Bitter Falls

by Caine, Rachel

  And they’re going to light up that tin can with MP4 rounds, genius. What’s your work-around? I don’t have one. Plan A had better work, because plan B doesn’t exist. Shit. Well, sometimes you just have to work with what you’ve got.

  I make it to a stand of trees that marks the edge of one of the fields and stop for breath, and to check the bandage. In the thin moonlight I can see that there’s a big, dark, wet spot on the white cotton. I’m bleeding, all right. That’s another timer clicking down. Move it, Cade. Now.

  But I have to wait until I get my air back and the world stops spinning, so I stare at the fields. They’re mostly fallow for winter, except for a small and carefully tended garden. No winter wheat, which would have been helpful because I could have used the cover or . . .

  I lean against a tree, and for the first time in what seems like a long time, I smile. Because there is a plan B.

  I head for the barn instead of the RV. They keep cows in a small pasture; I smell the cow shit as I pass, though the cows themselves are invisible. I love that smell. Cows mean that the barn has hay.

  Hay is an excellent distraction.

  I don’t have matches, but I do find a plastic gas can sitting by a tractor; it’s half-full. Good enough. I douse the hay bales. Still no matches, but I grab jumper cables hanging on the barn’s wall and hook them up to the battery on the parked tractor. I touch the clamps and get a nice, fat spark.

  Before I ignite the hay, I make damn sure I have my next move in my head. I know where the RV is parked; I saw it on the way here. Simple enough. I hope.

  I spark the hay. The gas ignites with a dry, vigorous whoosh. I avoid the ignition wave with a healthy retreat, and as I head out the barn door into the darkness toward the RV, I see the blurry orange glow already starting to rise behind me. The chickens in the coop outside start to squawk. There aren’t any animals in the barn, thank God. Just storage. I don’t want to think about what I would’ve done otherwise, because right now I have a ruthless streak a mile wide.

  Survival’s a hardwired instinct.

  I’m halfway to the RV, comfortably in the cover of the darkness, when I hear shouting. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but my plan was to draw a good number of them to fight the fire.

  That isn’t what happens.

  Floodlights blaze on all over the compound. A siren wails—the kind that rises and falls in pitch, like it’s announcing the arrival of a tornado.

  Then the noise cuts off, and something else comes over the loudspeaker. Father Tom’s voice.

  “Brothers, the day of reckoning is here! Today is the day that the hand of Satan is raised against us, but fear not—our army of saints is called from heaven to fight. God be praised!”

  I can hear the distant shouts. Call and response. God be praised.

  Christ. The FBI are coming, and they know. What the shit were you thinking, Mike? I want to scream it at him, but I’m exhausted and dirty and bleeding into the dirt, and that RV is way too far away, and I’m way too fucking slow right now to make it. The keys are in my hand. Doesn’t matter.

  The compound—at least here, toward the gate and near the main buildings—is lit up like Broadway. I can see Father Tom’s lackeys running to assigned tactical positions. How can Mike not know that anything but a stealth approach is a terrible idea? Maybe it isn’t Mike. Maybe it’s some gloryhound local agent who doesn’t realize he’s about to kick off a brand-new Waco.

  It takes me a few seconds to realize that I’ve missed something vital. The lights. The positions of the lights are mostly concentrated near the part where the cultists live and work. But the fence goes pretty far out there. Mike’s not stupid. He’ll know they have to try negotiating; hell, he’s probably been ordered to do it. But he’ll also know there aren’t enough cultists to guard every foot of fence line. The feds are going to make it in, whatever happens up at the gate. All I have to do is stay down and wait. It’s almost comfortable. Or it would be, except that with the barn on fire, I’ve put myself right in the path of anybody dispatched to put it out. I need to move.

  Best I can manage is a sniper-crawl, forearms and toes. It takes me closer to the fence, which isn’t ideal, but I’m harder to spot lying down.

  Or so I think, right up until I hear a shotgun being racked behind me, and what feels like double barrels press into the small of my back. “Get up,” a male voice says. “Now.”

  It’s the guy I took the keys from.

  So screwed.

  26

  GWEN

  I hate waiting. Mike Lustig made me swear that Kez, J. B., Javier, Lanny, and I would stay where we were positioned on the south side of the compound, far away from the gate. He assigned two TBI agents to stay with us to make sure we’d keep the promise.

  Obviously, I don’t keep the promise. We wait until we hear things kicking off in the compound, and lights blaze on inside; J. B. checks her phone and sends a text. Nobody says a word. The TBI agents look like they would rather be in the thick of things than stuck out here with us.

  So they’re not looking when Cicely West and Joe Froud show up, materializing out of the dark like ghosts. The TBI agents instantly get out of the front of the SUV and pull their weapons. Cicely and Joe raise their hands. “We’re unarmed!” Joe shouts. The TBI agents rush forward.

  They don’t see me, Javier, and J. B. coming up armed from behind. They’ll be regretting that for a while.

  Kez hangs back with Lanny. We zip-tie the agents up in the back seat of their own SUV, ankles and wrists, and for good measure we loop zip-ties onto their belts and the door handles to hold them in place. “You’re all going to jail,” one of them snaps. The younger one. The older one seems resigned. “Hope you know that.”

  “We know,” Kezia says. She grins like she’s looking forward to it.

  J. B. pulls the SUV up close to the metal fence, and Javier and Kez grab a heavy rubber mat from the back of the vehicle and toss it over the razor wire strung along the top. Javier is the first over, jumping and landing with an athletic ease that I know I won’t duplicate; Kez is almost as good.

  “Mom?” I’ve got one foot on the bumper, ready to climb up. But my daughter is asking for me, and I step down and turn to her. She looks pale and strained, and there are tears standing in her eyes. I hug her, and I cherish that moment. “Bring Connor back.” It’s an unsteady whisper.

  I kiss my daughter’s cheek and say, “Of course I will, baby.”

  Then I turn away, step up on the bumper, the roof, and climb on over the fence.

  I feel the landing impact all the way up through my bones, but I don’t break anything; I know how to fall and roll to shed the force. Joe and Cicely are the last over. J. B. doesn’t even try it. Her job is to stay on the other side of the fence with the TBI’s rifle, ready to discourage anybody who comes for us.

  And to guard my daughter while I can’t.

  Before she jumps down, Cicely hands over our gear. Javier and I are both wearing wetsuits under our light clothes; I opted for thin leggings and a T-shirt on top, nothing that will hold me down underwater, despite the chill, and quick-dry water shoes that go land-to-dive easily.

  Javier’s brought dive tanks, masks, and regulators. His plan is to get across fast, dark, and silent. He’d have done it alone except I’ve had a little scuba experience; I was certified, once upon a time, but it was years ago, before I was married. I’m just praying I remember the basics of breathing. He’s right: the most direct way to the camp is straight across the lake; following the fence line would bring us into an exposed section with lighting, and almost certainly armed resistance.

  The dry bags on our backs hold our weapons and ammo.

  “Y’all sure about this?” Cicely asks us. “You want us to leave you here?”

  “Yes,” I tell her. “Watch yourself. These people are dangerous.”

  She nods, and she and Joe slip away through the heavy brush, making their way next to the fence around the lake. It’ll take them longer,
but eventually they’ll make their way around to where we’re going. And we’ll need backup by then.

  Kezia says, “I wish I was going with you.”

  “We need cover,” Javier tells her, and kisses her lightly. He brushes his thumb across her lips to seal it. “And you’re a hell of a shot, Kez.”

  “Oh, I know,” she says coolly, and raises one eyebrow. “You hear me shooting, you stay down.”

  He nods. So do I. She’s almost invisible in her hunter camo gear. Like J. B., she’s going to cover us if things go wrong.

  So much can go wrong.

  The Assembly has built their wall all the way around to enclose the lake and the falls and the creek that feeds it, but they don’t seem to have much interest in this side. It’s thickly overgrown, and I’m glad we don’t have to hack our way too far.

  The FBI’s negotiators will be at the front gate. Mike didn’t tell me his plans, but he did let slip that he’d called for Special Teams, which means he was lying to me about not going in. This is going to be a firefight; he planned for that from the beginning. Yes, he’ll lead with negotiators, but that doesn’t mean he won’t have the others going in hard at the same time. This compound may be full of fanatics, but it’s too big to be impenetrable. The fence is just to keep people in. Not out.

  Mike didn’t tell me the plan, because he wanted us to stay out of it. But I can’t do that, not when people I love are in danger. Which is why we’ve just committed assault on two state investigators and why we’re heading for the trees by the edge of the lake. In case all this gets very, very complicated, we need to get Sam and Connor out of the middle of it.

  When we get to the edge, Javier suddenly crouches down, and Kez and I follow suit. I slowly edge forward to get a look.

  Something’s happening by the lake on the other side. Two men drag a third, who’s barely on his feet. They drop him to the muddy bank, and one kicks him viciously.

  Javier’s taken out a small set of field glasses from his gear, and I see the change in his body before he thrusts the glasses toward me. I dread looking. But I know I have to.

  It’s Sam. He’s dirty, bloody, naked to the waist.

  “No,” I whisper. The image jitters, and I realize my hands are shaking. “Sam—”

  Javier pulls the glasses away, and I gasp and try to rise. Kez holds me down. “Stop,” she whispers. “Hold on. Javi? What are they doing?”

  “Can’t tell,” he says. “They’re—” He leans forward a little. “Fuck. They’re wrapping a chain around him. Kez!”

  She takes a knee and looks through the scope of her rifle. It’s a pretty long shot, and Sam’s in the middle of it. I hold my breath.

  The snap of the rifle shot hangs in the air, and I don’t need to have the field glasses to see that one of the men crouching over Sam goes down. She racks and takes aim, but the second man grabs Sam, pulls him up, and hides behind him.

  “Gwen!” Javier snaps. “In the water. Now. Now.” He’s putting on his tank. Kez puts down her rifle and helps me snap mine on too. I test my regulator, drawing in a shaking breath. It’s working.

  We stand up and run for the shoreline.

  “Sam!” I shout, and I hear my voice echoing across the water. I think I see him react.

  But then he’s pushed forward into the water, a human shield for the man holding on to him.

  “The saints will rise!” I hear the shout echoing across the lake toward us this time. That’s the cultist holding Sam. “This is the day of reckoning! God be praised!”

  Sam’s shoved forward again. He’s struggling to stand up now.

  Javier and I are wading in, up to our thighs. Our waists.

  Across from us, Sam vanishes with barely a ripple. The chains around him are dragging him down. The other man begins to wade back to shore.

  I want to scream, but I save my breath as I pull down the mask and jam the regulator in my mouth, and then I’m under the water.

  I can feel the bone-freezing chill of it through the suit, but I quickly adjust. Panic is beating inside me like a thousand moths. I just want to get to Sam; every second it takes to reach him is another second he’s dying down there, alone in the dark.

  One step, two, and suddenly it drops off into an abyss; the waterfall has worn this hole deep over thousands of years. My exposed skin burns with the sudden cold, and I’m sinking faster than I intend to, but I don’t care. Sam’s down there. He’s down there.

  He doesn’t have long.

  It’s hard to be calm right now, and using scuba gear requires focus and a clear head; I have to fight through my instincts to slow down my actions. The lake is like an ink bottle, but when Javier turns on his dive light it cuts through like a sword, turning black water to murky green. I turn mine on too. He swims forward, and I follow close enough to touch his dive shoe. I can’t afford to lose sight of him. Not here. Five feet away might as well be five hundred.

  We keep going down, but I can’t see Sam, I can’t see him. How long has it been? Thirty seconds. At least.

  We swim, and swim, and I want to scream out my agony at how long it takes. Not seconds. A minute. More. I don’t know. We go deeper. My ears ache with the pressure, and I work to regulate. Javier starts changing his angle slightly. Our lights illuminate a sheer granite wall up ahead.

  That’s the drop-off on the other side of the lake. But I can’t see Sam. No, please . . .

  I look down, and a pallid face looms out of the murk, hair drifting like a dark cloud. It doesn’t have eyes. The skin is wrinkled and bloated and swollen, but it’s held down by a heavy chain around it, and round weights.

  I want to scream, but I can’t. I feel pressure in my head. We’re pretty deep now, but not to the bottom yet.

  And I don’t see Sam. My heart is racing so fast it hurts with every pulse, like my whole body is cramping with it. My head is splitting from the pressure. I breathe faster, trying to get air, and realize I’m making myself worse. I try to slow down. No, I can’t. I can’t. Sam’s here.

  Our lights sweep over more decaying bodies. Some are just bones scattered white across the heavy black silt. Some are held together with sinew and awful twists of muscle.

  Some are intact, and the suffocating horror makes me feel the need to get out of here, just go. But not without Sam. I’m not going.

  I mistake him for one of the dead at first because he isn’t moving.

  But he is bleeding. There’s a misty cloud of red around him, coming from the soaked bandage around his waist. He’s just floating there, held down by another padlocked chain and what looks like a small boat anchor.

  His eyes are shut.

  My whole body explodes with the impact of that last burn of adrenaline, of despair, of desperation. I have to save him. I have to.

  I lunge forward and touch him, and his eyes open. He starts violently struggling. He’s about to breathe in water; I see it from the blind panic in his face. I grab his nose and squeeze it closed. I take in a deep breath and thrust my regulator in his mouth. Breathe, I beg him. My God, please breathe, baby, please. For a torturous second it doesn’t seem he can, he’s trying to bat my grip away on his nose, and then I see the relief spread over his body. He’s breathing in. I let go of his nose. He cups both hands over the regulator and sucks in air, breathes out bubbles.

  He’s alive. He’s okay. No, he’s not, he’s bleeding and it’s cold and he’s shirtless, pallid, terribly equipped for this. Hypothermia will kill him fast. Blood loss too. We need to get him out.

  I fumble at the chain, and realize that it’s locked tightly into place. We don’t have anything with us that can remove it.

  My lungs are aching and trembling with the need to breathe. Javier signals me, but I don’t know what he means until he takes another regulator from his belt—something designed to share with another diver in trouble, I guess. At his signal, I take my regulator back, and Javier expertly swaps with me. I can’t tell if it’s working, or if Sam’s breathing.

  We ha
ve to get the chains off, and there’s no way around it; that’s going to hurt him. They’re tight. Dragging them down is the only real option, and working them past the pants he’s still wearing is impossible. I yank the pants free and let them float away. He’s just down to underwear now. My hands are shaking, my fingers numb. I get a grip on my side of the chains and slide them down half an inch. My fingers slip off, and I yell into my regulator with frustration. Javier gets his side. We’re tearing open Sam’s wound, but that doesn’t matter now; I can see that he’s moving sluggishly but not helping. Not tracking. His body’s shutting down.

  I yank hard, feel sharp, needlelike pains as my fingernails crack and snap. I don’t care. I get the chain lower. Sam thrashes against the pain. I keep pulling, knowing I’m hurting him, knowing I can’t stop even if everything in me cries out against it. I ignore it, I will do this, I will . . .

  Then the chains slip over the point of his hipbone, and go slack. They slide down his pale legs and hit the bottom with a thump of viscous silt. I drag in a sweet, canned breath, drop weights, and then we rise, me and Javier, with Sam held between us. He’s barely moving. Stay with me, baby. Almost there. Almost there.

  He’s too limp as we tow him toward the bank. I’m exhausted, shaking all over, breathing way too hard and too fast. The pressure’s left me with a vicious, throbbing headache, but I don’t care about that. I care that Sam isn’t moving.

  I’m first out of the water, and I grab Sam’s limp arms and pull him up onto dry land toward Kezia, who’s waiting with a metallic survival blanket. “Sam?” I yank off my mask. “Sam!” Javier pulls Sam’s mouthpiece away. Oh God, he’s not responding, his eyes are open but he’s not looking at me, and this can’t happen, it can’t.

  Not after all we’ve endured. Please, no.

  I see some life creep back into his eyes, and the hard, black pressure on my chest melts, and I cry out in relief. My eyes blur, and I let the tears fall.