Chapter 17
By dawn the next morning, the news has spread throughout the county in the way news has spread in small towns for hundreds of years. Neighbor to neighbor. One after another. Until everyone in the area has heard the word.
After so many months of failed attempts, the militia has captured the Silver Wolf.
And the man himself is Cade, the big, quiet woodsman who hangs out in the Pub and fucks Jill who wears the red dress every weekend.
But more news has also traveled at the same time—reaching all the way to the militia’s compound over the river.
All the Silver Wolf’s crew and every local who has been secretly supporting him are gathering on the outskirts of town, preparing to move on the compound, waging war against the militia at last.
Not only to save the Silver Wolf but to kick the militia out of the county for good.
This is not the kind of news that can be kept secret, and as soon as word reaches the militia leaders, they jump into action.
They will not wait around and let their enemies claim their choice of positions in this fight.
They will not be put on the defensive when they’ve been masters of this region for almost a year.
They muster as much of a force as they can at short notice—an impressive army, almost two-thirds of their total number—and they march across the bridge over the river to take the approaching force by surprise.
It’s then, only then, after the compound has been empty of most of its fighters, except the posted guards, that I walk down a gravel road from the west, wearing a cute prairie dress I borrowed from Kelly, my hair in two long braids, and a tote made of basket weave hooked over my shoulder.
The large gate is closed, of course, but there’s a regular-sized door beside it with a knocker.
So I knock on it.
A guard opens the small flap to look out.
“Oh, hi there, sir,” I say in my sweetest, most harmless voice. “Do you think you can help me? My daddy died, and I’m alone. I heard there’re strong men here who can help me?”
“Hold on,” the guard says curtly.
My heart is pounding so loud I’m afraid they can hear it from inside. I stand in front of the door, clutching the strap of my bag.
This is insanity.
I can’t believe I’m actually doing it.
But Pete put together most of our plan for this morning, and he used to be a college history professor. He knows battle strategy—ancient and modern—and he knows human nature. He’s sure this will work, and if it doesn’t, we have a backup plan.
And another backup plan if the first one falls through.
So here I am. With my dress and braids and fucking basket. Just a sweet, harmless girl who’d never dreamed of fighting back.
After a minute, the regular-sized door opens, and I’m greeted by two men with weapons drawn.
“You can come in, honey,” one of them says, stepping aside and gesturing me through the doorway. “It isn’t safe out there for a little thing like you.”
“I know. I’ve been so, so scared. Thank you for helping. Y’all know how to treat ladies, don’t you? I won’t be taken advantage of here, right? I’m only seventeen.”
“No one’s gonna hurt you.” It’s the first guard who answers. “We’re all gentlemen here.”
I know that look in his eyes. He’s not thinking gentlemanly thoughts.
But it doesn’t matter. I keep beaming up at him and the other one as they take me into the guardhouse.
“We can’t let you all the way in until we search you,” the first one says. “Whatcha got in that basket?”
I offer him my tote without hesitation. “It’s just some clothes and my Bible. Oh, I do have—”
I break off the words when the guard lifts a taser out of my bag.
The taser is Nell’s. She let me borrow it for this.
“What do we have here?” The first guard is obviously hiding laughter.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is that bad? You can have it. I just brought it in case I got caught by bad guys on the road. I don’t even know how to use it. I don’t have to keep it.”
“You can keep it, honey.” The guard hands it back to me, shaking his head as if I’m a kitten who did a funny trick. “Just don’t play around with it. That could really hurt someone.”
“Okay. I promise I won’t play around with it.”
Then I turn on the taser and zap the first guard. And then the second one before he can even figure out what’s happening.
Then I zap another guard who comes running into the guardhouse, evidently having heard the second man cry out as the current hit him.
This taser definitely isn’t a toy. All three men end up on the ground.
I study the controls of the guardhouse for a minute until I figure them out.
Then I open the main gate of the compound.
Cade’s crew isn’t waiting outside of town like the news that spread to the militia said.
His crew and all the locals we could rally are waiting in those woods to the west where I walked over from earlier.
As soon as the main gates open, they make their move.
To get in place in time, we had to crowd into every vehicle we had available and drive down to a crossing farther down the river. Then come from the west, using the woods for cover so we could lie in wait close enough to do this.
From the guardhouse, I watch as pickups and Jeeps and ATVs surge down the road and into the walls of the compound.
When one of the guards starts picking himself up, I zap him again.
As soon as our entire force has gotten through, I close the gate again.
So no one else can get in and take us by surprise.
And no one can get out.
After that, one of Cade’s guys comes into the guardhouse to take my place. He has a gun, so he’s a better choice for manning the gate. I hurry into the main courtyard and find Pete, Rick, and Trevor waiting for me.
“The jail cell is around back,” Trevor says. He has a cousin who was part of the militia for a few months until he got disillusioned and left. But his knowledge of the inside of the compound has come in quite handy.
The four of us start walking and then speed up into a jog. There’s a lot of activity around us. Rick and Trevor shoot a couple of men who make a move toward us. But there’s really not that many fighters left inside the walls.
Most of them were lured out.
The jail is a small freestanding building with barred windows and a barred door. The keys are hanging right there on the wall, so I grab them and unlock the door.
Cade is beat up. Half his face is darkening with bruises, and blood is dried on his skin and staining his clothes. But he must have heard the activity because he’s standing up and trying to see out of one of the windows.
As soon as he sees me step in, he stumbles over and kind of collapses into my arms.
“No time for kissy-face,” Rick says, motioning us back out of the cell with his shotgun.
“I wasn’t kissing him,” I tell him. “He can barely stand up.”
“I’m fine. Some cracked ribs and a fuckload of bruises. What the hell are you guys thinking? You didn’t storm this place on your own, did you?”
“No. We got your crew and everyone else on board for it.” As I talk, I’m helping Cade walk with an arm around his waist. “I told you everyone would step up if they had a chance to get rid of the militia.”
Cade looks awed and still confused and in a lot of pain, but he manages better than I was expecting. We join the others in the courtyard and discover that they’ve already killed or subdued all the remaining guards and any others who tried to fight back.
One of Cade’s crew comes over, visibly relieved to see him alive and on his feet. Watching them talk through the plan in quick, efficient questions and answers, I realize this man must be one of the buddies Cade mentioned. The ones that came from his hometown with him.
I like that he has real friends.
Maybe one day I’ll have the chance to get to know them.
I don’t have time to dwell on that thought because someone calls out from a perch on the wall, saying the militia army are on their way back.
This was inevitable, of course.
It wouldn’t take them long to realize this whole thing was a ruse.
They’re moving fast, rushing back to protect their compound, and they fill the bridge over the river tightly in their eagerness to reach us, to make us pay for this outrage.
But Cade’s father and a few other guys have been busy this whole time, strategically setting explosives.
And when as many of the militiamen are on the bridge as can fit, it’s time.
They blow the bridge.
It’s a huge series of explosions, and the foundations of the bridge crumble one by one. It’s like a movie. Or a video game. It hardly seems real.
But it is. Hundreds of militiamen and all their vehicles go plunging into the river.
“Fucking hell,” Cade breathes out, more of his weight leaning against me. “I wouldn’t’ve missed seeing that for the world.”
Then he slumps limply to the ground.
Cade isn’t dead.
That’s the most important thing.
He passed out from pain or weakness or loss of blood or all the above. But he’s still breathing, and two hours later, he’s in a bed in a private room in the militia compound.
The compound is ours now.
What was left of the force after the bridge blew either fled or were quickly dispatched. The nonfighters inside the walls—including a lot of children—all surrendered without hesitation. And so the whole thing was over before the sun rose more than a small distance above the horizon.
The nurse on his crew bandaged Cade up and said there didn’t seem to be any serious injuries, but I’m worried because—although he’s been in and out of consciousness—he still hasn’t fully woken up.
I’m not sure what’s going on outside this room. I assume everyone is clearing all the rooms and rounding up any surviving militia and organizing themselves. I don’t really care.
I just want Cade to wake up.
I’ve been kneeling on the floor beside his bed, but my knees are getting sore, so I finally squeeze onto the bed beside him, stretching out next to his big, warm body.
I almost lost him. It was touch and go in a very real way.
And I’m brutally aware that if I hadn’t changed my mind on the way inside the Pub last night after Cade was captured, none of this would have happened.
Cade would have died. No one would have ever defied the militia again.
And I’d be fucking customers in the Pub for the rest of my life.
“What’s the matter, angel?”
The hoarse, murmured question surprises me so much I squeak. “Cade?”
“Course it’s me. What’s the matter? You upset?”
“No, I’m not upset. Or my only upset is that you wouldn’t wake up.”
“Oh. Sorry. I feel like crap.”
“Well, you look like crap too, but you’re still alive, I think.”
“I am.” He groans as he props up a little more and opens his eyes. “Being dead wouldn’t hurt this much.”
“No. It wouldn’t.” I stretch up to kiss him very lightly.
“What happened? Got a feeling you saved the day single-handed.”
“No, I didn’t. I told you before. Everyone helped.”
“Did you make the plan?”
“No. Pete did most of it.”
“So tell me why I’m absolutely positive you made this whole thing happen?”
I pause for a minute. Then rather sheepishly tell him the truth. “Well, I was the one who got it going. I saw them capture you. It was my idea to get the message out to rally help from your crew and all the locals. But I definitely didn’t do it alone.”
“You did more than that. Why are you wearing that silly dress and those braids?”
He’s way too clever for his own good.
“You did some sort of damsel-in-distress act to get inside, didn’t you?”
“Maybe.”
He lets out a pained, breathy laugh and cups my face. “If I had more energy, I might have words with you about putting yourself in danger.”
“You can have all the words you want. I did what I had to do. The world wouldn’t change, so I changed it.”
His smile is like the sun coming out from behind gray rain clouds. “Yeah, you did. You’re a fucking angel sent from heaven.” He pulls me down to kiss me again. “But I always knew you were.”