by Glenn Trust
“Ready,” he managed to whisper.
“George.” Mike leaned close whispering, duty-bound to say it. “We can still back off. Call for backup. Get a GBI Swat team on the scene…set up and take them down.” Even in the dark, he could see the fire gleam in George’s eyes, reflecting the moonlight. “Just a thought.”
George nodded, looked at the ground between his knees and thought it through one last time. “And if they kill the girl? It’d take hours to get a team here…past the deadline they gave Clay.” He looked up. “That’s not what we came for, Mike. This is a rescue, not a negotiation.”
Their eyes met. George was right. By any customary standards of morality, the Stinsons were depraved…hell, they were fucking crazy. Everyone knew it. Surround them…leave them no way out…they would be like a black bear in a tree, ringed by the dogs barking up the trunk, dangerous and unpredictable.
He could play it forward in his mind and see the outcome. Lashing out, they would kill what they could before they went down. It was the way animals react.
Maybe things could have been handled differently. Cy, or his brother, or George could have come to them at the beginning, involved the sheriff’s department…the GBI…the FBI. They hadn’t. Even if they had, there were no guarantees that things would be any different. The Stinsons were what they were and George Mackey was what he was.
Mike looked at George, his face just perceptible in the moon glow. “Let’s do it.”
“What’s that?” Bain looked up as Albert pulled the door open.
“What’s it look like?” Albert sat the two five-gallon cans of gasoline in the middle of the room.
“Jesus, Albert. You goin’ to burn the place down around us?” Bain jumped up, moving as far away from the two cans as the walls of the small room would allow. “Shit. This old place, dry and rotted…it’ll go up like a torch.”
“I’m countin’ on it.”
“What the hell you talkin’ about? This place is where we was raised, and you gonna burn it down?”
At any other time, Bain would have been happy to see the old place and its nightmare memories disappear in the flames, but not when he was standing in the middle of it.
“We get done with them…” Albert nodded at the girls huddled in the corner. “…and the one that killed Carl…what you think people are gonna do? They gonna be missed, that’s what. Not her maybe…” He jerked his head at Danny. “…but them others. People will be lookin’ for them.”
“They won’t know we done it.” Bain spoke softly as if a loud voice might ignite the gasoline.
“They won’t know it, but you better believe they gonna think it. They’ll come sniffin’ around. We ain’t gonna have no worries about them findin’ them. We take them to the swamp where Daddy did that boy…won’t nobody find them.”
“Then why? I don’t get it.”
“Well, there’s a big fuckin’ surprise. You don’t get it.” Albert shook his head and spoke slowly. “They gonna come around lookin’. They’ll find somethin’. You seen it on television…a hair…a fingernail…something. They always do.” As he spoke, he took one of the cans and began pouring it over the floor and walls in the old kitchen. The dry timbers soaked the gasoline in. “They got ways, nowadays…scientific tests …they can check things and figure out who that hair or fingernail come from.”
“Oh.”
Bain inhaled the gasoline vapors and exhaled quickly, not wanting them in his lungs if the place ignited like a roman candle. He’d known an old man out in Judges Creek that was burning trash one day…poured gas over the pile…lit a match and it went up in his face…burned his lungs so bad he died.
Fire Department said he breathed in the fumes. When he lit the match, everything went up, including the fumes in his lungs. He took a quick breath and exhaled again, trying to get all of the gas out of his lungs. Shit. Albert was a fucking lunatic.
“Oh? That all you got to say?” Albert shook his head and kept pouring the gas. “Not surprised, I reckon.” He finished in the kitchen and sat the empty can in the middle of the front room. “So we’re not gonna leave them anything to find. No hair, no fingernail…nothin’. They might have questions about the house burnin’ down, but we don’t know nothin’ about that.” His eyes narrowed. “Right? We don’t know nothin’.”
“Right, Albert.” Bain’s head bobbed. “Right. We don’t know nothin’.”
Nothin’ except he wanted to get the hell out of the creepy old house. Where the hell was the boy? If he would just show up, they could finish things and get out…let Albert light his fire. About now, Bain would have killed his own Mama to get out of there, if she weren't already dead.
The plan was simple. Mike moved through the brush to the back of the house. George would work his way up to the front. Cy was to stay put under cover at the edge of the clearing.
When George was as close as he could get, he would try to see what was happening inside. If he got a clear shot at them, he would take it. They would not be negotiating.
Patience was the key. They had time. The worst-case scenario would be if they were discovered or there was some threat to the girls. If that happened, the plan would be even simpler.
George would rush the house. His movement would be the signal for Mike to come in from the back. Moving as quickly as they could, they would try to eliminate the Stinsons as threats and at the same time protect the girls and themselves.
If Albert and Bain surrendered, so much the better, although the plan did not include asking for them to throw down their guns. Conversation was not part of their tactics.
With a little luck, the only ones going down would be Albert and Bain. George shrugged off the uncomfortable thought that they had not been overrun with good luck lately.
When everything was clear, meaning when no one else was going to get shot…or everyone was already shot…they would bring Cy up and let him take care of the girls while they waited for Clay and the crime scene people, who would be swarming over things in due time.
Crouching, George moved quickly, and as quietly as he could, across the open clearing, his eyes on the house’s door and windows. Starlight and the setting moon made the night outside much brighter than the interior of the house. Looking in, he could only see a black void, but anyone watching from inside would see him as a dark shape moving across the yard. They wouldn’t be able to identify who it was, but that was irrelevant. His silhouette would make an outstanding target.
At the house, he pushed himself up against the wall, checked the placement of his feet, and took a deep breath. No one had been watching. That had been their hope. The Stinsons were waiting for Clay to arrive in his truck, headlights on, coming down the road. They were not expecting visitors on foot, creeping through the brush around the old shack.
At least, that had been their theory in developing a strategy. Admittedly, it was unproven, but it had sounded good. In any event, there were not a lot of options….or any options, for that matter. So far, it was working.
Satisfied that he had not aroused the attention of anyone inside, George relaxed for a moment, waiting for his pounding heart to calm. He listened for sounds of movement. There was none.
Reassured, he began a slow crawl along the rock foundation, looking for an opening through which he could gauge what was happening inside. As he neared the porch, his knee landed in a clump of grass where a possum had bedded down. The animal hissed, backed away from the big intruder and then scurried under the porch. George froze.
“What the hell was that?” It was the voice of the younger Stinson…Bain.
“Fuckin’ possum.” The older Stinson sounded annoyed. “You heard it hiss, didn’t you? That’s a possum if I ever heard one. Quit actin’ like such a chicken shit.”
“Well…what made it hiss?” Bain’s voice was defensive.
“Shut up and go back to sleep.”
“I ain’t getting’ much sleep.”
“Then shut up and watch while I get me some s
leep. Got a busy day ahead.”
After some grumbling by Bain about the way his brother was treating him, the voices inside ceased and the night became quiet again. George continued his search for a way to see in…maybe a place to take a shot at one or both of the men. He approached the porch on his knees and saw that the timbers were rotted through. Entering through the front door, without attracting attention, would be impossible.
He moved around the porch, exploring around the foundation. If he had to stand and look through a window, he would…as a last resort. He didn’t relish the idea of trusting to luck again. The Stinsons wouldn’t have to be all that attentive to see him peeking through a window. All they had to do was let loose a round of buckshot at his shadow in the glass.
Moving on his knees, he came to a place where the rock foundation had crumbled, leaving an opening to the crawl space. He considered going under the house to see what he could find. Remembering the possum, he thought better of it. No telling what animals had sought out the damp dark beneath the shack for their homes. Whatever they were, large or small, they all had teeth and better eyes for seeing in the dark than he did.
He examined the broken rock with his fingers and ran them up to the wood sill that the walls rested on. Like everything else, it was rotted. His hand stopped.
There was an opening…a small one…but it was there. He crouched and peered into the gap where the plywood siding had warped away from the wall studs when the foundation crumbled.
It was about six inches across. He stared in, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark inside the house. After a minute, he could see them.
Huddled, in a corner across from the opening, were the two girls. Their hands were behind them, apparently tied up, as they had suspected. Their condition was indeterminable but they looked to be alive.
Just barely visible, in the opposite corner, was the younger of the Stinsons. His head dropped and he seemed to be sleeping. A shotgun rested across his knees.
There was no sign of Albert. That meant that he was to one side or the other, out of George’s range of vision. He leaned against the foundation, thinking things through.
He knew where one was…could take him out without difficulty from his position. The location of the other brother was a problem. Eliminating Bain would alert Albert and they would lose the element of surprise. If George did not get inside quickly and remove him as a threat, Albert would be able to do what he wanted to the girls before dealing with the intruders.
He thought of the crumbling porch. It would take some effort to move quickly across it in the daylight. In the dark, he figured Albert would step out and shoot a nice big hole in him before he could reach the door
He lifted himself up a little and peered through the gap again. There was another problem. The odor of gasoline was in the air. He had thought at first it was probably leaking from the old truck in the yard, but now he saw the source plainly, and he knew what Albert had carried into the house.
Two five-gallon gas cans sat in the middle of the small room. Apparently, the Stinsons were planning to burn the place down once they eliminated Clay and the girls. It was not a major problem, but he would have to be careful in taking them out. Ten gallons was a lot of gasoline and the old house would go up like kindling if it ignited.
It was time to consider options. He wished they had set up a signal of some sort …some way to let Mike know what he was seeing.
You’re out of practice, he thought to himself for the hundredth time, shaking his head. There was nothing to do but make his way back to the edge of the clearing, work his way around to Mike’s station at the rear, discuss possibilities and then move back to his position at the house. He could do it, but it would take time, and every unnecessary movement increased the risk of discovery.
He started across the clearing towards the tree line and froze in his tracks. The sound was unmistakable, even from a distance.
A vehicle was coming fast, the sound of its tires crunching gravel and bouncing over bumps was clearly audible, carrying down the tunnel of trees that lined the road to the clearing. It was probably no more than a mile away, possibly much less. It could only be one person.
Clay Purcell must have figured things out too…known that they were holding the girls back in Georgia…hadn’t waited for Albert to call him to give him directions to the old Stinson place. He wasn’t hours away, as they thought. He was minutes away.
Cy heard the approaching vehicle too and stood by the pine tree, looking at George frozen in the middle of the clearing. Their eyes met and George nodded. There was only one thing to do.
He whirled and rushed towards the front porch. Inside the house, Albert was on his feet, kicking at Bain to rouse him.
“Get up.” Albert put a boot on Bain’s shoulder and pushed him over.
“Wh…what?” Bain blinked is eyes, wiping at the saliva that had pooled in his cheek and dripped from the side of his mouth as he slept.
“He’s comin’. Be here in a minute.”
“Oh.” Bain pulled himself up and stretched. “Early, ain’t he?”
“Hell, yeah, he’s early.” Albert went to the girls huddled together in the corner and reached for Lyn. “He must be anxious to see you.” He grabbed her shirt.
“Come here, girl. Want you to be the first thing your boyfriend sees.” He grinned. “The last too, I reckon.”
She pulled away, struggling as Albert’s fist clamped around her arm and jerked her up. Danny, eyes wide, kicked at his feet, fighting the only way she could.
“Come take hold of the whore!”
Albert kicked with his boot and connected with Danny’s mouth. Her head snapped back and bounced off the wall. Dazed, she slumped forward onto the floor.
“I said, come take hold of her, goddamnit!”
“I’m comin’. You’re in the way, is all.” Bain eased by his brother, afraid to touch him when he was riled, and reached for Danny.
“Pull her out of the way! I don’t want no distractions.”
Shotgun in one hand, her wrist in the other, Bain began dragging Danny’s limp form across the floor to the opposite corner. When her shoe caught in a gap in the floorboards, he nearly fell over. He pulled again, unable to move her. Finally, reaching down and freeing the shoe, he was able to tug her out of the way.
Pistol to her head, Albert wrapped his arm around Lyn’s neck, stood her up in front of him in the middle of the room. His arm tightened across her trachea, choking her to the point that she could barely breathe. “Not a sound, until I say.” He thumped the pistol into her temple at the point where the vein throbbed from the pressure on her neck.
The sound of Clay’s approaching pickup was louder now. In a minute, he would be in the clearing. There wasn’t much time. Lyn’s struggle to free herself was a struggle to save Clay.
Twisting in her uncle’s grasp, kicking at the air with her feet. She received a blow from the pistol that opened a gash on the side of her head, raising an egg-sized lump. Albert tightened the chokehold. She felt herself blacking out, the room spinning around her, the rush of her own blood in her ears.
Her head turned back and forth trying to break the hold. After everything, how could it end like this? Her eyes fluttered closed on the verge of unconsciousness. For the first time since the ordeal began, she prayed. It could not end like this…not here…not now…please God…not like this.
Albert could see the glow of the headlights now, making their way down the road to the clearing. Peering from the darkened house into the yard, he watched the beams bounce and light up the trees, turning them from dark shadowy shapes to brilliant green. Almost now...just a few more feet. The headlights shone across the clearing outside.
Everything changed at the sound of heavy footsteps making their way across the decaying porch planks. The yard, lit by the pickup’s headlights, vanished from sight as a shadowy form filled the doorway.
Albert blinked. “What the hell…”
“Let her go.” Geor
ge stepped from the porch into the room, the rifle held chest high, his finger on the trigger. In the dark, he could not risk firing at the man holding the girl. “Let her go, now.”
“Shoot him!” Albert’s small eyes squinted at the figure in the doorway. It wasn’t the boy. Who the hell was it? He decided it didn’t matter. “Shoot him now!”
Bain looked at his brother...at the silhouette in the doorway…back at his brother. He raised the shotgun slowly.
“Goddamn you, Bain. Blow his fucking ass away!”
The voice of Clyde’s ghost whispered in his ear, louder than Albert’s shouting. “Do it. Now’s your chance…be one of us…be a Stinson…do it now!”
George’s eyes moved to the left, to the dark corner of the room. He could only make out a shadow. There was no clear target. Somewhere, there was another girl in the room. He kept the rifle ready, waiting for his chance before time ran out. Then time ran out.
The deafening roar of the shotgun filled the room. George never heard it. There was only searing light and then darkness.
“Nooo!” Lyn shrieked an agonized wail. It wasn’t fair! Help so near, at the very threshold, snatched away in the blinding blast of the shotgun. It was more than she could bear.
She knew the man lying on the floor, blood pooling around him. It was the big deputy, the one who had come to save her in the mountains. She twisted and turned in her uncle’s grasp, struggling one last time against the unfairness of it all.
Distracted by the appearance of the stranger, Albert relaxed his grip for the briefest of moments. Raising her arm, Lyn scratched at his face and eyes, tearing flesh with her nails.
“Goddamnit,” Albert roared.
His arm fell away from her throat. Lyn dropped to the floor, kicking herself away from him.
The thunder of the shotgun filled the room again. Albert crumpled. His head hit the old planks with a thud, his animal eyes open and staring at Lyn, lying inches away. She pushed herself farther away and tried to stand. A hand reached down and took her under the arm. She looked up, blinking in confusion.