by Tarah Benner
Instead, he heard the rustle of grass behind him. He turned, half expecting to see one of the girls, but it was just Denali frolicking in the tall weeds. The sight of Denali made Soren feel slightly better. Lark never went anywhere without him.
But then the inside of the barn came into view, and Soren’s chest tightened with worry. The tractor was parked just inside the barn, but the girls were nowhere in sight.
It didn’t make sense. Lark wasn’t a slacker, and neither was Bernie. It wasn’t like them to take a break without telling anyone. All of them always took lunch together. Had they gone off on their own so they wouldn’t have to talk to him? He didn’t think so.
“Where’s Lark?” he asked Denali, who was trotting along a few feet behind him.
At those words, Denali started to sniff the ground around the abandoned baskets, as if he were wondering the exact same thing. He sniffed the entire barn in half a dozen figure eights. Maybe Soren was imagining it, but he thought he saw Denali’s hackles go up — as if he’d detected a scent that wasn’t supposed to be there.
Feeling antsy, Soren left the barn and walked to the top of the hill to look out over the fields. None of the girls were anywhere in sight. He told himself that it was nothing — that he was being paranoid because they were still wanted by Homeland Security.
Things had been oddly quiet for the past few months, but every so often, Soren would wake up in the middle of the night drenched in a cold sweat. He still grew tense whenever he thought he heard the whoosh of a car, and the fear that he would one day come outside and see a black sedan parked in the driveway was with him all the time.
He half walked, half ran down the hill toward the farmhouse. He crossed the fields at a jog and ran straight inside to check if the girls had gone in for lunch. Katrina was already standing at the kitchen counter, shredding leftover chicken to make them all sandwiches.
“Did the girls come in from the fields?” he asked in a rush.
“Lark and them?” Katrina shook her head. “Why?”
“I can’t find them anywhere,” Soren breathed, feeling a little foolish for how paranoid he sounded.
Katrina shrugged. “They’re probably still up at the barn.”
“I already checked the barn,” he panted. “They aren’t in the fields, and they aren’t in the barn. I don’t know where they are.”
“Did you check the silo?” she asked, still unconcerned. “They might have taken their break up there with Thompson.”
A sudden burst of relief flared through Soren. He hadn’t checked the silo. “Oh, yeah,” he said, feeling stupid. “Right.”
Deep down Soren knew that he was overreacting. He knew that he would run up to the old silo and find the girls eating sandwiches with Thompson, staring down at him irritably and wondering what he was all worked up about.
But when Soren ran out the front door and squinted up at the grain silo, the sight only added to his worries. No one was up there. He walked around the yard to the guesthouse out back where Portia was staying, knowing before he even got there that the girls weren’t inside.
“Lark?” he called, pounding on the door. “Bernie? Portia?”
No answer.
Doubling back toward the barn, he spotted Walt and the guys making their way down for lunch. Soren knew he hadn’t missed the girls, but he had to double-check before he unloaded his panic on everyone else. They would think he was losing his mind.
He doubled back toward the barn with Denali, but it was still empty. He stomped a path through the weeds outside, stopping when he reached the back corner.
There, along the side of the barn, was something that made Soren’s heart turn over: A pair of tire tracks had smashed down the weeds. They never pulled the tractor back there. There wasn’t any reason to. But those tracks were fresh, which meant —
“Shit,” Soren breathed, following the tracks away from the barn along the edge of the property. The tracks faded in the shade of the trees, and Soren knew that someone could have driven along the edge of the property until they reached the road that ran in front of the farm.
Something was wrong. Soren just knew it. The girls hadn’t taken one of the Baileys’ vehicles for an impromptu field trip — they certainly wouldn’t run off without telling anyone. The only explanation was that they had been taken.
Soren ran back to the house in a fearful, breathless frenzy. His mind was reeling. His heart was hammering, and all his blood was charged with panic.
His first instinct was to jump in the truck and go after them, but he had no idea who had taken them or where they might have gone.
Well, he had some idea who might have taken them. There were several terrifying possibilities.
“The girls are gone!” he gasped as he burst into the kitchen.
The room fell silent, and somebody dropped their fork with a clatter. Axel, Simjay, Conrad, and the Baileys were all hovered around the kitchen table, scarfing down sandwiches and drinking instant lemonade.
“What?” said Simjay around a mouthful of chicken salad.
“They’re not up at the barn. They’re not in the silo. They’re not anywhere,” said Soren. “The tractor’s still up there, and there are tracks leading away from the barn.”
“Whoa. Hold your horses,” Axel drawled. “They’re prolly just havin’ a naked pillow fight in the guesthouse or somethin’.”
“Already checked the guesthouse,” Soren panted. “I’ve looked everywhere. They’re gone.”
“Well, they didn’t drive off,” said Thompson indignantly. “I would have seen them.”
Soren shook his head. “You wouldn’t. They went along the back edge of the property. The crest of the hill blocks the view from the silo.”
“Hang on,” said Katrina, looking uneasy. “What makes you think they didn’t just go on a run for some fuel or —”
“None of the vehicles are missing,” said Soren. “And Lark wouldn’t just take off like that. She would have told someone.”
“Didn’t she have her gun?” asked Thompson.
“She left it on the table,” said Katrina, nodding at Lark’s handgun, which was sitting in its holster next to the refrigerator.
“What about Bernie and Portia?” asked Soren. “Weren’t they armed?”
“Bernie hates guns,” said Simjay. “She’s been leaving hers upstairs.”
“I think Miss Priss is scary ’nough without one,” said Axel. “I ain’t seen her luggin’ a gun around all summer. Have you?”
Soren shook his head.
“This is very disturbing,” said Walt, glancing at Thompson and setting down his sandwich.
“Are you sure about this?” asked Simjay. “You’re sure they’re gone.”
“Yes,” said Soren impatiently.
“Lark ain’t jus’ avoidin’ you or nothin’?” Axel added.
“No,” growled Soren.
“Who do you think might have taken them?” asked Thompson. Soren could tell she was still skeptical that someone could have gotten to the barn and kidnapped the girls without her seeing it.
“It could be anyone,” said Soren. “The Department of Homeland Security, the San Judas security detail, the biker gang . . .”
“I don’t think they were picked up by law enforcement,” said Katrina. “They wouldn’t have been quiet about it, and they wouldn’t have just taken the girls.”
“I know,” said Soren. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Well, it wasn’t the biker gang,” said Thompson. “Stealth kidnap isn’t their M.O. Whatever they do, they do it to send a message.”
“They didn’t leave a ransom note?” asked Walt.
Soren shook his head.
“It mighta jus’ been someone who saw his chance an’ took it,” Axel offered. “Three pretty girls . . . up there all alone . . .”
Soren’s stomach lurched at the image Axel’s suggestion conjured up. But as much as he hated to admit it, Axel’s theory made sense. The three of them might have see
med like easy targets up there: alone, unarmed, and isolated from the group.
Soren sank into an empty chair at the end of the table, feeling weak in the knees for a whole new set of reasons. If the kidnapping was a crime of opportunity, it meant that the kidnappers truly could be anyone.
“I shouldn’t have sent them up there alone,” said Walt.
“It’s not your fault,” said Soren.
“We have to go after them!” Simjay cried.
“But we have no idea where they are,” said Katrina.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Simjay, sounding just as panicky as Soren felt. “We have to start looking.”
“Can I say something?” said Conrad, his voice low and serious.
Soren nodded.
Conrad looked nervous to be speaking up in front of everyone, but when he spoke, his voice was calm and controlled. “I don’t believe this was a crime of impulse. Whoever did this planned it.”
“And why d’you say ’at?” broke in Axel.
“B-because,” Conrad stammered. “They chose the one area where we have a security blind spot. They picked a time when the three girls were isolated from the group, which doesn’t happen very often. Whoever it is, they’ve been watching us for a while.”
Conrad’s assessment was followed by stunned silence.
“He’s right,” said Soren.
“But why them?” asked Simjay, turning to Thompson. “Why not you or Katrina?”
Thompson shrugged. “Most people around here know I used to be a cop. And have you ever seen Katrina without a gun?”
“You think it’s someone around here?” asked Soren.
“It makes the most sense.”
“But who —”
Soren broke off. A look of realization followed by horror had just flashed across Thompson’s face.
“I know who it is,” she said suddenly.
“Who?” said Soren and Simjay together.
“Gideon. That crazy Sons of David guy who came by a few months ago.”
Katrina looked confused. “What crazy guy?”
“He came by here at the beginning of the summer,” Thompson explained in a guilty voice. “He was part of the Sons of David — some creepy trad-life cult. He said something about growing their flock.”
“We got a visit from a creepy cult leader and you’re just now mentioning it?” Katrina yelled.
“We knew it would upset you,” said Walt.
“Upset me?” Katrina hissed. “Are you serious? We had a chance to drive out these assholes, but we did nothing and now three of our girls are missing?”
Privately, Soren felt the same way, but his outrage was overridden by his urgency to rescue Lark, Bernie, and Portia.
“So what do we do?” asked Simjay in a rush. “Ambush? Full-frontal assault? Middle-of-the-night ninja stealth rescue mission?”
“Hold up,” said Axel. “We don’ even know that they’re the ones ’at took ’em. We don’ even know that anyone did take ’em.”
“Maybe not,” said Soren, getting to his feet with a renewed sense of purpose. “But they’re the best lead we’ve got.”
Once they’d come to a consensus that the Sons of David were their best suspects, Soren, Katrina, Conrad, and Simjay took off on a reconnaissance mission to locate the girls and determine the best plan of attack. Thompson stayed behind to identify any additional security blind spots, and Axel volunteered to help Walt finish the day’s work.
Soren sensed that after her omission about the Sons of David, Thompson didn’t want to be in the same car as Katrina, and Axel was still butt-hurt that Conrad had torn down his crime-of-opportunity theory.
It was just as well. Axel was much better with messy, violent extractions than he was with covert operations.
Ordinarily, Soren would have left Simjay behind as well, but with Bernie gone, there was no chance of him sitting out this mission. Simjay meant well, and he had guts, but he tended to get nervous and screw things up just when a situation was most precarious.
Soren assigned him the task of driving the getaway vehicle. Simjay would keep the car idling on the road while he, Conrad, and Katrina surveyed the compound and tried to figure out where they might be keeping the girls.
It was mid-afternoon by the time they located the Millers’ property. Walt and his children had visited the Millers many times over the years, but Walt’s directions were murky at best, and Katrina had been a kid the last time she’d visited.
Eventually they located a gravel driveway tucked in the trees near the area Walt had described. The compound wasn’t visible from the road, and they had a ring of scrubby trees that ran around the entire property.
The only thing that told Soren they were in the right place was the brown station wagon parked inside the gate. They had no way of knowing whether that was the vehicle whose tracks Soren had found behind the barn, but Thompson had described the vehicle that Gideon had driven that summer.
“That’s it,” said Soren, slowing to a crawl.
The tension inside the vehicle seemed to double. Soren knew that Katrina was furious with Thompson and her father for keeping the cult’s presence a secret, but they didn’t have time to tiptoe around her feelings.
“Remember, if anyone runs into trouble, focus on giving us an exact location so that we can find you,” said Soren, quickly testing each walkie-talkie before handing them out. All four of them had one, which would be valuable if one of them needed an emergency pickup.
“Good luck,” said Simjay, stopping the car around the north corner of the property.
“You, too,” said Soren.
He got out, and Simjay took off to drop Conrad and Katrina at the other corners of the property. It was risky, approaching during the day, but it was the only way to learn the lay of the land and identify all possible hiding places.
Soren didn’t waste any time. He took off at a jog toward the scraggly trees by the road, moving at a crouch to avoid being seen. The trees flanking the Millers’ property were mostly junipers and piñons, which provided poor cover and even poorer shade. Luckily, there wasn’t anyone guarding the property, and Soren could see the men in the distance working in the fields.
The compound was large, probably sixteen or seventeen acres of mostly flat land, but the property was not as fertile or well maintained as the Baileys’. Most of the buildings were in serious disrepair, and he could see that the Millers’ crops were stressed from heat and drought.
They definitely weren’t having a plentiful harvest, partly due to the lack of irrigation and partly because they were still trying to grow conventional crops that no longer flourished in the region. Soren got the distinct impression that the elder Mr. Miller hadn’t farmed much at all until the country had fallen into famine, and now that his son had returned, the family had dozens of mouths to feed.
Soren picked his way silently through the trees, trying to determine where Gideon might have hidden the girls. There was a large falling-down house near the middle of the property, as well as seven or eight smaller shacks. There was a large barn and several dilapidated lean-tos for livestock — plenty of places they could be.
As he stood there on the edge of the Millers’ property, Soren had a nearly overwhelming urge to storm the compound. He wanted to find Gideon, put him on the ground, and beat him until he begged for mercy. Soren’s blood boiled at the thought of that man laying a hand on Lark, and he wanted nothing more than to make him suffer.
It would be easy for him to get to Gideon, he thought. A group of men were working in the fields, and he would have bet that their leader was among them. Gideon would never see it coming. Soren could just sneak around the perimeter and put a bullet in his spine.
But that thought was snuffed out by the image of Lark and the others tied up somewhere on the compound. There were too many buildings, too many hiding places — too many people who could whisper them away if they got wind of any trouble.
Killing Gideon right then was not the plan. T
hey’d agreed to gather intel first and rescue second. They needed more manpower. They needed more guns. Most of all, they needed the cover of darkness to stage a successful rescue. And they needed Axel.
Gathering every last shred of his self-control, Soren sneaked around the perimeter, taking note of all the best hiding places and trying to count the cult members. He counted eight men and twelve women, though he suspected that several of them were inside cooking or tending to children. From what Thompson had told him, Gideon’s cult insisted that its members conform to traditional gender roles, which meant that the women were unlikely to be armed. The biggest threat would come from the men.
Soren and the others had fought off a larger group before, but not without consequences. Soren knew it was risky. They would be on Gideon’s turf in the middle of the night. The Sons of David wouldn’t just be defending their property; they would be defending their way of life. That was what made them dangerous.
Soren checked his borrowed watch and saw that his time was almost up. Reluctantly, he turned back the way he’d come and started inching his way toward the road. He still planned to make Gideon pay. He just had to be patient and wait for his chance.
14
Lark
They sat in the dark for what felt like hours staring at the closed barn door. Light trickled freely through the gaps in the slats, but that small amount of ventilation did little to offset the putrid, stuffy conditions inside.
Lark could hear Bernie’s soft, shuddering sobs, and the light scratching noise coming from her right told her that Portia was trying to saw through her restraints.
Lark had already tried that herself, but she couldn’t move her wrists more than a centimeter in any direction, so she’d focused on the piece of duct tape over her mouth. She’d been rubbing the edge of the tape against her shoulder for the past forty minutes, peeling away the corner and gunking up the adhesive backing with lint from her shirt.
Finally, she worked the tape off enough that she was able to catch the end between her knees and pull it away from her mouth. Lark gasped in relief as air flooded into her starved lungs, and she coughed from breathing too deeply.