Motion off to his left caught Abram’s attention.
A couple of teenaged boys rushed at them, with what Abram thought was the intent to steal their supplies. Abram’s heart kicked into high gear, and he reached for his pistol, but before they came any closer, Nick drew his own firearm, and the boys ran off before a warning shot even needed to be fired. Gary looked at Nick with approval, but Nick ignored him, re-holstering his gun. Abram, on the other hand, pulled his out. He needed to be ready.
Nick seemed to realize what he’d done, and pulled the weapon from its holster, holding it ready in his right hand again. Abram wondered what was going through Nick’s mind. Was he as worried as Abram was? They each were at risk; Abram knew this and appreciated Nick’s courage. He had been conned into Gary’s raid on the store, but he had volunteered to help rescue Emma. He didn’t have to do that. Didn’t have to herd Gary down to the general store. Abram could have handled both the cart and the man.
Now that they were here, he was having second thoughts about sending Gary to his likely death, and he was formulating a plan that might be risky. What he needed was to get Emma free and clear, but give Gary the chance to get away. Was it even possible? He had to be sure—he couldn’t take a chance of not getting Emma back, or of her being caught in any crossfire. He needed an infallible plan.
He thought about it while they skirted the green. He could make it work if he could trust Gary. Abram felt a cold rock in the pit of his stomach—Gary was his oldest friend in the world, and here he was wondering if he could trust him. What had gone wrong between them? Was it just the lawlessness speaking to Gary’s need for freedom? Or was he like this all along and Abram just hadn’t noticed?
They rounded the corner across from the green and Abram came to a halt. He motioned for Nick to come over, which he did, playing out the line he was using as a leash so that Gary couldn’t hear what Abram had to say.
“I can’t send a man to his death,” Abram said.
“He did.”
“I appreciate your straightforwardness, Nick, but I’m not sure I can have this on my conscience. I think there might be a way to do this so we don’t have to sacrifice Gary.”
“What’s your plan?”
“I want to loosen the binds around Gary’s hands. That will give him a fighting chance to get free. But it will have to look as if they are still tied—do you think you can do that?”
“I can, but can we trust Gary to keep it a secret until you have Emma back?”
Abram pursed his lips. “I think so.”
“It’s up to you, Abram. Emma’s your daughter, and Gary is your friend. I’m just not sure what we’ll do with Gary afterward.”
Abram considered his options. With time quickly running out, he had only moments to make up his mind.
They led Gary back around the corner, out of sight of the store, while Abram explained the plan. Nick looked around to see if anyone was watching, but he didn’t see a single soul roaming the streets or sidewalks.
“Do you understand, Gary?” Abram asked, voice quiet.
“Yeah.”
“If you try anything, or mess this up for Emma in any way, I won’t hesitate to shoot you point blank where you stand.”
“Trust me. I didn’t mean for this to happen to Emma. I want to save her too. I swear, I won’t mess this up.”
Nick stood nearby, silent. He questioned Gary’s commitment to go through with the whole thing, right up until Emma was in her father’s arms. It was Gary who was ready to give up Emma when Nick and his family had arrived at the compound. Now, his about-face was somewhat unnerving.
“Okay, Nick,” Abram said. “Do your thing.”
Nick began to loosen the twine around Gary’s hands so that when he held his arms crossed in front, it looked as if they were still tied together. Nick stepped away when he was finished and went to stand behind the cart. It wasn’t that he was worried about someone stealing the supplies, but he wanted to appear to be doing something. He was nervous and wasn’t sure what would happen in the next hour.
He let out a long sigh as he listened to Abram run through the plan with Gary again. He wished that he and his children had stayed in Manchester. They would have been safe in their home—even if he’d had to travel to get food and water, they probably wouldn’t have been facing the uncertainty of a hostage exchange. He had no confidence that it wouldn’t go wrong.
And he had no desire to die in this tiny town in the Vermont backwoods. His children would grow up as orphans in a whole new world, and the thought terrified him. Sure, Maggie would take care of Corey and Rae Ann, he knew that, but he wasn’t ready to die.
Emma needed to use the restroom. She tried calling out and then screaming until her throat was sore, but no one came. That’s when she lay on her back and started pounding her feet against the wall. Her shoes made a decent amount of noise when she slammed her heels into it, and for a moment she was afraid her feet would go right through the wall. Then she decided she didn’t care if they went through. It would serve them right for leaving her down here with no bathroom.
The basement door opened, and a pair of feet came quickly down the stairs.
“Stop that,” Cindy said.
“I have to use the bathroom,” Emma said through the gag.
There was a hand on her face, and the gag was pulled away. “What?”
“I have to use the bathroom,” Emma repeated herself.
“That’s a problem, isn’t it? Stay here, and don’t make any more noise. I have to get something to cut the binds around your legs.”
Emma was tempted to tell Cindy that it was pretty stupid to ask her to stay here when her lower legs were bound together, but she wanted to be on Cindy’s good side, so she didn’t. She rolled over on her side—her arms were killing her, tied behind her back and stuck under her body. A minute or two later, she heard Cindy’s feet coming back down the stairs.
“Lie still,” the woman said.
Emma felt a knife slide between her legs, front and back, and then Cindy was helping her to stand. She started to lead her toward the stairs, but Emma balked.
“I can’t see to get up the stairs,” Emma said.
“I can't take the blindfold off.”
Cindy helped Emma climb the stairs, and it was slow-going. Once they were upstairs, Cindy opened the door into the hallway and directed Emma into the bathroom. The woman came in with her, and removed the blindfold, before stepping out again.
It was a windowless room, with no hidden exits, as far as Emma could see. It was like a service station bathroom, the old style where you had to go around the side or the back of the building. The sink and toilet were clean but stained, and the room itself was dingy.
She used the facilities the best she could with her hands still bound behind her back. When she was done, Cindy came in and replaced the blindfold back over her eyes before leading her back down the basement stairs.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Emma said. “The man who killed your husband wasn’t even related to me.”
“No, but I’m assuming your dad is bringing him to us because we have you to trade for him.”
The sound of tape ripping from the roll echoed in the basement, and moments later, Emma felt the tape winding around her ankles.
“You could just let me go now,” Emma said. “If they are almost here, then you’ll have your man, and I’ll be safe. Just let me go out the back.”
“I can’t do that. You are our bargaining chip.”
Then the door opened at the top of the stairs.
“They’re here,” a man said. “It’s showtime.”
28
Abram, Nick, and Gary stopped on the far side of the street in front of the store. Abram wanted plenty of space between the people who had his daughter and his small group. There needed to be maneuvering room.
Three men appeared on the top step of the stairs up to the door, and when they stepped down, Abram could see a woman holding a bound,
gagged, and blindfolded Emma.
His heart stood still a moment, then he reminded himself that she was alive and in one piece. And she didn’t appear to be injured in any way, though who knew what they'd done to her mentally. He pushed the cart forward and motioned for Nick to send Gary ahead too.
“Here’s what you asked for.” Abram spoke loudly enough for them to hear him across the street. “Now let her go.”
“No way in hell that’s half your food—you’re cheating us.” The tall man appeared to be the spokesman of the group.
“It’s what we could get together in the amount of time you gave us.”
The tall man motioned to the cart. “Push the cart over here. I want to check what you brought.”
Abram pushed the cart further into the street and backed away. This was where this could all go terribly wrong. The first two layers of boxes were fine, but if he opened either of the bottom layers, they were in trouble. He rested his hand on his pistol, ready to pull it from the holster. He wished Emma wasn’t blindfolded. If gunfire broke out, she wouldn’t be able to get out of the way.
The tall man opened the first box, then a second. The man then shuffled through the boxes and cans down to the bottom of the pile. When he reached for the third box, Abram’s heart raced faster. He was sure the box in his hand was one that was filled with dirt. Nick tensed up next to him. He had to do something, and quick.
“Okay,” Abram said before the man opened the third box. “You can see that we’ve held up our end of the bargain. Release my daughter.”
The man opened the box, ignoring him. He paused, then glared up at him. “Oh, really?” He tipped the box upside down, allowing the dirt to fall to the ground.
“You cheat!” the stocky man said, reaching behind him. “She’s dead.”
“No,” the woman yelled. “We can’t.”
“We can, and we will.”
The stocky man pulled his gun and swung to aim it at Emma, but Abram was faster—he took his shot and a blossom appeared on the man’s chest, his body falling forward down the steps, carried by his own momentum. The two men left alive on the steps scattered, Gary turned and rushed up the street, while Abram ducked behind a vehicle parked on the far side of the road. Nick too had retreated and was using an SUV as cover. Bullets were ricocheting off the cars, and the windshield of the pickup Abram was crouching behind was pockmarked with bullet holes.
Abram was having trouble seeing where the bullets were coming from; every time he raised his head, a shell pinged off the bed of the truck. He fired at what he hoped was the car shielding the tall man, and heard a window shatter.
He heard Emma yell, “Dad,” and then a scream, and when he looked out around the side of the truck, she was gone.
When Cindy dashed back inside the store, Emma lost her balance and fell backward onto the top step. She hadn’t been shot, but Cindy had been steadying her, and without her, Emma lost her equilibrium. She had her legs, but her arms were securely tied behind her back, and she couldn’t see a thing. She felt herself falling but even stepping backward couldn’t stop it.
She fell flat on her back, crushing her fingers and arms and banging her head hard. She blinked back tears and tried to think. If she stood, someone was bound to shoot her by mistake. Or on purpose—she’d heard a man threaten to kill her, and she didn’t doubt he’d do it if he got the chance.
She rolled onto her side and, finding the railing with her foot, pushed her body in what she thought must’ve been the direction of the door. She wondered if she’d be able to open it with her feet and squirm her way through. A bullet hit the stairs, and something struck her face. It stung.
“Watch for Emma,” her dad roared from the other side of the street.
Of course, they were shooting in this direction, so if one of her capturers didn’t turn around and shoot her, the only bullets that would come her way would be her people’s. That would be too bad, to be killed by the people who’d come to rescue her. She lay on her stomach as far from the steps as she could get, pressed up against the building, and of course, blocking the door she wanted to get through.
Lying helpless, she was still blindfolded and unable to use her arms. She might’ve been able to get to her feet, but if she did, she’d probably get shot before she could get away.
She rubbed the side of her face against the cement of the stoop and tried to dislodge the blindfold. The concrete was rough and hurt her skin, but she kept trying. The trouble was that the material rolled, and then when she raised her head to do it again, it unrolled right back down again. She grunted in frustration.
Footsteps came up the stairs, fast.
She cried out, “Dad!” but it wasn’t her father. She was yanked to her feet, and a solid arm held her fast across the middle, shielding the man behind her. She screamed in frustration. She needed to be able to see. Her arms were trapped between their bodies, and pain seared her shoulders. He dragged her to the side, and then the door was open, and they were moving into the shop, away from her father. The only good thing was she wasn’t as likely to be killed by friendly fire inside.
Then she realized that while she was safe from the firefight outside, the man dragging her inside probably had a gun too, and there would be no one in here who would care enough to stop him shooting her.
“Dad,” she shouted through the gag. But it was no use—he couldn’t hear her.
Abram glanced around the truck just in time to see one of the men dashing up the stairs toward where Emma was lying in front of the door to the general store. He raised his gun to fire, but a bullet hit the fender and caused him to jerk back. In the seconds it took him to recover and aim again, the man had grabbed Emma and was using her as a human shield. She was blocking his shot.
He watched in despair as she was dragged through the door backward, into the store and out of his reach. They would have to get inside if they were to rescue her. He spotted movement out of the corner of his eye and dropped to the ground just as a bullet hit the body of the truck where he’d been crouched. He rolled under the pickup and came out on the other side.
Now he was out of the range of the tall man’s fire, but he also couldn’t cover Nick without exposing his head to fire. He peeked over the hood, but Nick had drawn the man’s attention, and they were shooting it out. They had to get out of here, find a way to escape before they were both dead. But he couldn’t leave Emma alone here with these people.
What if he and Nick could escape across the green? Could they then find a way to ambush the store? Could they get there before Emma was killed? He wished he knew what was going on in there. He hadn’t heard any shots from inside, so maybe she was still alive. He had to find out. If he went home without Emma, and he’d ended up sacrificing Emma for Gary, he’d never be able to live with himself.
Why had he been so foolish? Gary hadn’t been himself since he’d gotten here. Gary had no great love for Emma that he would allow himself to be sacrificed for her. And yet Abram had tried to save him. Did save him, apparently, because Gary was long gone and only Nick had stayed to help Abram rescue Emma.
And now they were all going to fail. They would probably die, all three of them. He needed to think, to come up with a plan that would save them all. But those damn gunshots were like explosions in his brain, making thought difficult. It was impossible to come up with a plan. He tried the door of the truck, and it opened. He slid onto the seat, lying across the center console. It wasn’t comfortable, but it felt safer, quieter. Maybe in here, isolated from the commotion outside, his brain would kick into gear and he would think of a plan to save Emma.
It was warmer in the truck than outside, and for some reason, it smelled of cinnamon. He wondered why that was. He noticed that the keys were still in the ignition, and he wondered if it had gas in it. Could he use it to ram the building? He doubted it would go up the stairs, and unless he could get through the doors or the boarded-up windows into the store, it wouldn’t do him any good.
He wis
hed there was a way to communicate with Nick. He needed his help. But he’d left Nick on the outside, battling it out with the tall man on the street. Nick seemed to be holding his own; as far as Abram knew, their adversary hadn’t even winged him. But how much longer could this go on? How long until one of them was dead?
As Corey came into the outskirts of town, he noticed the birds had stopped singing. This caused him to approach even more cautiously than he had been. It wasn’t something he would have registered back home in Manchester, whether the birds were singing or not, but here he knew it was significant. If the birds weren’t singing, something was going on that they didn’t like.
Maybe the birds in Manchester were just so used to cars and horns and other city noises that they didn’t stop singing like this. Corey didn’t remember them ever going quiet—they were usually squawking at some cat or larger bird, or driving the squirrels away from their feeders. He’d once seen a jay divebomb a cat that got too close to its nest of eggs. But here and now, the silence was creepy—it seemed unnatural.
He studied the houses as he walked, checking for signs of inhabitants. Everyone seemed to be hiding. No one relaxed on the porch, watching children play in their yards. No one washed windows or cars. Then again, they might not have water, and they probably couldn’t mow their lawns, either. Still, it was so strange that there was no sign of human inhabitation. There were no kids on bikes or jumping rope—there were so many things children could do without electricity, and he knew there must’ve been children in this town.
A gunshot rang out from not too far away, and then a moment later, a volley of shots fired. He started to run, forgetting his caution. His heart pounded in his ears, and he had a lump of fear in his throat. What was happening? He hoped Emma was okay. His dad and Emma’s dad too. Gary could die, for all he cared, if the others were still alive.
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