Mary have to be so set on talking her way out of things? With her background, growing up in the Middle East— He stopped on that. The Middle East. She had probably seen enough people killed— including her mother— to make her abhor violence.
Connor could understand why she might want peace at any price, but these devils weren't the kind you talked to. "Might made right" to them. The only sure way to escape was to kill all of them. He edged himself closer to her, reluctant to allow any space between them. Her presence helped fuel his resolve.
The truck slowed down and made a sharp turn to the right, bouncing over rough ground, throwing Mary up and down. Then it jerked to a stop, whacking the back of his head against the wall again. White pain flashed through his eyes, shooting stars with lightening. Next the back doors were unlatched and Wes jumped out.
Outside, rain cascaded down, the heavy drops mixed with slush flakes that descended in a blanket of cold. Judd untied Connor's feet and allowed him and Mary to jump out and walk around while Wes and Ira collected Mary's gear.
"Okay, Ramone," Judd yelled, calling forward to the driver. "Put it in the barn."
Connor filled his lungs with clean air while sizing up their surroundings. He absorbed every detail he could, knowing their escape might hinge on some item he did or didn’t see. They had stopped at an old farmhouse, its gate less fence broken and useless, the paint peeled from the siding. No other houses were in sight. A huge thicket of blackberry bushes eight to ten feet high spread over the yard and outbuildings— including a collapsed garage and a small barn with part of its roof missing.
Mary walked close to his side, picking her way through the tall grass, her slender frame bowed like a wounded soldier who needed his buddies to carry him home. Her fragile loveliness shook him deeply. He must protect her at all costs.
The driver sauntered up to them and Connor got his first look at the fourth man. Short, dark-complexioned, with black, curly hair— Ramone was the vermin who had taken such pleasure in beating up Connor's mother.
A chill traveled down Connor’s spine as Ramone turned evil eyes on Mary, his overly handsome face marred by the greedy desires of a predator. A cigarette hung slackly from his lips and a lecherous grin twisted his face as he motioned them forward.
Connor swallowed hard against the helpless rage boiling up in him. He put himself between Ramone and Mary, following her into the building. Time was running out.
Three candles sat upright in tin can holders and Connor glanced around the dirty kitchen with disgust. He could almost feel Mary cringe at the dried hamburger on the counter.
Used paper cups and plates overflowed a cardboard box on the floor next to two empty five gallon buckets. Cigarette butts littered an old porcelain double sink tarnished with red rust stains arrowing from top to bottom, while newspapers and scraps of trash covered the cracked and curled linoleum floor. Black mold covered two walls, the musty smell permeating the room.
Luckily, most of the windows were still intact. The few broken panes had been covered with cardboard. The temperature hung at just above freezing— the same inside as out— but at least they had shelter from the rain.
"You need to untie my ropes," Mary said, her voice high and frightened. "Please. I've no feeling in my hands."
Judd nodded at Ira, who untied them both. "Wes, take McLarren down to the river for water. Keep your distance— and your gun ready."
"Should I go along?" Ira asked.
"Nope. He won't try anything as long as we've got Mary. Besides, you know what it's like out there."
Connor felt uneasy about leaving Mary, but eager to survey the area out back. They wouldn’t be gone long. He picked up the five gallon buckets and followed Wes out the door.
Connor’s departure chilled Mary's mind. Loneliness rushed over her like a wave of snow avalanching down a mountain,
Connor could understand why she might want peace at any price, but these devils weren't the kind you talked to. "Might made right" to them. The only sure way to escape was to kill all of them. He edged himself closer to her, reluctant to allow any space between them. Her presence helped fuel his resolve.
The truck slowed down and made a sharp turn to the right, bouncing over rough ground, throwing Mary up and down. Then it jerked to a stop, whacking the back of his head against the wall again. White pain flashed through his eyes, shooting stars with lightening. Next the back doors were unlatched and Wes jumped out.
Outside, rain cascaded down, the heavy drops mixed with slush flakes that descended in a blanket of cold. Judd untied Connor's feet and allowed him and Mary to jump out and walk around while Wes and Ira collected Mary's gear.
"Okay, Ramone," Judd yelled, calling forward to the driver. "Put it in the barn."
Connor filled his lungs with clean air while sizing up their surroundings. He absorbed every detail he could, knowing their escape might hinge on some item he did or didn’t see. They had stopped at an old farmhouse, its gate less fence broken and useless, the paint peeled from the siding. No other houses were in sight. A huge thicket of blackberry bushes eight to ten feet high spread over the yard and outbuildings— including a collapsed garage and a small barn with part of its roof missing.
Mary walked close to his side, picking her way through the tall grass, her slender frame bowed like a wounded soldier who needed his buddies to carry him home. Her fragile loveliness shook him deeply. He must protect her at all costs.
The driver sauntered up to them and Connor got his first look at the fourth man. Short, dark-complexioned, with black, curly hair— Ramone was the vermin who had taken such pleasure in beating up Connor's mother.
A chill traveled down Connor’s spine as Ramone turned evil eyes on Mary, his overly handsome face marred by the greedy desires of a predator. A cigarette hung slackly from his lips and a lecherous grin twisted his face as he motioned them forward.
Connor swallowed hard against the helpless rage boiling up in him. He put himself between Ramone and Mary, following her into the building. Time was running out.
Three candles sat upright in tin can holders and Connor glanced around the dirty kitchen with disgust. He could almost feel Mary cringe at the dried hamburger on the counter.
Used paper cups and plates overflowed a cardboard box on the floor next to two empty five gallon buckets. Cigarette butts littered an old porcelain double sink tarnished with red rust stains arrowing from top to bottom, while newspapers and scraps of trash covered the cracked and curled linoleum floor. Black mold covered two walls, the musty smell permeating the room.
Luckily, most of the windows were still intact. The few broken panes had been covered with cardboard. The temperature hung at just above freezing— the same inside as out— but at least they had shelter from the rain.
"You need to untie my ropes," Mary said, her voice high and frightened. "Please. I've no feeling in my hands."
Judd nodded at Ira, who untied them both. "Wes, take McLarren down to the river for water. Keep your distance— and your gun ready."
"Should I go along?" Ira asked.
"Nope. He won't try anything as long as we've got Mary. Besides, you know what it's like out there."
Connor felt uneasy about leaving Mary, but eager to survey the area out back. They wouldn’t be gone long. He picked up the five gallon buckets and followed Wes out the door.
Connor’s departure chilled Mary's mind. Loneliness rushed over her like a wave of snow avalanching down a mountain,
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