by Kyla Stone
The gangbangers squealed to the right and pulled up alongside them, nudging the Ford’s rear fender and forcing them into the oncoming lane. The Maserati jerked hard to the left, jolting into the side of the truck. Metal scraped against metal.
Eden let out a frightened gasp.
“He’s trying to shove us into the guard rail,” Julio cried.
“Not if I can help it.” Dakota dropped the AR-15 and reached for the Sig at her side.
Logan shifted, swung his rifle around, and re-aimed. The Maserati was on his opposite side now.
“Get down!” he shouted at Park. Park’s eyes went round and he flattened himself against the seat cushions. Eden was already huddled on the floor.
Logan aimed into the Maserati’s rear passenger window just as a thug leaned out, a pistol clutched in his hands. His pulse spiked as he recognized the inked face, the teardrops blackening the gangbanger’s left cheek.
Teardrop sneered in triumph and pointed his pistol at Logan.
Logan was faster. He fired three quick shots.
Blood spurted from a hole in Teardrop’s neck. He flew backward, the back of his head striking the metal frame above the Maserati’s window. The pistol dropped from his hand and clattered away into the dark.
The Maserati lurched forward and slammed into them again. Julio swerved, fighting to maintain control, as the left side of the F-150 grated against the guardrail. The truck juddered and bounced.
“Car ahead!” Park shouted.
The Ford’s headlights illuminated the back of a red Land Rover stalled in the oncoming lane not fifty yards ahead of them.
Julio grunted. But his hands remained steady, his knuckles white on the wheel, the rest of his body shaking like a leaf. He wrenched the truck to the right, smashing as hard as he could into the side of the Maserati.
The sportscar jolted sideways. It wasn’t enough. They were still blocking the truck from the safety of the empty right lane. The Land Rover loomed like a crouching beast in the headlights as the truck raced toward it at over fifty miles an hour.
“Hold still!” Dakota pointed the Sig down at the Maserati flanking them and fired twice, then twice more.
Someone inside the Maserati shrieked in agony.
The sportscar skidded across the road, smashed into and then through the guardrail with a wrench of tearing metal, bounced through a few yards of thick underbrush, and plowed nose-first into the canal.
“Look out!” Park cried.
Julio slammed the brakes. He spun the wheel sharply to the right. The truck skidded and fishtailed. The vehicle slowed rapidly as it turned. But not rapidly enough.
The front fender struck the right corner of the Land Rover’s bumper and jolted to a sudden, jarring stop.
Logan smacked into the rear of the driver’s seat. The back of his skull bounced off the doorframe. Stars exploded behind his eyelids.
The engine ticked, stuttered, and went quiet.
For a long second, no one moved.
Julio winced and rubbed his chest. “Everyone alive? Airbags didn’t go off. Kinda wished they had.”
Park moaned. “I’m definitely alive. Hurts too much not to be.”
“Sore, but I’ll live.” Dakota leaned over the back seat. “Eden?”
Eden sat up, brushed a tangle of blonde curls out of her face, and gave them a shaky thumbs up. She had a cut across her cheek but seemed okay.
Logan moved his arms and legs gingerly, grimacing at the flash of pain gouging into the back of his head and radiating down his neck. He’d have a nice case of whiplash, but nothing was broken.
“We’ve got to check the canal,” Dakota said tersely. “They could still be alive.”
Logan and Dakota wrenched open their doors and hopped out first. Julio and Park climbed out, stumbling dizzily, and followed behind them.
The truck’s headlights were still blaring like searchlights in the night. The moon peeked out between a break in the cloud cover, bathing the road, trees, and the canal in a silvery glow.
“Stay in the truck until it’s safe,” Dakota said to Eden.
They sprinted back to the spot where the Maserati capsized into the canal, Dakota with her Sig out and ready, Logan with the AR-15. He ejected the half-used magazine, pulled a new one from the pouch at his waist, and slapped it in.
They approached the accident site slowly and cautiously in case one of the thugs was still alive. They moved side by side, Dakota tense and alert beside him.
His body humming with nerves, he scanned the road, the banks along both sides of the canal, the scrubby pine trees, and the underbrush. The guardrail was a wreck of twisted metal. The sportscar was nowhere in sight. It had already sunk below the surface of the canal.
No movement.
“What just happened?” Park asked from behind them, awe in his voice. “I thought for sure we were goners.”
“I got the driver,” Dakota said breathlessly. “Nailed him right in his hand.”
“Nice one,” Julio said.
“I was aiming for his head.”
“We can’t all be ace shots,” Logan said.
She grunted. “Speak for yourself.”
Cicadas buzzed in the night. A mosquito whined in his ear, but he didn’t slap it away.
Dakota reached out and grazed his arm.
An electric charge surged through him at her touch. He felt it like a bone-deep pull inside him, that primal craving to be a part of something, to connect with another human being. To belong.
That same urgent need had lured him to the gang as a teenager. Before it all went sideways, they were the family he’d never had—brothers who cared for him, unlike his absent father he’d never even met, or his addict mother who’d barely bothered to feed him when she was high or gone on a bender in some crack house.
“Ven aquí mi gordis,” she would mumble, opening her arms for a goodbye hug before she went out for a night or two on the town, abandoning her eight-year-old son to an empty apartment bristling with real and imagined terrors.
Dakota squeezed his forearm, dragging him back to the present. Without speaking, she pointed at a moving shadow.
Two figures popped to the surface on the far side of the canal about twenty yards downwind. They clambered up the slick bank, coughing and spitting water, splashing wildly.
“Logan—” Dakota said.
“I know.” Logan didn’t hesitate. He nestled the stock against his shoulder. He could see clearly enough in the moonlight to get the job done. He pressed the trigger and unleashed a rain of bullets. Water sprayed as lead peppered the canal.
Both bodies slumped and collapsed backward. They sank beneath the black water. A few scattered bubbles drifted to the surface, then nothing.
Logan stared at the water for a long moment, breathing heavily, letting the adrenaline drain from his limbs. More dead bodies to add to the tally.
The violence was in him. There was no going back from it.
He could harness it to protect the people he was beginning to care about, but that didn’t make him safe. He could only protect them from outside threats; he couldn’t shield them from the darkness in his own heart, the savagery and death in his own two hands.
“It’s done,” Dakota said gently, bringing him back to the moment. She was looking at him, something like concern on her face. “It’s over.”
He nodded grimly.
“They’re gator chow,” Park said, sounding extremely satisfied.
57
Dakota
“So, this is the Everglades,” Park said. “Confession: I grew up in south Florida, but I’ve never been out here.”
All around them was endless vistas of flooded, boggy wetlands stippled with stubby slash pines and underbrush.
“This isn’t the real Glades,” Dakota said. “You’ve got to go further in.”
She took a step down the embankment. Something large and heavy splashed in the middle of the canal. Moonlight glimmered off the ripples of black water.
Dakota flicked on the LED penlight and scanned the canal. A pair of glowing eyes shone back at her just above the surface of the water. Another smaller pair drifted along the far bank.
Her stomach tightened despite herself. Would the beasts eat the bodies? She imagined massive jaws tearing at flesh and bone and repressed a shudder. Good riddance. Besides, it was just nature, doing what nature did best. Still, the thought sent chills racing up her spine.
“Gators,” Logan muttered. “Don’t like ‘em.”
“I do,” Park said. “They’re fascinating creatures. Like primeval dragons living right alongside us. They only attack four or five people a year. In seventy-five years, there’s only been a few dozen fatalities. They prefer to eat turtles, fish, and birds.”
“Tell that to those few dozen ‘fatalities.’”
“What about now, though?” Julio asked, gesturing at the ruined guardrail, meaning the corpses of the thugs floating somewhere beneath the dark water. “They’ve never had a human buffet like this.”
“Fine point,” Park said. He took a step back.
Dakota couldn’t disagree. She climbed back over the guardrail, choosing the relative safety of the road.
“I’m incredibly grateful we’re still here,” Julio said quietly. He crossed himself. “We all could have died. Maybe we should have. I’ll be sending up some grateful prayers tonight, that’s for sure.”
“We’re alive, thanks to you,” Dakota said.
Julio shook his head. “I told you, Dakota. God is watching out for you.”
Dakota rolled her eyes.
“How about we just thank everyone?” Park swatted at his neck with his good hand. “Except these awful mosquitoes.”
Logan turned to Julio. “You should’ve told us you could handle a car like that.”
“I did.”
“You should’ve told us again, apparently,” Logan said wryly. “That was some damn fine driving.”
“Thank you, Logan. That means a lot to me.” Julio cleared his throat and glanced back at the Ford, its hood still steaming. “We ready to get this show on the road? We’ve still got somewhere to go.”
“You think the truck’s okay?” Park asked, his expression doubtful.
“Only one way to find out.” Julio jogged the twenty yards back to the Ford. He slid into the driver’s seat, leaving the front door open. The ignition wheezed like an asthmatic smoker, struggling to catch. He put the truck in reverse and pumped the gas. It made horrible grinding, scratching noises…and went nowhere.
Julio got out, moved to the crumpled front fender, and wrestled the dented hood open. “Give me a few minutes, and I think I can get this beast purring like a kitten again. Park, can you grab that rusty old toolbox out of the back? And Logan, can you bring me some more light?”
While Julio worked on the truck, Dakota stayed next to Eden.
She imagined the Everglades she couldn’t see from the road but knew was there, just beyond the darkness—beautiful, haunting, ugly, dangerous. Water the color of tea flowed for hundreds of miles, south to the tip of the mainland all the way west to the Gulf of Mexico. Millions of watery acres covered in endless waves of sawgrass.
Here were gators and manatees, spoonbills and herons, mangrove swamps and cypress trees. And the mosquitoes—clouds and clouds of them, buzzing and biting with that horrid, high-pitched whine in her ears.
Outside of malaria and the host of other deadly diseases they spread, mosquitoes couldn’t kill you outright, but sometimes it felt like they could. She swatted one on her neck and flicked another bloodsucker from her arm. She pulled the can of DEET out of the backpack Hawthorne and Kinsey had left for them, filled with gratitude at their thoughtfulness.
“Here.” She sprayed herself and Eden before passing the can on to Park to give to Julio and Logan.
She glanced down at Eden. At her sister. The girl had climbed out of the truck and now sat cross-legged next to the wrecked guardrail, her notepad limp on her lap, staring blankly into the canal. She looked utterly terrified.
Dakota’s heart twisted. Julio was right, as usual. Tomorrow wasn’t promised to anyone. The next ten minutes weren’t promised to anyone. Certainly not in this life.
Eden was her sister, and that was all that mattered.
She squatted down next to her. “Hey.”
Eden looked up at her with wide, unblinking eyes. She formed a fist with her right hand, her thumb peeking out, and rubbed her chest in a circle.
Dakota swallowed. “What does that mean?”
Eden picked up the notepad and opened it to the half-finished drawing of a raccoon scurrying across a rotted log, a baby raccoon clinging to its furry back. She flipped to a new page and scribbled two words.
She held it up. I’m sorry.
“No,” Dakota said. “You don’t have to say that.” She took a sharp, ragged breath. Her eyes were hot and stinging. “I’m the one who lied to you. I’m the one who didn’t tell you the truth about…what happened, about your own life. That wasn’t fair. It’s not fair.
“You didn’t know Maddox had turned against us because I didn’t tell you. It’s not your fault that Maddox knows about Ezra. Do you understand? It’s not your fault.”
Eden stared at her for a moment. Finally, she nodded, her eyes glassy with unshed tears.
Dakota had to look away. It hurt too much, like a hot poker skewering her insides, twisting slowly with agonizing precision. “I…I don’t expect you to forgive me. I’ve messed up so much. I don’t know if I can make it right—”
Eden pulled her into a giant hug. She buried her face in Dakota’s chest and wrapped her chubby arms around her neck. Her tears dampened Dakota’s shirt.
Instinctively, Dakota stiffened. This was okay; this was a good thing. She let herself relax into it, into the warmth, the comfort. She drew her sister close and held her tight. They sat there, together, rocking back and forth, Eden crying and Dakota holding back her own tears.
Dakota pulled away. She tightened her hand into a fist, her thumb poking out, and rubbed it in a circle over her own chest.
Through her tears, Eden’s face lit up.
“I’m sorry,” Dakota said. “I’m so, so sorry. I’ll do better. I’ll be better. And I want you to teach me this, okay? I want to learn sign language.” She exhaled a breath, her chest expanding. “I was an idiot for refusing to learn. I—it made me feel like I was losing you.”
Eden shook her head and frowned.
“I know, I know. It’s stupid. More than that, it’s selfish. You’re my sister. You always will be. I shouldn’t—I can’t—” She swallowed hard. “I will never hurt you again. I promise. Never, ever.”
Eden nodded eagerly and enveloped her in another crushing hug. She sat back, gestured something, and then wrote it down. I forgive you.
The hot poker in Dakota’s gut twisted deeper. Despite the horrors they’d been through, her sister was still sweet, kind, and trusting, quick to forgive. Too quick.
There was something almost pathological in it—like Eden didn’t believe she had the right to be angry. More of the Prophet’s brainwashing. Sometimes it felt like they’d never be free of that place.
Dakota bit down hard on her own bitter rage. She couldn’t allow herself to direct it at her sister. “Don’t—you can’t say that yet. Not until you know exactly what I did.”
Eden widened her eyes, confused. She touched the ridged purple scar at her throat.
Dakota nodded miserably. “You have to know what I did to you. You have every right to be furious at me. To hate me, even. You need to—”
On the road, the Ford’s engine coughed, sputtered, and finally roared to life.
“Well,” Julio said with a tired sigh, “it’s uglier than ever, but this American-made baby still runs.”
Park cheered. “We’re back in the game!”
“Come on, ladies,” Logan called. “Last chance for a pit stop if you need it. Time to get the hell out of here!”
She reached out her hand. Eden took it.
58
Dakota
Dakota glanced down at the map on her lap and traced her finger across the thin line bisecting the giant green blob that was the Everglades.
Due to urban development and the overeager destruction of Florida’s natural habitats, the wetlands were half their original size now, but still stretched over two thousand square miles.
To the south of them was Homestead, Florida City, and Everglades National Park. To the northwest was Big Cypress National Preserve. They’d passed Shark Valley and Miccosukee Village several miles back. If they kept going, they’d hit Everglades City and then Marco Island and eventually, the west coast.
They were less than ten miles from Ezra’s fifty acres.
Her gut tightened. What would they find there? Please let us get there in time. She didn’t know if she was praying, and if she was, to who. To anyone who was listening. Please let him be okay.
The cab still smelled like gunpowder mingled with the sweeter odors of the MREs they’d just eaten—spaghetti and beef with sauce for Logan and Eden, chili with beans and cornbread for Julio, and mushroom fettuccini for Park and Dakota.
They needed the energy for what might lay ahead.
They’d already checked and rechecked their weapons, reloading the pistols and rifles and the four spare magazines. Logan and Dakota each took two of the magazines. They were as prepared as they were going to get.
She pointed ahead. “Right there, at that road. Turn right.”
“What road?” Julio asked, peering through the spider-cracked windshield. “I don’t see a road.”
The headlights illuminated a narrow dirt track that looked more like a wagon trail, overgrown with weeds and wild tropical plants. They followed the path, the truck jostling and bouncing over ruts and roots, for what felt like twenty miles.
Park pointed at one of the giant cypress trees laden with moss that loomed on either of the road. “What are those called?”