frightened I said yes without thinking.”
“Oh shit.”
“But I told them there was only one. If one of you comes downstairs, the other might be able to go and get help.”
Griffith turned to Roland. “That's not so bad, then. I'll go with her and you can sneak out and get some help.”
“Where will I go?” Roland asked, forgetting for a moment to whisper.
“There must be another farm around here. You can ask to use their phone and call the police.” Griffith suggested and Georgia nodded in agreement, behind him.
“Griffith, have you considered that these people might work for Pentdragon?”
Griffith shook his head. “I saw them when they came in. That's what I was trying to tell you. They don't look like any of his people. They're not clean enough.”
“Even if you're right,” Roland glanced at Georgia. She had stopped listening and was peeking out the door, opening just enough to let her see. “they're probably still out there looking.” He went on in a whisper. “Even if there was another farm I could find in the dark, without getting lost and even if they did let a complete stranger come in and use their phone, then I'd have to do all that while avoiding Pentdragon's search party.”
“Well what else do we do, then? We can't fight them; someone will get hurt or worse. We can't just let them go, either. They have to be stopped.”
“Why? They want to come in, steal some jewellery and raid the fridge – then let them. I'm not about to argue with the man holding a gun.”
“And what if they find out Georgia lied? What if they want something else? What if they plan to kill us no matter what?”
“We don't know if any of that is true.” Roland stood up and moved between Griffith and the door. “We don't want to do anything stupid.”
“Since when do you give up when things are hard?”
“They've got a gun, Griffith. That's not a fight, that's suicide.”
“Then I'll deal with this.”
“You'll get killed.”
“Then you won't get paid.”
Roland sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You're really going to do this?” Roland asked, clenching his fist around a clump of his own hair. Griffith planted his feet and stared at him, giving his best stern look. “You are, aren't you?”
“We've got to do something.”
“Fuck it, okay.” Roland turned to Georgia. “Does Thomas have another gun?” She didn't answer. Roland tapped her on the shoulder. “Georgia.”
She jumped. “What? What is it?”
“You said they have Thomas' rifle. Does he have another one?”
“Yes.” She nodded quickly. “Yes. He's supposed to keep it in the gun safe, but he's always leaving it out the front in the shed.”
“Okay.” Roland turned back to Griffith. “If I'm going to go running around in the dark, at least I'll have some extra protection.”
“He's coming!” Georgia squeaked. “Quickly, hide!” She backed away from the door.
Without thinking, Griffith ducked behind the wardrobe and pressed tight against the wall. Roland watched him jump out of sight and stood rooted to the spot in confusion.
“But aren't you—” The opening door interrupted him.
“There you are.” The man standing at the door stunk like road-kill in a heat wave. He was dressed in tattered cargo pants and a stained jacket, worn open, revealing the endless hedge maze of scars and wounds on his body. “This is your guest, huh?” He looked Roland over, sizing him up head to toe. “You're a mopey looking fucker, aren't you? Thinking of trying something? Want to throw down with me, tough guy?”
Roland clenched his jaw and stared the man down.
“Yeah, I thought so.” The man grabbed Georgia by the arm and yanked her close to him. “Listen up, we're running this show. You're dirt and so is she. If you want to stay living dirt, you'll do as you're told.” He gave Georgia a shove through the door and she started straight down the stairs. “Let's go, tough guy. On your bike.”
Roland pushed passed him,
“Oh shit.”
“But I told them there was only one. If one of you comes downstairs, the other might be able to go and get help.”
Griffith turned to Roland. “That's not so bad, then. I'll go with her and you can sneak out and get some help.”
“Where will I go?” Roland asked, forgetting for a moment to whisper.
“There must be another farm around here. You can ask to use their phone and call the police.” Griffith suggested and Georgia nodded in agreement, behind him.
“Griffith, have you considered that these people might work for Pentdragon?”
Griffith shook his head. “I saw them when they came in. That's what I was trying to tell you. They don't look like any of his people. They're not clean enough.”
“Even if you're right,” Roland glanced at Georgia. She had stopped listening and was peeking out the door, opening just enough to let her see. “they're probably still out there looking.” He went on in a whisper. “Even if there was another farm I could find in the dark, without getting lost and even if they did let a complete stranger come in and use their phone, then I'd have to do all that while avoiding Pentdragon's search party.”
“Well what else do we do, then? We can't fight them; someone will get hurt or worse. We can't just let them go, either. They have to be stopped.”
“Why? They want to come in, steal some jewellery and raid the fridge – then let them. I'm not about to argue with the man holding a gun.”
“And what if they find out Georgia lied? What if they want something else? What if they plan to kill us no matter what?”
“We don't know if any of that is true.” Roland stood up and moved between Griffith and the door. “We don't want to do anything stupid.”
“Since when do you give up when things are hard?”
“They've got a gun, Griffith. That's not a fight, that's suicide.”
“Then I'll deal with this.”
“You'll get killed.”
“Then you won't get paid.”
Roland sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You're really going to do this?” Roland asked, clenching his fist around a clump of his own hair. Griffith planted his feet and stared at him, giving his best stern look. “You are, aren't you?”
“We've got to do something.”
“Fuck it, okay.” Roland turned to Georgia. “Does Thomas have another gun?” She didn't answer. Roland tapped her on the shoulder. “Georgia.”
She jumped. “What? What is it?”
“You said they have Thomas' rifle. Does he have another one?”
“Yes.” She nodded quickly. “Yes. He's supposed to keep it in the gun safe, but he's always leaving it out the front in the shed.”
“Okay.” Roland turned back to Griffith. “If I'm going to go running around in the dark, at least I'll have some extra protection.”
“He's coming!” Georgia squeaked. “Quickly, hide!” She backed away from the door.
Without thinking, Griffith ducked behind the wardrobe and pressed tight against the wall. Roland watched him jump out of sight and stood rooted to the spot in confusion.
“But aren't you—” The opening door interrupted him.
“There you are.” The man standing at the door stunk like road-kill in a heat wave. He was dressed in tattered cargo pants and a stained jacket, worn open, revealing the endless hedge maze of scars and wounds on his body. “This is your guest, huh?” He looked Roland over, sizing him up head to toe. “You're a mopey looking fucker, aren't you? Thinking of trying something? Want to throw down with me, tough guy?”
Roland clenched his jaw and stared the man down.
“Yeah, I thought so.” The man grabbed Georgia by the arm and yanked her close to him. “Listen up, we're running this show. You're dirt and so is she. If you want to stay living dirt, you'll do as you're told.” He gave Georgia a shove through the door and she started straight down the stairs. “Let's go, tough guy. On your bike.”
Roland pushed passed him,
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