the woods. “We have to go back for Sal.”
Josh felt the bile rise.
“We … uh … don’t have to go back for Sal. I tried. I’m sorry, Sheriff. There was nothing I could do.”
Josh’s mind took him back to the Mortons’ house, that huge man holding Sal’s dead wife. Josh tried to grab Sal, to get him to run away. Sal refused to move. Then the giant walked over, calmly put his hands on Sal’s neck. Josh threw himself at the larger man, but it had no more effect than wrestling a tree. What happened next was something so horrible, so terrifying …
“You’re sure he’s dead?” Streng asked.
“Yeah.” Josh would never be able to erase the image, or the sound. “He’s dead. Where’s your car?”
“Gold Star.” Streng pointed in the direction they just came from. “Maybe we could sneak past them.”
“No way.”
“How about the fire truck?”
“Someone stole it.”
“We’re batting a thousand, aren’t we?” Streng said it without smiling.
Josh pulled out his compass, found east.
“County Road H shouldn’t be too far. We have to get moving. Can you run?”
“I’ll manage.”
Streng didn’t look like he could take another step, but they didn’t have a choice. Josh headed east as fast as he could push himself, setting the pace, willing the sheriff to keep up with him.
After twenty yards, Streng fell behind.
Josh stopped, flashed the woods, saw a blur of movement in the distance. The killers were almost upon them. And when they caught up, Josh wouldn’t be able to protect the sheriff any more than he had protected Sal. Or Annie.
When Anne was diagnosed with leukemia, he promised he would take care of her. He promised she’d get better. He promised they would get married and have kids and live out their lives just as they’d planned.
Fate made him break all of those promises. After she died, Josh vowed he would help others. So he became a volunteer firefighter, then a full-time firefighter, and soon a paramedic. Josh didn’t want to let anyone else down.
He motioned for Streng to hurry. Streng lumbered over, breathing heavy.
“Go on without me, son.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“They don’t want you. Just me. Go on.”
Josh put Streng’s arm over his shoulders and grabbed him on the side, by the belt. They shuffled through the forest for another hundred yards, until Josh’s breath was as ragged as the sheriff’s.
“Leave me,” Streng said between gasps. “We both don’t have to die.”
“Stop talking. Run faster.”
Streng grunted with effort, but the old guy didn’t have anything left in the tank. After a dozen more paces, Josh was practically carrying him. They stopped, panting and wobbly, next to a fallen pine tree, and Josh whipped out his compass.
“Do you have any weapons on you?” Streng rasped.
“Just a pocketknife.”
“Take it out and be ready to use it. Flash the light over here.”
Josh pointed the beam at Streng’s trembling hands. The sheriff ejected the clip, counted bullets.
“Four, plus one in the pipe. They’re going to come at us from two different directions. The big one, Ajax, will draw the fire, fast and loud. Santiago will come in sideways, sneaky. I need you to get hid, jump Santiago when he comes out. Know where a man’s jugular is?”
Josh nodded, automatically picturing it in his anatomy book.
“Go in at an angle, to get under his clothing. Stab deep and twist.”
“What about Ajax?”
“I’ll keep the big guy busy.”
Josh put his hands on Streng’s shoulders, looked deep into his eyes.
“You can’t handle him. What he did to Sal … it was inhuman.”
“Sal wasn’t armed. I don’t care how tall a man is, he takes a few hits to the oil pan, he leaks. Lemme see your knife.”
Josh handed him the slim Swiss Army Explorer, the blade extended.
“
Josh didn’t find Streng’s lame attempt at humor amusing. “Fighting isn’t going to work,” Josh said. “We should run. The road is less than a mile away.”
“You go.”
“We’ll both go.”
“Son … I’m all runned out.”
“You can make it.”
“I can’t make it.”
Streng gripped the flashlight, directed it downward. The front of his pants was soaked pink.
“That Santiago, he busted up something inside. The only thing keeping me on my feet is adrenaline, and that’s wearing off.”
Josh felt sick.
“I couldn’t save Sal. I hit Ajax with a chair, and he tossed me aside like I was a stuffed toy.”
“Not your fault, son.”
“I could have done something else.”
“We don’t have time for a breakdown now, Josh. Head for the road or hide in the bushes, but make your decision quick.”
Josh closed his eyes, let the words come out.
“He twisted off Sal’s head, Sheriff. Like a bottle cap.”
Josh felt the sting of the slap a millisecond after he heard it. Then Sheriff Streng grabbed Josh’s collar.
“That Ajax guy stands damn near over seven feet and has to weigh close to four hundred pounds. God only knows what kind of steroids he’s on. You couldn’t have stopped him if you had a bazooka. Now forgive yourself and move your ass, or we’re both going to die here.”
The heat rose on Josh’s cheek where Streng had hit him, and he nodded and lumbered into the woods to look for a hiding spot, his Swiss Army Explorer clenched tightly in his fist.
The phone lines are having some trouble,” Mrs. Teller told Duncan. “I can call people in town, but anything outside of Safe Haven gets a busy signal. The same for 911. Maybe it has something to do with the electricity being out.”
“What’s going on?” Duncan asked.
The old woman racked another shell into the shotgun. “Mr. Teller used to talk about this when he was still alive. Help me with these locks.”
Duncan helped her twist the three deadbolts on the front door, but his eyes were on the window.
“Don’t worry none about the windows. That glass is shatterproof. Mr. Teller redid them a few years ago, when he was getting nutty from the dementia. There’s plastic sandwiched between the two panes. You could hit it with a bat, still can’t break through.”
Duncan aimed Mrs. Teller’s flashlight through the window. He watched Bernie sit up, sniff something he held under his nose, and then pick up his big lighter. He attached a piece of metal to it, and the lighter could shoot like a flamethrower.
“Mrs. Teller. I don’t think he’s trying to break in.”
Mrs. Teller peered out the window and frowned.
“That buckshot didn’t seem to slow him down much. Next time I’ll aim higher.”
“Who is he?”
“I dunno, Duncan. Mr. Teller used to rant on about being invaded by the communists, but he went funny in
