Chapter 59
For a moment, Kori couldn’t move.
She watched as Wyatt walked toward the line of people with his hands raised. Grief and worry pulled taut inside her chest.
She cared about him, she realized. More than she’d let herself acknowledge until this exact moment as she watched him offer himself to a group of armed strangers on a snow-covered logging road in the middle of the mountains.
As she stared at the group, Bartholomew Beekman came into view.
He seemed to be staring right at her.
He’d wanted it to come down to this moment, hadn’t he? He’d wanted vengeance against her since she’d help put him behind bars. She represented everything he hated about the government.
Bartholomew’s arm came up, and he pointed at Kori. “You’re the devil’s child. You’re doing his work. You represent everything I despise.”
Her throat constricted. She didn’t respond. Even if she wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to hear her.
But at once, she was taken back to the courtroom where she’d prosecuted him. He’d had that same defiant look in his eyes then. He hadn’t seemed remorseful at all. He’d justified everything he’d done under the guise of righteousness . . . and he’d let bitterness take root.
Kori had almost done the same. She’d let her hurt become her fortitude. She’d let it become her justification.
Thankfully, she’d seen the light before it was too late.
But she couldn’t say the same for Bartholmew.
His hatred had transformed him into a different person . . . someone willing to kill for the sake of his perceived justice.
As he continued to yell out obscenities at her, Kori pressed her fist against her sternum and forced herself to think.
“What are you going to do?” Mackenzie’s voice trembled as she asked the question.
“I’m trying to figure that out.” She glanced at the gun beside her.
She really didn’t want to use that . . .
Wyatt had instructed her to pull away at the first opening.
Every instinct she had told her he was right. She needed to get the others out. Get Mackenzie out.
But could she really do this? Could she leave Wyatt behind?
The snow had lessened, allowing her to see what was happening.
She watched as he stopped a few yards from the line of people. The men at the front of the group had their weapons raised.
Wyatt stood with his hands in the air, surrendering himself.
Nausea roiled in her stomach.
This had been Wyatt’s plan.
If it was just Kori here, she wouldn’t leave. But she had other people with her who needed help.
She had to think about them . . . even if she felt as if she were dying inside.
Reluctantly, she slipped the gun into the door pocket where she could easily grab it. Then she slid into the driver’s seat. “Everyone get down. Now.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Pete asked, tension pulled taut across his expression.
“There’s no other choice.” Her voice cracked as she said the words. “This is what Wyatt wants. If we let these people take us back to their new compound, they’ll hold us hostage. Even if the feds come in, they won’t give up. We can’t go back.”
Rustling and movement sounded behind her as the others complied. They knew her words were the truth also.
Kori’s eyes never left Wyatt.
Don’t you dare get yourself killed. Don’t you dare.
Wyatt kept his hands raised and his eyes on the men in front of him.
Lord, let Kori listen. Let her get everyone out.
He took another step toward the line of people in front of him.
Then another.
One of the men at the front raised his weapon higher. “Stop there.”
Wyatt stopped.
He let the silence stretch long enough to make sure every eye on the road was on him.
Kori should have had enough time to get into the driver’s seat. With the snow coming down the way it was, he didn’t think anyone would be able to see her do that.
His plan had to work. There was no other choice.
On the mental count of three, he darted toward the tree line.
He hoped to throw these people off enough that Kori could get away.
He ran off the road and into the woods, his boots crashing through the snow. Then he cut through the trees at a full sprint, breathing hard and loud.
Come on. Follow me.
As soon as he hit the trees, he heard the men behind him. Shouts echoed. Footsteps pounded. Bodies shoved through underbrush behind him. At least three of them, maybe four, all moving fast.
He pushed deeper into the woods, weaving between the trees, using the terrain the way he knew how to use it.
Then his boot found ice beneath the snow.
His feet went out from under him before he could catch himself. He hit the ground hard, the impact jarring his whole body.
For a moment he just lay there, the cold pressing against his cheek and the breath knocked clean out of him.
Get up.
He pushed onto his hands and knees. His shoulder throbbed where it had taken the impact first. When he got his feet under him and straightened, his knee sent a sharp complaint up through his leg.
He was moving again before he’d fully registered any of it. But the fall had cost him ground. The nearest man was right there—Wyatt could hear the footsteps, closer than before.
A hand caught the back of his jacket. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Wyatt wrenched free. His arm swung out, and his fist collided with the man’s face.
The impact jarred the man, and he fell back, dazed.
That bought Wyatt a few minutes.
He kept moving.
Each stride sent a dull, insistent ache radiating upward from his knee. He could push through it. He’d pushed through worse.
But the pain was there, and it was slowing him.
He glanced back and saw the man was still on the ground, still dazed.
Perfect.
Wyatt cut hard to the left and spotted a granite outcropping rising out of the snow ahead of him. He pushed toward it, rounded the far side, and pressed his back against the cold rock.
He stayed still and listened.
The footsteps had spread out. He heard the men moving through the trees around him—not right on top of him, but close enough.
He waited until his breath was steady.
Then he angled himself and looked back through a gap in the trees toward the road.
The truck was moving.
Relief spread through him. At least Kori and the others were getting away. That was what mattered.
Then brake lights flared red through the snow.
His stomach dropped.
More figures had rushed in from the sides, cutting across the road in front of the truck and closing the gap. The truck stopped, and Wyatt’s chest tightened.
He could see at least four people surrounding it from where he stood.
He’d hoped that Kori would break through before those men blockaded the road again.
His plan hadn’t worked.
His hands balled into fists, the motion so tight his muscles screamed.
The footsteps in the woods had slowed. He knew the men were regrouping somewhere behind him.
He didn’t have much time.
He needed to loop back around. To get back to Kori and the others.
Then a new sound cut through the trees.
Tires. On gravel and snow.
He went still.
Had The Remnant sent backup?
No . . .
It wasn’t one vehicle, he realized. It was many—the sound layered and steady, coming up the logging road from below.
He pushed off the rock and moved toward the road, ignoring his knee, weaving through the last stretch of trees until he reached a break in the tree line and stopped.
It wasn’t more members of The Remnant.
A column of law enforcement vehicles pushed through the snow, light bars cutting through the gray morning, steady and fast and unmistakable.
Thank You, Jesus.
Shouting erupted across the road. Movement scattered in every direction. Behind him in the woods the footsteps went quiet.
Then he heard bodies crashing through the underbrush, retreating fast.
He stepped from the trees and leaned against the nearest trunk, one hand on the bark, and let his breathing slow.
He watched as members of The Remnant scattered as officers moved to intercept them.
His gaze stopped on his truck.
Everyone inside was okay.
Graham had gotten his message.
Barely, but just in time
Wyatt closed his eyes a moment.
Thank You, Lord. The prayer was three words, but it was everything he had.