She couldn’t. Despite the growing anxiety, Darla was loyal.
Reluctantly, she took her position in the upstairs bathroom, arranging the blinds at an angle and scanning her vantage point.
“I’ll be right next door,” Dean said by the door. “We both take a shot or no one takes a shot. One knock for ready, aim. Then a long three count and fire.”
“Just go,” she snapped. “I got it.”
He looked like he had wanted to say something else, but instead he just took in a deep breath and disappeared in a flash.
Down in the yard, Spencer stood at the edge of the King’s lawn—which was now shaggy and long, with myriad stocks of dandelions blowing in the wind.
“Helicopters landed,” he shouted. “Down at the park two blocks away. Arrival immediate.” Then he discussed something with Joey, who paced along the edge of the driveway, hitting his free hand against his leg.
From her second-story window, Darla saw the crowd first.
Tiny specks of black and brown, crouching and running in formation along the sidewalk; the sound of their shoes hitting the pavement echoing up the road like little bursts of gunfire. Clap-clap-clap. They moved like military, tight together, ducking and using the area as their shield. This was no rag-tag group of civilians.
She counted.
Seven. Eight. They moved so quickly that she couldn’t tell. There was no way that she could take them out before they saw her; and even though Dean had been using his afternoons to target practice, she didn’t trust his shot either.
“This is going to end poorly,” Darla whispered to herself and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Her thoughts went to Teddy. “Keep him safe. Just keep him safe,” she whispered to no one in particular. She forced herself to keep her gun steady on the approaching storm.
Three houses down, Spencer saw the visitors and he called for Joey to get back. The two of them backed themselves up onto the King’s front porch. And they raised their guns as a welcome.
Then the men stopped moving. From the back of the group, an unarmed man made his way to the front; he looked at the King house, his eyes scanning the yard, making note of the two men waiting for him, and as he looked upward, Darla ducked, careful not to disturb the blinds. She hoped he had not seen her, hoped she had not immediately blown their cover.
Through the open window, the conversation drifted to her.
“Lower your weapons. Disarm,” the man called. “I am General Charles. We are here for Ethan King. We have no beef with you. I repeat, lower your weapons.”
“General Charles,” Spencer repeated. “Welcome to our humble neighborhood. You see…I’m not exactly sure on whose authority you are acting. Seeing as how there’s no government, or laws, or…a population.”
“I’m not asking, sir,” the General continued. “We are here for Ethan King. And we will acquire him with or without your help.”
“Ethan’s indisposed at the moment. You get me.”
Darla’s heart thumped in her chest. Why had she let him be the face and voice of this operation? Because, she realized, she never thought this moment would come. Throughout all of Spencer’s planning, Darla had thought he was a total paranoid crackpot.
But he had been right.
He’d said they would come armed. Prepared. And as enemies.
Her sense of foreboding increased.
The General was silent. He spoke in low tones to the people around him. Darla hesitated and then pushed herself against the wall and rose slowly to peek at the action. The men moved into position around the perimeter of the yard. All guns trained on Spencer and Joey. The General appeared unarmed and unafraid and his arms were crossed against his body.
“What is it you think you can acquire? What leverage do you think you have over us?” The General said.
Darla peered downward. She could see Spencer and Joey a few steps down now. Standing on the cement steps, Joey and Spencer both scanned their guns over the crowd. Joey bounced his leg and even from a story above, Darla could tell he was a sweating, twitchy mess.
“We want protecting,” Joey blurted and Darla heard Spencer’s sharp voice of dissent.
“Protection,” the former principal amended. “We want food and shelter.”
“How many of you am I offering immunity to?” the General asked.
Spencer didn’t bite. “What you see is what you get.”
“I’m here for Ethan…and the child,” the General said and he took a step forward.
Darla started to let out a yell, but she forced herself to stand silent; she clamped her hand over her mouth and watched—her eyes darting between Spencer and the General.
“What child?” was Spencer’s reply. “You’ve got the wrong house.”
The General turned and nodded. And a single shot rang out.
Joey crumpled to the ground beside Spencer’s feet; his body tumbled forward along the cement and came to rest upon the steps—his legs on the landing, his chin against the ground. Blood pooled and poured from a wound in his head, staining the gray sidewalk a bright crimson. Spencer addressed the body with coldness. He stared down at Joey’s unmoving form, and then he looked back up at the General.
“Oh,” Spencer replied. “You mean that child.”
“No,” Darla gasped and her heart caught in her throat. “No, no.” She thought she was yelling, but no sound was coming out.
Darla heard the knock.
Dean had knocked against the wall.
Ready, aim.
And Darla scrambled. Tossing her gun to the floor, she scampered out of the bathroom and over to the room next door.
“Dean! Dean!” she whispered. “Hold your fire. Hold your fire!” She crashed into the bed, out of breath.
Startled and shaking, Dean lowered his arm and pushed himself away from the window.
“Three,” he said with a quiver. “Jesus, Darla, they shot Joey.” He was white as a sheet.
“I saw,” Darla answered. She put her head down on the bed. “We can’t shoot them…we can’t let them know we’re here. They want my boy…I’m going to get Teddy…”
“There’s no time,” Dean told her, shaking his head. “Darla—”
Darla held her hand out. “Give me your gun. Give me the gun!” He obliged and Darla gripped it in her hand. “I need your help. You have to help me. Create a diversion…or…”
They stopped talking. From downstairs they could hear the stomp of feet, the rush of people. There was shouting and barking of orders.
A voice called, “Downstairs. In the cellar! Grab the boy!” and a second voice shouted, “We’ve got Ethan! Ethan, sir!”
They heard another single gunshot ring out.
“No, no, no,” Darla screamed and she started to rush into the hallway. Panic flooded her and Darla felt numb; an intense primal yell began to bubble out of her and her vision went foggy. Dean lunged after her and grabbed her arm, yanking her backward into him.
“You can’t,” he said. “It’s suicide. You can’t,” he repeated.
They heard the footsteps on the stairs.
“My child—” Darla started and she spun again. Dean grabbed her and dragged her backward. The men were upstairs. One door banged open. Then another. She looked at Dean, her eyes pleading. “My boy.”
“I lost my boy too,” Dean whispered, his eyes darted back and forth, staring at her. He was fierce, intense. “We’ll get them back. We’ll get them back. We’re no good to them dead. You hear me? You’re no good to Teddy dead.”
Darla shook her head. “No,” she turned to bolt again, but Dean held her. “Please, let me go.”
He shoved her to the floor and pushed her toward the bed. “You have to hide. Hide. Hide!”
With silent sobs convulsing through her body, Darla forced herself under the King’s California King. She tucked her body between two plastic bins of clothes and tried to picture Teddy’s face. He would be so scared. He would be so worried. He needed her and she needed him. The door to the master bedro
om banged open, shots were fired into the open room and Darla covered her ears with her hands. She couldn’t tell if she screamed or if she was only screaming in her head. Then the firing stopped, the footsteps retreated.
After a long minute, someone yelled that the upstairs was all clear. Her ears rang and she didn’t know if she should move or stay. Then Darla felt Dean’s hands latching around her ankles and he rolled her out from under the bed.
She was about to ask him where he hid, when they heard the boom. The foundation of the house shook with violent fury. Then a second boom rocked them and Darla tumbled to the ground. They rushed to the window, Dean’s hand still holding Darla’s arm. Outside, they saw the men pouring from the house, stomping back down the street in tight lines. Two men in uniform worked together to carry an unconscious Ethan from the house; Ethan’s body seemed tiny in their hands. When they reached the sidewalk, one of the men took over—cradling the twenty-year-old like a baby. His head flopping as the soldier picked up his pace.
And then Darla saw her son.
He was crying, tears streaming down his face. And he kicked and flailed at the young man carrying him away from the house, running back toward the way they came.
“Teddy!” Darla yelled and she pushed off from Dean before he could grab her and rushed into the hallway. The smell of smoke was overpowering and as she reached the stairs, she knew then that the house was on fire. Flames licked up from the basement and were already growing, lapping at the first set of stairs. Darla ignored the inferno, didn’t question where her houseguests were, and she bounded down the steps and out the door.
When she reached the landing, she skidded to a halt. Joey’s body lay in the same position as before; his eyes wide-open, staring up at her, vacant and void of life.
She pushed the image aside and bolted down to the grass and out onto the street. Already the men were like dots in the distance, rounding the corner toward their waiting helicopters. Darla sprinted after them, pumping her arms, her lungs aching and ready to burst. She had never run so fast in her entire life; it felt like she could takeoff and fly. But as she neared the park, she saw the first of the machines rise and circle with a steady whack-whack-whack of its propellers.
Then the second helicopter lifted. And Darla sank to the ground, her chest heaving. All the air had left her body and she gasped for breath.
“Teddy! Teddy!” she yelled between gasping breaths.
Teddy was gone.
She screamed and rose to her feet; then pushing herself with all her might, Darla began to follow the helicopters, chasing them across the sidewalk, cutting through yards, until they were nothing more than tiny spots in the sky.
“Darla! Stop!” She heard and she turned.
Running after her, his big body thumping along the paths she had taken, was Dean.
“They’re gone,” he breathed. “They’re all gone.”
“I tried to get him,” she sobbed and gulped. “I couldn’t run fast enough.”
“No,” Dean shook his head and he put his hands on his knees. When he looked up at her, he had tears in his eyes. “At the house. Back at the house.”
His meaning dawned on her and she paused. “Everyone?”
“They shot everyone,” Dean answered. “God Almighty, Darla, they shot everyone.”
They ran back to the fire. The flames now burst through the second-story windows; orange and red, they danced toward the sky. And black billowing clouds of smoke followed the colorful hues into the air above the house. Soon, the entire neighborhood was painted in a thin blanket of white and gray.
“Ainsley…Doctor Krause…” Darla said trancelike. She tumbled to the ground when the heat of the fire touched her skin. Her thoughts next went to Teddy’s toys. The action figures he had come to love; she resisted the urge to go back into the fire to salvage them. He would be so heartbroken to learn they had burned; her desire to save the toys overwhelmed her. She turned away and let the tears fall.
“Doctor Krause was gone for sure. I saw her as I left. Execution style. Ainsley…I don’t know…” Dean replied. “The fire moved fast…”
Darla nodded, but she wasn’t listening.
She scanned the grass and then jumped. Sitting upright against the shrubs in the far corner of the yard was Spencer. His shirt was stained red and splotches of blood stuck to his neck and his chin. His face was pale, his eyes closed, but Darla could see the rise and fall of his chest.
“Son of a bitch,” she grumbled and crawled forward.
“Darla—” Dean said, but he let her go, following on her heels.
“You gave them my son,” Darla screamed over the roar of the fire. “You told them where he was…this…this death…this is on your hands!”
Spencer kept his hands pressed to his belly, but blood still seeped through his fingers. The men had shot a hole into his stomach and left him to die. Joey, Doctor Krause, were killed instantly—Spencer was dying slowly, bleeding out with each painful intake of air.
They had wanted him to suffer most.
Darla felt Dean’s hand on her arm. Her lips trembled, her limbs shook, everything inside of her was cold. The heat of the fire radiated toward them, but Darla was freezing, her teeth chattered together.
“I wish, I wish,” she breathed, “that they had left you for me.” And she rocked her body forward, with Dean’s hand still wrapped around her wrist and she spit on him. Her saliva rolled down Spencer’s cheek and nose.
“I was never the enemy,” Spencer said in a whisper.
“I don’t have to choose,” Darla screamed. “It’s not you or them. It’s you and them. He’s all I have left! Can’t you understand that? He’s all I had left!”
“Trying…to save…”
“Yourself,” Darla cried. “That’s all everything was ever about. You. You. You. Their blood is on your hands. All those people…who trusted you…”
Something within the house crumbled and crashed; wood and debris began to tumble inward. The crackling of the fire was deafening and the heat became more intense.
“We have to get away from the house,” Dean said and he tugged on Darla.
“Gun,” Darla commanded, but Dean shook his head.
“We have to go, Darla, now,” he said.
“Gun!” she said again and Dean reached into his waistband and pulled out a second small shotgun.
She raised the gun and held it to Spencer’s head. Another crash; sparks and smoke flew upward into the sky.
“You took away everything that mattered to me,” she said as the tears spilled down her face.
“I’m…already…gone,” Spencer muttered with his eyes closed. “You’re…doing me a favor. I want you to…shoot me.”
Darla’s hand trembled as she held the gun in front of her. Then she dropped it to the ground and kicked it away toward the house.
“I want you to suffer,” she said and Spencer did not reply. Blood began to pool at his sides.
Dean marched back through the heat and whisked Darla away, grabbing her around the waist, and pulling her toward safety. She kept her eyes trained on Spencer—the principal followed her gaze and then closed his eyes, his breathing slowing.
“Rot. Rot. Rot in hell…murderer…” Darla screamed at him and then she crumpled into Dean’s arms and let herself get dragged to the opposite side of the street. “He took away everything I had,” Darla said again. She sobbed and watched as the King house succumbed to the fire.
Dean lugged her to the neighbor’s porch and he lifted her up, rested her against the steps. With the burning house in the background, he cupped his hands around her chin and looked at her.
“We’re getting our sons,” he said. “Do you hear me?”
“I hear you,” Darla answered. “I hear you.”
“Grant and Teddy are okay.”
“Okay.”
“They didn’t take Teddy to hurt him. They took him to save him,” Dean said. “If they wanted to hurt him, they would’ve left him to die. Rig
ht?”
Darla nodded. She didn’t know if she believed Dean, but she understood the logic. She nodded again. Then she wiped her face, aware that she was covered in dirt and grime and sweat. With her insides feeling like gelatin and her brain still reeling, she turned and bit her lip.
“I’m ready,” she said. “Let’s go.”
“Right now?” Dean asked. “You okay? You need a moment?”
She shook her head, her raven hair flying. With her hands on her hips, she shot a look to her new unlikely ally. “I don’t need anything but my child.”
“Where are we headed?” Dean asked. “You lead the way.”
Another boom and crash exploded behind them, Darla flinched, but she didn’t move. Her thoughts went to Ainsley, whose body was still out there, probably buried in the house. She wondered what her last moments were like…if she fought, if she sacrificed herself in those final seconds before they took Teddy. Darla pushed the thoughts away; her mind gravitated back to Teddy and the look on his face as they carried him down the street.
They took him away.
“The men knew Ethan was here. And they knew about my child. Which means one thing…Grant and Lucy made it to Brixton. So, we go to Brixton.”
“Nebraska,” Dean said. “Into the lion’s den.”
“You can stay if you want,” Darla spat, turning to him, her eyes flashing with betrayal. “But nothing…nothing…will stop me from going after my son.”
“Hey,” Dean said and put his hands on her shoulders, pulling her into a brief hug; her body stiffened as he embraced her. “You’re the boss. I’m with you. Let’s go get our kids back.”
He let his arm linger on her shoulder for a second and he grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze; then, mechanically, they both turned to the pyre and stood frozen on the sidewalk, as the home tumbled downward, crashing to the earth in a pillar of smoke and ash and flame.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lucy felt light.
Like a weight had lifted off of her shoulders.
She kept looking at Grant like he was going to flit away, but every time she stole a glance he was there, smiling back at her.
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