Nate tromped down the steps into the basement. He'd considered using a chain and shackles to keep the boys in line, even told them that's what would happen, but he changed his mind. It wasn't necessary.
The pistol on his hip and the hunting rifle slung over his shoulder would be enough. They were, after all, just kids—easily intimidated and cast into the throes of fear.
"It's time, gentlemen," he said, using the term loosely and frosted with cynicism.
He unlocked the first door. "You've been in here the longest. I think it's only fitting you get to stretch your legs first." He spoke to the dark-haired boy with callous derision.
Then Nate set about opening the rest of the doors.
None of the boys dared move, not until they were told. There was something admirable about that, or so Nate thought. These youngsters could be taught. They could learn when to speak or not to speak, when to stand or sit on command. Perhaps, he thought, they could have been good soldiers.
Unfortunately for them, they were going to die here on his property.
"I hope you enjoyed your breakfast," Nate went on. "Now it's time for a little exercise." He motioned to the boy from the first cell, indicating the stairs with his finger. "Go on, up the stairs with you." He looked at the kid to the right, a ginger-headed fourteen-year-old with freckles and a petulant glaze in his eyes. "You too, freckles. Up you go. Everyone fall in line after those two. And don't get any ideas about running once you're up there. That would be cheating. If you cheat, you get shot before the game even begins. We wouldn't want that."
He caught another bitter, resentment-filled glare from another boy, but no one said anything.
No one except the last kid he'd taken.
The older McDowell brother stared at Nate with cold, vapid eyes as he shuffled past, ushering his younger brother to the stairwell.
"You're going to lose," the boy said.
Nate's eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead. "Oh, really? All right, then? I like your attitude, son. Best of luck to you."
The kid's eyelids shrank to slits as he followed his brother up the stairs.
"I like his spunk," Nate muttered to himself. "Misguided, but full of moxie."
He followed the young men up the stairs and found them clustered around the open front door.
"What are you doing standing here?" he growled. "Outside. Now."
They all jumped at the command and hurried out the door and down the steps and onto the grass.
Each boy put their hands up over their eyes, shielding them from the blinding light of the sun. The ones who'd been there the longest hadn't seen daylight in several weeks. Or had it been months? Nate had trouble remembering. He shrugged off the question, slipped on a pair of aviator sunglasses, and followed the boys onto the lawn between the front porch and the seemingly endless rows of harvested corn stalks.
"That's far enough," he said when the first kid reached the edge of the grass. The boy stopped, and the rest came to a halt behind him.
Most of them stood with slumped shoulders like convicts waiting to be incarcerated. All but one hung their heads, chins nearly touching their chests. The older McDowell kid kept his head high, refusing to be intimidated.
If he only knew, Nate thought.
Nate strolled around and stopped in front of the boys. He eyed each one of them, going down the row and back again. "Sun feels good, doesn't it?" He paused, knowing none would answer. "I apologize for it being a tad chilly," he said with utter insincerity. Two of the boys shivered and rubbed their arms. One of them was the younger McDowell kid.
"Not to worry, though," Nate went on. "You'll warm up once you start running. And I do suggest you run. Like I said before, you'll get a short head start. Go as fast as your young legs can carry you, because once the timer goes off, I'm coming." He turned and paced a yard to the left, spun, and stopped in front of the older McDowell boy. He locked eyes with him and wondered why this young man wasn't more afraid. He glowered back at Nate with fierce defiance.
If Nate were a betting man, he'd wager this kid would last the longest. And in a way, Nate felt a strange desire for that to be the case. He hoped this boy would be the last one standing. It would make for a better climax to the hunt, saving the best till last.
"And remember. If you make it off my land, you're free. This is your chance to escape, boys. It's what you've been dreaming of since you got here, I'm sure. Maybe one or two of you will actually make it." He chuckled and shook his head, eyes dropping to the ground in disbelief. "Anything's possible, I suppose."
He took several steps backward toward the house and stopped, putting up his hands as if in surrender. "Okay, boys. Your head start begins… now!" He covered his eyes with his hands in dramatic fashion, as if a child playing hide and seek. "One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi."
He peeked through the cracks between his fingers and saw the kids still standing there, confused. "I told you to run, boys! You best go. Time's a wasting."
He partially covered his eyes again as the startled boys jumped to life, then scrambled confusedly. Within seconds, the eight divided into groups of two and sprinted in four opposite directions away from the house.
Nate nodded with satisfaction, a grim smile creeping across his lips. He watched the older McDowell boy shepherding his younger brother into the cornfield toward the driveway.
That part of the property held the longest stretch, the driveway running more than a mile down to the road. The route probably seemed like the easiest path to freedom, but that was hardly the case.
Halfway to the main road, the driveway crossed a four-foot-deep creek that ran across the property. A wooden bridge stood over the branch as the only means of crossing in a vehicle. The bridge wouldn't be an option today as Nate had removed the planks earlier that morning. One of the boys might be tempted to perform a balancing act across one of the rails, but that would be risky.
The cold front that pushed through the last several nights would make wading through the water unbearable, and would likely cause hypothermia. The creek effectively created a moat on that side of the property, which would steer the boys to either the north or south in an effort to find a way around it. Since there wasn't one, they would inevitably keep following the water in hopes of eventually reaching freedom.
They would be simple to track from the bridge. The damp soil would leave distinct footprints. Nate sighed in disappointment. At least he could still save the McDowell boy for last, knowing which way the kid was headed. He removed his hands from his eyes and watched the other three groups split off into the corn rows. He checked his watch, noting the time, and waited until the boys were out of sight before he pulled out a hunting knife and honing rod. Nate began methodically sharpening the blade, whistling some long-forgotten tune as the second hand on his watch continued to tick.
Thirteen
Brown’s Ferry
Dak took the earpiece out of his right ear and let it dangle at his neck. He'd heard everything Nate said, confirmation of what he already knew.
He would hunt down the boys—two at a time—until he'd killed them all.
Dak couldn't bring his mind to grasp that kind of sickness. How had Nate come to be like this? What twisted, traumatic events happened in his youth to drive him to the point of madness that he would hunt young boys for sport?
That rabbit hole was too deep for Dak to dive into, especially at the moment.
He watched from his perch as the boys splintered into four groups, running as fast as they could through the hollow corn stalks, making their way to what they hoped was freedom.
Dak checked his watch and noted the time.
His original plan had been to try to scoop up the boys and get them somewhere safe, off the massive farm. As he watched the groups disperse, however, he realized that task would be nearly impossible—save for the two boys who were running toward him.
Dak glanced to his left, noting the direction two of the other boys took. A new scheme deve
loped rapidly, and as the time neared the five-minute mark, he knew it was his only chance to save all eight hostages.
He snugged the rucksack against his back and skimmed down the slope toward the boys running his way. He saw them clear the edge of the cornfield and enter the forest. Then they disappeared in the dense rows of tree trunks and brush.
Dak ran hard, pounding the ground with every step. The clock was ticking and for this to work, his timing had to be perfect.
He caught a glimpse of a white shirt through the trees ahead and pumped the brakes, skidding to a stop behind a wide oak tree. He calmed his breathing so he could hear better and listened to the sound of feet bursting through dried leaves as the two boys approached.
They would make easy targets for Nate. Tracking their path into the forest would be simple, even for a novice. And Nate was no novice.
Dak had seen the man track insurgent movements in Iraq on more than one occasion. Even with all the technology and satellite imagery available, it was difficult to replace an expert, boots-on-the-ground tracker. Several instances required someone in the field.
Pressing his back to the tree trunk, Dak waited until the boys sprinted by before he stepped out. "You boys need some help?"
One of the kids shrieked as his head whipped around, but not loud enough for the sound to reach the farmhouse. The other turned a second later and stared in wide-eyed confusion at the man with the rifle across his chest.
"I'm not with him," Dak said quickly, raising his right hand. "I'm here to help you boys escape."
Doubt lingered in their eyes. They shot each other a questioning glance.
"If I was going to kill you, I'd have already done it," Dak added. "You have to trust me."
The boys simultaneously nodded.
"Okay," the dark-haired one with blue eyes said. His voice was deep and his eyes had dark circles under them. The clothes on him looked dirty, as if they hadn't been washed in weeks.
"I know you're tired. And I know your plan. You eight split up to make it harder on your kidnapper. That was a good idea, but we're going to change things up. I'm going to go after him."
"You're going to kill him?" The other boy asked. His blond hair splayed out in multiple directions.
Dak didn't want to put that on the young man. "I'm going to neutralize him. I'll handle that. But I need you two to meet up with the others." He raised a finger and pointed to the ridge in the direction of his SUV. "I have a vehicle on the other side of that ridge. You see the outcroppings of rocks sticking out at the top?" He pointed to several huge chunks of mountain rock jutting out of the hillside.
The boys looked that direction and nodded.
"If you go straight downhill from there, you'll get to my ride. The road is just beyond that."
"That'll take at least fifteen to twenty minutes to get there," the blond said.
"I know," Dak said with a nod. "You can make it." He took the keys out of his pocket and tossed them to the dark-haired boy. "Don't leave unless you see the man who took you coming your way. If you do, get out of here. I'm going to try to make sure that doesn't happen."
He adjusted his finger, circling toward the path the other two boys had taken. "Two of the others are heading toward the ridge in that direction. Shouldn't be hard to find them."
"Why do you say that?" the blond asked.
Dak arched an eyebrow. "You guys aren't exactly covering your tracks." He indicated the trail of tossed leaves and broken sticks on the ground.
"What about the others?"
"I'll take care of them. But if they veer off the path and you happen to run into them, get them to the truck."
The dark-haired kid shook his head. "He'll hunt us down. I know he will. We won't make it to the others in time."
Dak took a step forward, gripping the boy with his steel gaze. The kid looked deep into the jade eyes and saw no doubt, no misgivings. "No, he won't. He won't have the chance. You only have another seven minutes or so until he starts. In six minutes, you're going to hear a loud explosion. Do not, I repeat, do not stop running. And don't let the others stop either."
"Explosion?"
Dak nodded. "A diversion. And trust me, when it happens, he will have his hands full."
The boys searched the stranger's eyes and found all the truth they needed.
"Okay. Thank you," the blond boy said. "Mister…?"
"Don't worry about my name, kid. Probably best you don't know it for now."
"Okay, then."
"Get moving. Time is ticking, and you need every second. Find the others and get to the SUV. It's hidden in a pullout near the road on the other side of that ridge. If you don't find it, get to the road and flag down a car for help."
The boys nodded.
"Go," he barked.
He didn't have to tell them twice. The two young men turned and sprinted in the prescribed direction.
Dak watched them run. They weren't moving as fast as he would have liked, but he understood. They'd been kept here for a while, probably not given the chance to exercise or even go out for fresh air. Their weakened muscles caused a lack of balance and strength, and their lungs had grown shallow in the absence of regular activity.
He still believed they could make it. He just had to make sure Nate was taken down.
When the two boys disappeared among the trees, Dak charged down the hill once more, using the dry leaves to half run, half ski on the slope's surface until he reached the bottom where the land leveled out. Then he sprinted, the timer in his head counting down the seconds.
With one hand on his rifle, pressing it to his chest, he reached up and planted the receiver back in his ear so he could listen in on any unusual activity at the farmhouse.
An eerie sound came through the speaker, filling his head with a haunting tune. He recognized the melody, a song from long ago. He'd heard his grandfather whistle the same tune when he was a child playing with model trains in the garage while his pawpaw worked on inventions. It was an old song from simpler times.
Dak loathed hearing Nate whistle it, but he needed to make sure the man was still there at the house, not going back on his rules he'd given the kids about their head start time.
After running another sixty yards, Dak reached the edge of the forest where it met the cornfield. He only paused for a second, slowing his pace to a brisk walk as he entered the rows of skeletal stalks. In the distance, he saw the red brick chimney rising up from the end of the house. It kept him oriented now that he stood on level ground with the enemy.
Finding a landmark was always something he'd found useful in situations like this, especially in a place like a cornfield that felt more like a chaotic maze.
He checked his watch. Only a few minutes left. Dak crouched down and made his way through the dried stalks, careful not to rustle them as he moved. He knew he wasn't going to reach Nate by the time the allotted head start ended, but he didn't have to. That wasn't part of the plan. He just had to be close.
Thirty more yards and he stopped, once more checking how much time had elapsed.
As he figured, only a minute remained.
Dak got down on one knee and retrieved the radio from his backpack. He flipped the power switch and a digital readout appeared on the display. Dak pried open a plastic guard on a switch on the far right side of the black box—a personal addition to the controller. There were three other smaller switches near it, along with a red button.
He flipped the safety switch up and then glanced over at his watch for the last time.
In the distance, he heard Nate's voice scream. It carried through the corn rows and rolled up into the surrounding hills. Even as a grown, fully armed man, the sound sent a chill through Dak.
"Ready or not, here I come!"
Dak looked down at the controller, held his breath, and pressed the button.
Fourteen
Brown’s Ferry
The explosion rocked the valley. A concussive wave rolled through the cornfield, knocking over se
veral of the rows closest to the house.
Dak covered his head, letting the radio hang at his chest. Tiny chunks of debris sailed over him; a few pieces pattered the ground around his feet. When the rubble ceased raining down around him, Dak stood up straight and looked toward the farmhouse.
Black smoke billowed into the sky. The fuming column climbed higher with every passing second, and Dak knew that it was only a matter of time until someone saw it.
He doubted the blast killed Nate. Dak didn't consider himself to be that lucky. The explosion might have injured the enemy, and if that was the case, then Dak would have a strong advantage.
Careful to stay low to keep his head below the tops of the cornstalks, he crept forward. He watched where he stepped, knowing that while speed was important, it was more critical he didn't signal his location to Nate by snapping a dried stalk underfoot.
The smoke pillar loomed high in the air now, the top of it reaching a hundred feet or more. Dak had trouble gauging the actual distance, but the sight added to the surreal feeling that lingered over the property.
He kept moving, stepping gingerly on the earth as he pressed the edges of his boots into the dirt with each step. Drawing closer to the farmhouse, the crackling sound of flames filled the air, along with the smell of burning fuel and scorched grass. He noted more smoke trickling up from other areas of the cornfield to his right and left, though it wasn't the same as the black clouds roiling from the propane tank his drone had destroyed. Flaming debris must have caught hold on some dried cornstalks—collateral damage that Dak didn't anticipate, though perhaps he should have.
This part of Kentucky hadn't been in a severe drought, but there hadn't been any rain in the last few days. Based on the texture of the stalks, combined with the dried leaves in the forest, he figured it had been more than a week—plenty dry enough to make the entire field more than adequate tinder for a massive blaze.
He hurried forward with the thought, his concerns splintering to the kids who were trying to escape. They should be fine, he hoped. If a fire did start, they should be far enough away to be safe, or would keep running at the sight of it.
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