Chapter 31 #2
Kyle’s lips are turned up when I look back at him. “Like I said, I didn’t have anything else going on.”
I’m crouched in the tree line about a quarter of a mile away from the lower passenger terminus at Bridal Mountain, sweating my ass off. The ski mask covering my face is uncomfortably plastered to my skin, but I can’t risk removing it.
I’ve watched the site for the past three nights, if you include tonight, and I’m running on fumes. But I’m stuck here waiting because Ewan and I need to coordinate our attacks—it’ll make things more confusing, and who knows? Maybe it’ll give that militia rumor legs and distract the ATF.
Ewan found out that the Henley and Montank executives are staying at a hotel in Jansen, half an hour outside of Kalomish. Apparently, every hotel within the town limits was ‘at capacity.’
They haven’t reduced the security at the sites, but fortunately the guard at this one has been spending ninety percent of his time holed up in his truck, which is understandable considering his truck has air conditioning.
And protection from the mosquitoes, I think as another one whines sharply near my ear, despite the fact that I basically bathed in DEET before coming out here.
Unfortunately, the security guard does walk around the site periodically, and he doesn’t do it on any kind of schedule I’ve been able to figure out, which is going to make this riskier than I’d like.
We agreed that three-thirty in the morning was the best time to act, but Ewan has probably already set up the IED beneath the executives’ cars.
He immediately understood the design and didn’t so much as bat an eye when I mentioned that there could be federal charges if we got caught.
He spent more time interrogating me about the storage unit than anything else, and he wasn’t any more satisfied with the explanation that it ‘belongs to a neighbor’ than I am.
I haven’t been able to get any additional details from my dad beyond that, and I’ve tried more than once.
Ewan made a comment about how I’m ‘usually better at finding out stuff like this,’ and I snapped at him that ‘I’ve been a little busy lately.
Plus, dad is already pissed at me. I don’t need to make things worse. ’
Of course, Ewan wanted to know what that meant, and the rest of the conversation has been replaying in my head since then.
Me, telling him I really needed to find some other place to live.
Him, asking me why I don’t just move in with Tre.
Me, explaining that for one, Tre hasn’t asked me, and for two, it’s way too early for that.
Ewan laughed. He spent at least a solid minute laughing.
By the time he finished, he was gasping for air, and there were tears streaming down his face.
He went on to tell me that I’m committing felonies just to try to get Tre out of jail, so saying that it’s too soon to be moving in together was the most asinine thing he’s ever heard.
And I stood there with my mouth hanging open, unable to come up with any response except to mutter again that Tre hasn’t asked me.
Ewan rolled his eyes, and I told him we needed to leave.
But…
It’s been replaying in my head for the past few hours. Tre hasn’t asked, but I don’t know what I’d say if he did because, like usual, Ewan has a point.
I blow out a long breath and then pick up the bag of explosives as I stand. The moon has long since sunk below the horizon, and the night is dark, but I move cautiously anyway, trying to avoid attracting notice as I slowly venture out of the tree line.
It takes almost ten minutes to travel the quarter of a mile from the forest’s edge to the support column that anchors the lower terminus. It’s another ten minutes—thanks to shaky hands—to set up the linear charges around the column and connect the detonating cord.
My dad tried to convince me to use a remote detonator, saying that it was too risky to do this manually, but I insisted it had to be exactly the same as before.
He’s not wrong. It’s insanely risky, and if I’d told him they still had security posted here, he wouldn’t have agreed to do it my way. So I didn’t mention it.
All that’s left to do is unspool the cord and then light it. The truck is far enough away that the security guard should be fine.
Rocks shift beneath my feet as I carefully pick my way across the expanse.
The last thing I need is to twist an ankle in the dark because I wasn’t paying attention.
Getting away is going to be tough enough already.
As soon as the charges detonate, the security guard is going to call the sheriff.
The woods will be crawling with cops well before I’m out of them.
Fortunately, I’ve spent the past few nights walking these trails in the dark.
None of the people they send out will have done the same.
Finally, I reach the end of the spool and turn to check the site. But when I look back, the cab light in the truck is off. It only ever goes off when the guard gets out.
My eyes race over the area, trying to find him. And when I do, he’s standing at the base of the support column, staring at it.
Shit. Shit. Shit shit shit.
“Hey!” I shout, pitching my voice low.
He turns, searching for the source of the noise, and his eyes skate past me. I strike the flint wheel on the lighter, holding it up, and his head jerks toward the light.
Only…
Only the dumbass runs toward me, not back to his truck like I was hoping.
Fuck. Fuck!
I stand there waiting. Like prey.
I can’t move yet, though. I don’t have a choice. The bomb needs to detonate. I can’t risk letting the ATF have access to an intact bomb my dad built. The chances of them being able to gather evidence from it—to trace it back to him—are too high.
So I stand there, allowing the security guard who wants to play the hero to close the distance between us.
I need—
There! He’s far enough away. He has to be far enough.
I hold the flame to the cord, dropping it as soon as it ignites. I rush to the trees.
There’s an echoing boom behind me. I don’t stop running until I reach the tree line. When I do, it’s simply to look back long enough to check that the guard is okay.
He’s frozen, staring at the support column, which is now lying on the ground. Then he turns and begins sprinting toward me again, and I take off deeper into the forest, running at full speed.
I need to get away. It’s five miles to the nearest trailhead, but I can’t go there. It’ll be crawling with cops waiting for me to appear.
No. I have to head for the river. It’s farther—eight miles instead of five—but from there I can trek up to Ewan’s outfitter.