“Enough!” Mr. Sawyer snaps. “This is supposed to be about retribution for those he and his people killed. This isn’t for you to get your rocks off. Try feeling a little bit of grief and stop treating this like a fucking game!” Unlike his son, pain riddles Mr. Sawyer’s words. Twisted though he may be, I can hear how much the deaths of his men weigh on him. The knowledge, of course, changes nothing. His blood will still spill. But hearing the humanity in his voice reminds me that none of us are all good or all bad. And that while it’s alright to hate him for what he’s done, it’s on me to stop that hatred from twisting me into the very thing I despise.
“I’m treating this like a game?” Connor challenges. “I’ve warned you since the beginning that we needed more security! I told you it was only a matter of time before we were attacked. But would you listen? Of course not, cause you always know best. You want to blame someone for what happened, look in the mirror!”
“You forget yourself boy!” Mr. Sawyer yells. “Talking to me like this is your God damned house. Who the hell you think you are?”
“Just admit that you were—”
Connor stops speaking mid-sentence, a disturbance from the driveway silencing the fight between father and son.
“PETE!” Felix’s voice cuts through the walls like an icy whip, the anger behind his words cold as the storm raging around him. “Show yourself, you lying piece of shit! Face me like a man unless you’re so much of a coward that you only feel powerful standing up to women and children!”
The tension builds as confusion erupts among the Sawyer clan. I close my eyes, blocking out the details of the room, focusing solely on the sounds taking place around me. Mr. Sawyer and Connor arguing once more. The familiar cadence of weapons priming and bullets being chambered. From somewhere deeper in the house, a child crying. Then, finally, two pairs of feet approaching from the back of the house, the commotion up front drawing them away from their posts. So far so good.
“No gun. No backup. What the hell is he playing at?” Mr. Sawyer’s may be a lot of things, but he knows something’s not adding up.
“Told you letting him walk away was a mistake!” Connor says. “Let’s just kill the spick now. Be done with it.”
“Of course that’s your solution!” Mr. Sawyer snarls. “Shoot first, think later. Try using your brain for once: he’s alone, he’s unarmed. Doesn’t matter how angry he is, he’s not going to risk doing anything that might threaten his aunt’s life!”
“COWARD! I’m waiting!” Felix’s goading comes at just the right time, causing Mr. Sawyer to lose what little cool remained of him.
“Enough of this. Connor, end it—he won’t last much longer anyway. You, help keep things quiet back there. The rest of you, with me. Spread out and stay behind the barricades. Never know what he might be hiding up his sleeve.”
If only you knew.
New sounds reach me. A pair of feet moving swiftly down the hall and disappearing with the slam of a door. Choking and coughing. The creak of the front door and the tread of people exiting the house. Quiet. And then, our cue.
“Felix? What the hell’s the meaning of this?”
Slowly, Richard pries open the door an inch or two, noise muted by Mr. Sawyers voice. From his pocket he withdraws his mirror, scouting ahead as Felix responds.
“Don’t insult me by pretending you don’t know the answer to that question. I’m here to bring my aunt home. I’m not leaving without her.”
Richard pockets the mirror and with a nod over his shoulder, we move.
“I hate to tell you this son, but she is home. She belongs to me now.”
We approach slow. Silent. Only the tortured man strapped to the wooden chair remains behind. His throat has been slit open and blood covers his entire front. Connor granted his wish after all.
“I don’t want to have to kill you, Felix,” Mr. Sawyer says. “We don’t have to be enemies.”
At the front door, Richard uses the mirror to scout ahead once more. Silently, he relays what he sees and lays out his plan for Leon and myself.
Connor laughs. “Yeah, Felix,” he says, mockingly earnest. “We can all be one big, happy family!”
Felix’s eyes find mine as we make our move, a grin splitting his face that wipes the smirk off Connor’s.
“I already have a family,” he says. “Unfortunately for you.”
Death stalks through their ranks—silenced rounds buried into the backs of skulls and larger caliber bullets ripping through exposed torsos. It’s pure carnage, their men caught between our strike team and snipers concealed in the snowfield. Most are dead before they even know what’s happened. Few manage to turn in time to see us among them, guns halfway to their shoulders before being shot down. Even fewer manage to get shots off, their bullets eating into the dirt at their feet or else flying clear over our heads. In the end, only two survive, both of whom are completely incapacitated by their wounds. We leave them where they are. Their lives are not ours to take.
Felix strides forward, his anger cold and quiet as he stares at the wounded men. Even as he bleeds out, Connor Sawyer manages to sneer contemptuously. “Spick,” he says in greeting. He spits bloody phlegm at Felix’s feet. “The little bastard found you then, huh?”
Felix responds by pressing his boot onto the bullet wound in his lower abdomen. Connor screams in pain, unable to help himself. To his left, his father makes to launch himself at Felix. Richard has him restrained in seconds.
“He has a name,” Felix says. “Roberto, Chavez.”
“Sorry, don’t speak wetback,” Connor says. He screams as Felix presses his foot harder onto his wound.
“Say his name,” Felix says.
“Smiley,” Connor says, forcing a laugh through his pain. “Look at the mark I left on his forearm if you don’t believe me.”
Felix kicks Connor in the stomach, making him double over from the pain of it. Mr. Sawyer groans as he struggles against Richard’s grip. I feel a dark satisfaction pulse through me at their suffering. They are far from innocent. They deserve this pain and more for the acts they’ve committed. But then I see the look on Felix’s face, the cruel glint flashing in his eyes as he lands another kick. I see tears pool in Mr. Sawyers eyes as he watches, helpless—a wicked, twisted soul, yes—but still a father watching his son in pain. The vision of another father and son enter my mind for the second time today, reminding me of the thin line we tread and how easily we can lose sight of it.
“Chavo!” I say as he rears back for yet another kick. He stops and lifts his eyes to mine. “Remember why we’re here.” Slowly, the glint leaves his eyes. He nods.
“You’re right,” he says. He turns his attention now to Mr. Sawyer. “My aunt, where is she?” he asks
Mr. Sawyer looks up at Felix, face twisted ferally, his contempt a force onto itself. Yet he doesn’t lash out. Perhaps he wishes to save his son from more pain. Or perhaps he simply realizes no good can occur from doing so. “In the house. First bedroom past the kitchen.”
Felix waits, allowing Mr. Sawyer the chance to add something should he chose. He doesn’t. “I didn’t want any of this,” Felix says. “This is all on you.” He pulls out the pistol strapped at his back and fips off the safety.
“Wait!” Mr. Sawyer pleads, raising his hands defensively. It’s the only word he manages before Felix fires, once through his outstretched hands, and again through his forehead. Connor screams and curses, his skin pale as a corpse. He makes to stand, but his knees give out and send him back to the ground. It’s a pathetic sight. I’ll always hate the man for the things he’s done. Yet I can’t help but pity him in his final moments.
“His name is Roberto, Chavez,” Felix says, turning now to Connor. “And you didn’t break him.” Connor slumps to the ground beside his father, a twin bullet buried through his forehead. He stares down at the pair of them for a moment, the raw hatred from earlier cooled into a grim acceptance.
After a minute, Felix looks up. “Almost done.”
I follow Felix back into the house. Past the kitchen, we reach the door Pete mentioned. Felix turns to me and nods, his face equal parts fear and longing. I pull out my Glock and return the nod. Moment of truth.
We enter what must be the master bedroom. Wooden walls. Plush rugs thrown over hardwood floors. A fire flickers inside a stone covered fireplace, flooding the room with warmth. Opposite the fire sits a king size bed, in front of which stands the Sawyer’s last line of defense: a girl, roughly my age with fiery red hair, and a teenage boy, pale with fear.
“Stay back,” he warns, lifting a shaking shotgun. “I’m not afraid to shoot.” A lie. If his hands didn’t give him away, the tremor in his voice certainly would.
“Put the gun down,” Felix says. “I’ve had enough bloodshed for one day. That’s not the reason I came here.”
“And what exactly is your reason?” the girl asks. Unlike the boy, she holds her shotgun steady. Whatever fear she might feel she hides it well, betraying not a flicker of unease. Given the circumstances, I have to respect that.
Felix is about to respond when the door behind him opens and out steps the woman whose face I know as well as my own mothers.
“It’s ok, Ruby,” she says. “He’s my nephew.”
The girl looks to Christina, her eyebrows raised. “This is Felix?” she asks, her eyes shifting back to Felix. There’s a familiarity between the two that I didn’t expect. Even more unexpected is for the girl’s gun to drop at Christina’s nod. The boy is only too eager to follow suit and let his gun fall.
The danger passed, Felix drops his gun and closes the distance between them in the span of a heartbeat. “Estoy sonando?” she asks, her body hidden from view as Felix squeezes her tight. A sob escapes him at the question.
“It’s not a dream, Tia,” Felix says. “It’s not a dream.”
My heart swells. The whereabouts of his family have weighed on my friend’s shoulders for far too long. To see him reunite with part of it fills me with nothing but joy.
“I knew you were still alive,” she says, looking him up and down in an appraising sort of way. “I felt it in my bones.”
Felix looks away at that, swallowing the lump in his throat before reapplying: “I wish I had the same faith in you,” he says, tears leaking out his eyes. “I’m sorry, Tia. I never should have stopped looking for you. I should have come back, should have kept searching. If I had, maybe I could—”
She puts her hands on either side of his face, making him stop mid-sentence. “Hush, child. You’re here now. Eso es todo lo que importa.” That’s all that matters. Felix nods, sinking against her touch as if he were a boy again. A minute later it’s my arms wrapped around her, and then Leon’s, tears and words of endearment flowing freely between us. Felix introduces her to the rest of our rescue party. She greets them all the same, hugging them close as if she’s known them for years. It’s always been her way. From the shadows of the private bathroom emerge more people. First out is a woman in her early thirties, a boy no older than two held in her arms. Behind her comes several children: a boy and a girl around nine, and an older girl who’s maybe twelve. All have hair a shade of red except for the toddler whose hair is a dark blonde.
“Quienes son?” Felix asks.
“They’re friends,” she says. “Surely we can use more, yes?”
I share a look with Felix and I know he too has read between the lines. He knows his aunt’s heart better than I ever would. Before either of us can question further, Christina beckons them forward and begins introducing them one by one. Heath Sawyer, Pete’s son, and Connor’s half-brother. Ruby and Scarlett Sawyer, cousins to Heath. Scarlett’s children: Sara, the twelve-year-old, and twin siblings Noel and Brice. And the toddler in Scarlett’s arms: CJ, short for Connor Jr.
Felix’s smile falters at learning CJ’s name, a guilty flush rising to his cheeks. It goes largely unnoticed, but I know my friend. The blonde hair, the blue eyes, his father’s features live on through him—a father he won’t remember and whose blood stains Felix’s boots. Connor may have deserved to die, but being blindsided like this has to be hard on him.
“Good to meet you,” I say, giving Felix a moment to collect himself.
“We heard the gunshots,” Scarlett says. “Does that mean they’re...” she spares a quick glance at her children. “You know...that they’re gone? All of them?” She looks to us eagerly, as if we were the bringers of news she has longed to hear. It catches me by surprise.
“They’re gone,” I confirm. “All of them.” She looks to her sister, an unmistakable look of relief passing between them. “You don’t seem troubled by this.”
Ruby laughs humorlessly. “This was a long time coming,” she says. “Those bastards deserved whatever end they got.” I can tell by the silence among my friends, that I’m not the only one caught off guard. “What? You thought we would be angry, that we would want revenge? Please. You did us a favor.”
“How’s that?” Felix asks.
“They killed our father, for starters,” Scarlett answers. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. “They called it an accident, but they killed him. He saw how wrong this place was, pushed against Pete to change things. This place would have been so much different with him in charge. Instead, they snapped his neck, and said he fell from the hayloft in the barn.”
“Yet you stayed?” Richard presses. “Even with your suspicions?”
“What would you have suggested we do?” Ruby asks, heat rising in her cheeks. “That we pack our bags and go? That we take the kids and try and make it on our own?” She fixes Richard with a challenging stare. “What choice did we have but swallow the bullshit and stay?”
“They speak the truth,” Christina says, coming to their defense. “They’re good girls, good kids. We can trust them.”
“Is that right?” Richard asks. He looks now to Heath. “Can we trust you? Even after what we did? I mean, that was your father and brother, right? That doesn’t rub you the wrong way? There’s not even a part of you that want’s to level that shotgun at us and pull the trigger?”
“That’s enough!” Christina stares sharply at Richard. “I’ve already vouched for these people. You think I do so lightly? I’ve been kept here against my will for four months! I know the way of the world just as well as you.”
Richard inclines his head in acknowledgment. “Of course you do. You understand then my questioning—my need to be absolutely sure we can trust these people. I mean, you do intend for them to return with us, right? You’ll forgive me then if I need more than your assurances before I stand by and let them under the same roof as my family.”
“And you’ll forgive me if I remind you that the roof you speak of belongs to me,” Christina says, her words clipped and waspish. It’s a new tone for her, forged, no doubt, over the past few months. “Don’t misunderstand me, you have my deepest gratification for what you’ve done for me today. And of course, you and your family are more than welcome to stay under my roof for as long as you wish. But don’t think for a second that you have the authority to tell me who is, and is not welcome in my own home.”
Richard doesn’t look swayed, and oddly enough, I find myself siding with him. I don’t doubt the hardships Christina has suffered. And though those hardships have changed her, I still know the heart that beats within. It wouldn’t surprise me at all for her to grant pardons to those who don’t deserve them. How can we really know if he is made of a different cloth than his father and brother?
“It’s ok,” Heath says. Christina makes to argue but he pats her gently on the shoulder, a familiar, reassuring gesture that stops her from interrupting. He stares between us, gathering himself before speaking. “I understand your concerns about me. That’s how it always plays out in the movies, right? The hero’s family gets killed but he survives, setting him on a path of revenge.” He laughs bitterly. “That’s not what this is. I might share their last name, but believe me, there was no love los
t between us. My mother raised me. I saw Pete only a handful of times growing up, and that was fine by me. I was always a bit of a disappointment as far as he was concerned. Then I came out of the closet when I was fifteen and he really didn’t want anything to do with me.
“Only reason I’m here was because the state forced me to. My mother, she...she passed a little over a year ago. Didn’t have a choice but to come here after that. When things went dark I was set to leave. Whatever was waiting for me outside couldn’t be any worse than what I had to put up with for the past year. I stayed for him.” He looks to CJ. “I know the kind of men Pete and Connor were. I could suffer this place if it meant I might be able to shield him in the process. So to answer your earlier question: no, it doesn’t rub me the wrong way. As it so happens the only men I’ve ever had the urge to level a shotgun at are already dead.”
I believe him. The emotion in his voice, the affection in his eyes as he looked at his nephew too genuine to be faked. And I’m not the only one. The rest of us accept what he told us as the truth. Even Richard nods and offers his hand to shake.
“I apologize,” Richard says. “But I had to know.”
The boy takes it. “I get it,” he says. “Knowing who my family is, I expected nothing less.”
A light awkwardness ensues, each of us quiet with our own thoughts. I clear my throat, drawing the attention to myself. “Well, shall we get started then? I have a feeling there are some supplies around here we could put to use.”
Ruby smiles. “I can think of a thing or two.”
Chapter 20: (Morgan)
The storm has passed and night has fallen when we finally return to the farm. Beneath a cloudless sky, the family gathers, our arrival drawing nearly everyone from the warmth of the house. I can see the awe, the disbelief. Can’t say I’m surprised. Six of us set out this morning, nothing but our weapons and the clothes on our backs. Now I dismount from one of our newly acquired ATV’s, flashing a smile I cannot feel, face numb from the cold. And I’m only the head of the procession. Behind me, truck doors open and engines go silent. From the trailers come snorts and stomping, their occupants eager to be released. A second ATV coasts to a stop beside me.
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