down Hopper Bend—Baldwin’s road—and managed only a quarter mile before the way was blocked.
A massive oak had come down across the road, its limbs sprawled wide, its roots torn up and pointing skyward like claws.
Water gushed in the ditches, brown and fast-moving, impassable.
The tree blocked one ditch, causing the water to pool there and rise, making it impossible to walk through.
He hadn’t been able to go directly home because Whisper Creek had flooded the road; now he couldn’t go what they’d always called the long way, basically a four-mile square.
Now, he had no choice. He threw the truck into reverse and turned around, tires skidding close to the ditch’s edge.
He cursed under his breath, jaw tight. The blocked road meant he would have to go miles out of the way, halfway to Rock Creek Road, then cut across a private stretch of land he knew only by rumor and caution.
The Chisum family owned most of the land Jake would have to cross.
They weren’t always friendly, they were very territorial and mostly kept to themselves.
Rumor was they made their living legally from their cattle, illegally from moonshine.
They didn’t like people coming onto their land, and Jake supposed if they were illegally distilling liquor, that was a reason to be distrustful.
Still, his dad had had a cordial relationship with the patriarch of the family, Wyatt Chisum, who had gone to high school with Jake’s grandfather.
But today he had no alternative if he wanted to be home tonight, and he hoped they would understand.
They were practically neighbors, and they had something in common—neither of them had sold out to Verdacorp.
That had to mean something. And tomorrow, he’d come back and bring a peace offering and an explanation.
Because when they saw the ruts his truck made in their muddy road, they’ll know someone came through and that would make them more distrustful.
When he reached the Chisum’s private lane marked only with a NO TRESPASSING sign, he took a breath and told Bobby to keep his eyes open and be ready to hit the floor.
He turned and drove in. Nervous, but resolute.
The lane was similar to the McKennas’ driveway—packed dirt and gravel.
But this one was thicker, and while his beams reflected water in the fields, the road itself wasn’t flooded.
He braced for headlights, for a shout, a bullet.
The land passed in eerie quiet, fields dark and wet, air heavy with rain.
He could barely see beyond the hood of his truck because sheets of rain continued to fall.
Maybe the Chisums were hunkered down for the night, tending to their own troubles during the storm.
He was mindful of cattle—though he figured their herd would have been moved to the highest area of the property, which was the southern half of their acreage.
Then bright lights came at him from the east, right in his driver’s side window, nearly blinding him. They were so close and he hadn’t seen them approach. They must have driven out here with only their fog lights on or completely blind in order to surprise him.
Dammit. If they made him turn around, there was nowhere he could go.
He slowed to a stop. He made out two pickup trucks with monster tires, each with spotlights over the cab. Now he knew exactly where he was—the end of the driveway that went directly to their house.
Shit, shit, shit. Bobby looked at Jake, eyes wide.
Jake said, “Be calm, sit still.” He kept his hands on the steering wheel.
He saw a man approach his window. He was in a dark gray rain slicker, blending with the dark gray clouds. The man had a handgun, which he used to tap on Jake’s window so hard Jake thought it might break.
It didn’t.
He had two options—bolt or talk. Running would be dumb.
His truck couldn’t compete with those two monster trucks, and he didn’t know this land.
He was heading straight through, but what if others waited on the other end of the road?
What if they started shooting at Jake’s truck? He was trespassing, after all.
He rolled down his window. He was near blinded by the spotlights, but he made out a man in his forties with a long beard and thick mustache, wearing a wide-brimmed, well-worn cowboy hat.
“You’re trespassing, son. Turn around, go back the way you came.”
“I’m Jake McKenna, and—”
“I know who you are. You’re still trespassing. Willfully, I might add. The sign on the road is still up, it’s clear what it says.”
“Yes, sir, it is. And I’m sorry, but this is the only way I can get home. Orchard Lane is flooded to the east, I tried to go down Hopper Road, but an oak fell and blocked it. Rock Creek is flooded, so this is the only way I can get home.”
When the man didn’t immediately say anything, Jake continued, “The Mendozas who live on the other end of Orchard from us, they were held hostage by three robbers who shot Greg Baldwin and his dog last night. Now, those people have my sister and I have to get home to help my mother. I’ll make it up to you as soon as the storm passes.
I’m strong, and I’m good with cattle and horses. ”
The man walked away without saying anything else, went over to one of the trucks. Jake couldn’t see him anymore, nor could he hear what anyone said. His chest grew tight and he wasn’t above begging, but he doubted these people would respect him if he begged.
“What’s happening?” Bobby whispered.
“I don’t know,” Jake admitted. “Just sit still, it’ll be okay.” He hoped.
A full two minutes later, the bearded man returned. “My pa says to let you go through. He says Penny’s pecan pies are the best in Texas, was wondering if you’d ask her to bake a few. Maybe bring her over for a visit, Pa says it’s been a while.”
“They are the best in Texas,” Jake said, not quite believing what this man was saying. “I’m sure she’d be happy to.”
The man nodded once. “We’ll be on the lookout for any strangers out this way. Oh, and call when you plan to bring the pies so we know when to expect y’all. And there’s a gate at the end of this here road. It’s closed with a chain, but it’s not locked. You make sure you close it back up.”
“Yes, sir. I know I don’t have a right to ask a favor, but could you call my house and let my mom know I’m on my way back? We should have been home an hour ago.”
He shook his head. “Phone lines are down. Sorry.”
“That’s okay, thanks, Mr. Chisum.”
“Call me Maverick. I knew your pa. Sorry about his accident.”
Jake nodded, rolled up his window, and drove forward. The trucks stayed where they were until suddenly the lights went off and Jake was again in the dark.
“That was stressful,” Jake said out loud.
“They didn’t seem so bad,” Bobby said. “I think it’s like Grandma says, some peacocks like to strut their feathers more than others, but they’re all just birds.”
Jake laughed, and the tension eased.
Ten minutes later, he was at the end of the private lane. There was in fact a closed gate; Jake braced himself against the wind, unchained it, then drove the truck through. He stopped the truck, went back and closed it exactly how he’d found it, fighting the wind the entire time.
When he got back into the truck, he was more exhausted than before, but the rest of the drive should be easier.
Still, when he crossed into Verdacorp territory, he felt the instant pressure in his chest, anger and tension that he knew wasn’t good, but he couldn’t help it.
Verdacorp had spread its tentacles throughout the valley after their success in the panhandle that made wealthy Mitchell Robinson even richer. Technically, the road wasn’t theirs, it was a county road that went through their property, but Jake still didn’t like being down here.
It was getting darker by the minute. He hadn’t seen the sun all day, but the storm clouds had smothered the light, and there wouldn’t be a visible sunset.
The headlights barely cut into the gloom.
Reflectors mounted on fence posts shimmered in the mist like eyes watching from the brush.
The road looked wider than it was, but Jake knew better—one wrong turn and they’d be in the water-filled ditch.
Still, Bobby hadn’t said a word since Jack had climbed back into the cab after securing the gate.
Jake glanced over. His brother sat stiff in the passenger seat, arms crossed, knuckles white. His silence was worse than his usual chatter. Bobby was holding his fears and worries inside. He saw the dangers of the road just as Jake did.
Then, at the four-way—no signs, just a crossroads of back roads—Jake spotted something glinting in the ditch.
He eased off the gas. Metal. Chrome. A vehicle. He felt Bobby tense and lean forward.
Jake swung the wheel gently and slowed. The beams from the truck hit the ditch just right and his stomach dropped.
It was a red truck, nose buried deep in the water-filled ditch, the passenger side nearly submerged. The floodwater had crept up to the road, rising fast, swirling around the submerged wheels. The current was stronger than it looked.
But that wasn’t what froze Jake’s blood.
The license plate was unmistakable, with the blue-and-white wheelchair printed before the numbers.
The Mendozas’ Dodge truck.
“No,” Jake whispered. “Please, no.”
He jammed the gear into park but left the engine running. The heater blasted, but he already felt cold. He turned to Bobby. “Stay put. Don’t open the door. Don’t get out unless I tell you.”
Bobby didn’t argue. His wide eyes tracked Jake as he pushed the door open and stepped into the storm.
The wind punched him immediately. The air had taken on a chill and the rain drilled sideways into his jacket.
Every step toward the ditch felt like stepping toward the edge of something terrible.
He used his flashlight, its weak beam cutting through the dark.
He had to look, but he didn’t want to see.
The ground sloped down sharply, slick with runoff.
Jake slipped once, slid, caught himself against a tangled mess of brambles.
His boots hit water, then sank. The ditch was deeper than he’d thought—water up to his knees, rushing past his legs with enough force to knock a smaller man off his feet.
And still he went down until he was submerged waist high and the current, churned up by the increasing wind, threatened to sweep him off his feet.
He reached the driver’s-side window. Shined his light inside.
Water filled the cab—up past the seats. Front and rear.
No movement.
He pounded on the glass. Nothing.
Jake’s heart hammered. He looked carefully, searching for a body. Looking for red hair.
Expecting to see his sister.
She wasn’t inside. No one was inside, and he finally let out his breath. It came with a cry of relief.
His sister wasn’t here.
Neither were the people who took her.
He pulled himself back up the embankment, then he lost his footing and slipped again, went under, the water swallowing him so fast he almost didn’t realize what was happening. He burst back up through the surface, coughing and soaked, flashlight clutched in his hand.
Jake pushed back through the water, dragging himself up the bank, every step a struggle. His clothes hung heavy. He trudged back to his truck through ankle-deep water, which covered the road.
He pulled the door open and climbed in, dripping, shivering.
Bobby turned to him, tears streaking his dirt-smeared face.
“Was she—?” His voice cracked.
Jake shook his head. “No one’s inside.”
“But what if she’s out here somewhere? Walking around? Lost? What if she’s hurt? We have to look for her!”
Jake cranked the heat higher. He could barely feel his fingers. “She wasn’t in the water. She got out. She could already be at home.”
“No, she’s not!” Bobby shouted. “Mom would have called on the radio.”
Jake slammed his hand on the steering wheel, not hard, but loud enough to make Bobby flinch. “I know!”
The silence returned, hanging heavily in the cab. Jake sat there, hating himself for yelling at his brother.
He swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
Bobby said, “Me, too.” Then, “I’m scared, Jake.”
“Me, too,” Jake said.
He eased the truck forward, kept the high beams on. Scanning the shoulders. The ditches. The fields.
Looking for Avery. Looking for anything that might give him an idea of where she went, and if she was okay.
He didn’t see his sister.
He didn’t see anything except water and the debris the storm kicked up.