Deep Shadows (38 page)

“In his own words, he wants this done in writing so it will all be legal.”

“There's nothing legal about what Stone is doing, and if I get close
enough to take a piece of paper from him, I might not be able to restrain myself from using this rifle.”

Bryant slammed the door shut. The darkness masked his expression, but his tone left nothing to Max's imagination. “Perkins isn't going to agree to anything that Stone asks for, but this will buy us a little time. His directions are for you to walk straight down the middle of the highway for one mile—alone and unarmed. Take the paper he's drawn up and tell him you'll see what you can do. Try to stall.”

“What good is stalling?”

“We're sending someone out to the Bar S Ranch.”

“For?”

“Jake Cooper has some AK-47s and comm equipment. And Stanley Hamilton is bringing more ammo.”

“And you're going to use the AKs?”

“If we have to—yes.”

Max put on the vest and walked back to his position.

“Hold this for me.” He thrust the rifle into Carter's hands.

Shelby moved to stop him, but he only shook his head. “I'll be right back,” he whispered, and then he strode away from her. If he paused to think about what he was doing, he'd question his sanity.

Fortunately for Eugene Stone, he was not at the meeting place. Instead, he'd sent the city attorney for Croghan.

“You're involved in this?” asked Max.

“Doesn't mean I approve of it.” Randall Black was in his fifties and had always struck Max as a stand-up guy.

“So why are you doing it?”

“Because my family is in Croghan. I've lived there all my life, Max. I'm not ready to run away and let the people attacking us take what we've built.”

“That justifies siding with Stone?”

“I'm hardly doing that. You don't know what we've been going through in Croghan.”

“I don't need to know.”

“First the prison, then those thugs on the east side.”

“We can help you.”

“Eugene Stone stepped in and offered leadership when we had none.
Our mayor wasn't even in town when this thing started—still hasn't returned. And the council has done nothing but bicker with one another.” He shoved the piece of paper into Max's hands. “Take this. Take it to Nadine and talk some sense into her. She needs to agree to Stone's requests so we don't have another bloodbath. You've got two hours.”

Before Max could argue, Randall turned and walked off into the darkness.

But he didn't need two hours. Bryant drove him to city hall, where Perkins had already convened the council. Calvin Green wasn't present, so Max assumed he would be standing in as city attorney. He read the note aloud before handing it to the mayor. “As your legal counsel, I strongly advise you to reject Eugene's demands. Respond firmly and with no question that you will not compromise.”

“We're going to respond, but not with a note.”

The vote was unanimous. The citizens of Abney would stand and defend their town.

By the time he made it back to his position, Bryant was handing out AK-47s with night scopes to every third man. “If they approach with spotlights, switch your night scopes off,” he said.

Each man, woman, and teenager gathered around Bryant's cruiser. He reached into his glove box, pulled out a county map, and slapped it onto the hood of his cruiser. Someone fetched a flashlight and held it over the map. “We have a spotter in Stanford's barn—here, to the west of the highway.”

“What about the east side?” Frank Kelton asked.

“I've put three men in the field. They have radio headsets. The spotter will let them know as soon as Stone makes his move, if he makes his move.”

“Seems awful risky for the men on the ground.” Mrs. Plumley squinted down at the map.

“They're ex-military, recently returned from the Middle East. They can handle whatever comes at them. Cooper equipped both groups with high-powered rifles.”

“Do they have night scopes as well?” Max asked.

“Yes. If the town of Croghan makes a move, those men in the field will be our first line of defense.”

S
IXTY
-T
HREE

A
fter Chief Bryant outlined their plan, an hour passed with no action. Carter was terrified he'd freeze up when the shooting started. What he hadn't expected was to be fighting sleep from the battle line.

Max must have heard him yawn, because he stepped closer and offered him a bottle of water. “How are you doing?”

“Okay. Bored.”

“My dad fought in the Vietnam War. He once told me the only thing worse than being in battle was waiting on one.”

“This is all so surreal.” Carter stifled another yawn. “A week ago my biggest concern was who my college roommate was going to be.”

“We make war that we may live in peace.”

“Your dad said that?”

“Aristotle.” Shelby crowded in next to them, still clutching Max's rifle.

Max had been given one of the high-powered rifles with a night vision scope. Carter was relieved to still be using his granddad's Winchester—it was the only thing he'd ever shot, the only thing he felt truly comfortable holding.

“I'm beginning to think this isn't going to happen.” His mom rested her back against the pickup bed they were positioned behind. “Maybe Eugene has come to his senses.”

Bryant's radio crackled, and a voice said, “Approximately twenty men moving toward Abney, a mile out.”

His mom and Max hurried back to their positions. They were standing about six feet apart, and they'd been cautioned on when and when not to shoot.

The sound of gunfire echoed in the distance. The moon hung high, like a lantern in the sky. Carter's heart rate accelerated as he made out three trucks speeding toward them, travelling side by side. They covered the width of the highway, and each had off-road lights mounted to the top of the cab. Suddenly Carter, his mom, Max—their entire line was bathed in the too-bright light.

Carter glanced at Max and saw him switch the night scope off.

Fitting the Winchester's stock tight against his shoulder, he pulled in a steadying breath and concentrated on what he was seeing through his own scope.

Gunfire burst from the trucks in a deafening rain of noise. To Carter's left was Frank, who stood, took aim at the truck on the left, and blew out the spotlights with three quick shots. The trucks in the middle and to the right suffered similar fates, and then the night scopes must have been flipped back on. Carter heard someone to his far left call out, “Half a dozen men approaching on foot.”

He didn't hear much after that. His ears rang from the shots around him. Using the side of the truck as a stable rest, he peered through his scope and fired. His first shot went wide, but with the second and third he managed to shoot out the front tires of a truck. Max and his mom aimed at the men inside.

Their coordinated effort worked.

The truck swerved right, then left, and then sputtered to a halt. The driver slumped over the wheel. Two men spilled out the passenger door, but they didn't make it very far, falling to the ground only a few feet from the truck.

Carter scanned left to right—left to right. His job was to disable anyone who made it within a hundred yards. He couldn't see much farther than that.

Someone on the far side of his mom screamed, and his mom called out, “We need medical over here!”

He was glancing toward her, toward the sound of the man's groans, when he saw movement out of the corner of his eyes. One of the men from Croghan was barreling toward them, running toward his mom as she turned to help the injured man. He held a pistol in front of him and was firing as he ran.

Carter didn't have to think about it. He didn't need to debate the right or wrong of the thing. Every ounce of his being was flooded with adrenaline, and his only thought was of his mother. He raised his rifle, took aim, and fired at the same time that Max did. The man was lifted off his feet and thrown backward.

The battle lasted a few more minutes, but they were basically mopping up stragglers. A shout of victory rose as anyone who hadn't been killed or injured reversed directions and ran toward the south. What followed was an eerie silence as the moon continued to shine and the crickets resumed their chirping. Everything was the same as before, and everything had changed. Carter felt it like a weight on his chest.

“Will we go after them?” he asked Max.

“No. We won't.” Max wiped at the sweat running down his face, and Carter saw blood dripping from a wound on his arm.

“You've been hit.”

Max looked surprised. He craned his neck, staring at his left shoulder as if it wasn't attached to his left arm. “Didn't feel it happen. Must have grazed me.”

“Sit down,” Carter's mom commanded.

She pulled a roll of bandage out of her backpack and began wrapping the wound—down around, over, repeat.

“Easy, Nurse Nightingale.”

“Stop complaining.” She tugged the wrap to make sure it would hold and tied off the bandage.

“You stopped the bleeding, but you also halted all circulation.”

“I did not.”

“My fingers are blue.” Max held his hand up in front of his face.

She opened her mouth as if to argue with him, but no sound came out. Instead, her brave front crumpled and she dropped to her knees, weeping and covering her face with her hands.

“Hey, it's okay. It's over now.” Max pulled her into his arms, glancing at Carter and shrugging.

“He's right, Mom.” Carter clumsily patted his mother on the back. “We're fine. We did it. We defended Abney.”

They stayed there a few moments, until Bryant walked down the line and thanked everyone. “Mayor Perkins is sending a fresh group to cover
this roadblock. They had been providing extra support on the east side of town and are eager to do their part.” His radio beeped and he hurried off toward his cruiser.

Carter's mind reeled with the memory of gunshots, the realization that dead men lay on the far side of their blockade, and the groans of those who had been injured on both sides.

Nodding toward the other side, he asked, “Will we help them?”

“We will,” Max assured him. “Once we can confirm it's not a trap. Bryant's men are sweeping east to west.” He stood and helped Carter's mom to her feet.

She wiped at her face and made a valiant attempt to pull herself together. “What now?”

“We're done here.” Max motioned for Carter to pick up his mom's pack.

She squared her shoulders and pasted on a trembling smile. “Then let's go home.”

S
IXTY
-F
OUR

T
his is the longest night of my life.” Shelby sank into a chair at her kitchen table.

Carter was already asleep. He hadn't bothered to eat, clean up, or change out of his filthy clothes, but she didn't hassle him about it. Her watch reminded her that it was hours past midnight.

“I can't believe… I can't believe what we just did.”

“Only what we had to,” said Max.

“I guess.” She squeezed the bridge of her nose, shut her eyes, and forced back the tears. Crying was not helpful. She needed to be strong, especially now, but she was so tired.

“I'm a little afraid that if I sleep I'll see them.”

“Maybe you should eat something.”

She nodded and foraged around in the cabinets, coming away with two warm sodas and a can of peanuts.

“Don't you need to save these for Carter?”

“We all have to eat.” She popped the top on her soda and asked, “Doesn't not eating bring on your migraines?”

Max shook his head and scooped up a handful of peanuts.

“No, it doesn't? Or no, you don't want to talk about it?”

“It's like insomnia—if you don't say the word, it might not happen to you.”

“So if we don't say
migraine
—”

Max reached forward and placed two fingers on her lips, but Shelby batted his hand away.

“I saw you rubbing at your temples out there.”

“I did not.”

“You were standing next to me. Even in the darkness I could tell how tense your shoulders were.”

They fell silent as they munched on the peanuts and drank the warm soda. Shelby wasn't sure she could keep any of it down, not as her mind combed over the events of the last twelve hours.

She stood, walked to a cabinet, reached in the back, and pulled out a metal tin. Setting the container on the table, she removed the lid and pushed it toward Max.