Munchel nods again, wishing he would die.
“Inside. Are they armed?”
“… the guy, Harry… he’s got a Desert Eagle… only one bullet.”
“Anything else?”
“…no… please…”
She finally takes her foot off his stomach. Then she swings out the cylinder on the revolver, slaps it back in, and cocks it, heading for the doorway to the house. Before she goes through she looks at Munchel.
“Remember,” she says, putting a finger to her lips. “Shhh.”
Munchel closes his eyes and focuses all of his energy on being very, very quiet.
12:09 A.M.
JACK
I WAKE UP WITH MY HEAD in Phin’s lap. He appears concerned, an emotion I’ve never seen from him before. It softens his features, making him look like a different person.
“What happened?” I ask. The lawn is cool beneath my legs, and my various aches and pains are a little less acute.
“You passed out. After you jumped off the roof to save me.”
“I landed on an azalea bush. And I landed funny.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Not that kind of funny. I think the plant got to third base.”
“Frisky, those azaleas. Did it buy you dinner first?”
“No. Not even a glass of wine. Where’s Alex?”
“She ran into the woods.”
I try to sit up. Phin helps. I’m groggy, but I can function.
“She might head back to the house,” I say. “We have to get there.”
“She’s unarmed.”
“That doesn’t mean she isn’t dangerous.”
Phin nods. “Good point. I think we can handle her, though. Let me show you.”
He hands me the shotgun, then sticks his head in the passenger door of the truck and presses something on the dashboard. Then he walks around to the rear door and opens it up. Inside are two sniper rifles, half a dozen handguns, and box after box of ammo.
“I couldn’t bring it back to the house all by myself, but if we both load up, we can manage. Unless Alex is driving a tank, she won’t be able to get to us.”
“Let’s hurry.”
There’s a metal suitcase lined with foam, with cut-out impressions for the two Desert Eagles. I tear out the foam and fill the suitcase with bullets. Phin finds a duffel bag, and we pile in the guns and more bullets. We barely cram everything in.
I reload the Desert Eagle, Phin adds a few shells to the shotgun, and then I help him strap on the duffel bag, which weighs a ton. The suitcase and both rifles are mine to carry.
Satisfied we haven’t left a scrap of ammo behind, we head back toward the house.
My load is cumbersome, unwieldy, and after a few steps I have to rest. Phin urges me on. You never realize how big your lawn is until you’re hauling a hundred pounds of ordnance across it. I really hope Mom doesn’t change her mind about moving back to the city.
“I still have to find the cell phone jammer,” I tell Phin between labored breaths. “If you cover the front, and Harry covers the back-”
My words are cut off by the sound of gunfire, coming from the house.
12:11 A.M.
KORK
THE REVOLVER IS A.38. There are five bullets in the cylinder. That’s more than enough.
I creep into the house, silent and powerful. After a little hiccup in the plan, I’m back in control. Harry and his single-shot Desert Eagle don’t concern me. Even if he manages to get a shot off, he’ll most certainly miss.
I slip into the living room and grin when I see the cast-iron pot with the wire attached. Idiots. Then I kneel down next to Pessolano. His pants are a bloody, sticky mess, but I manage to fish out the keys to the Bronco. I shove them in my pocket, then concentrate on the hallway.
I hear whispering. Coming from the bathroom, behind the refrigerator.
I pause. Shall I shoot to kill? Or is there time for a little fun first?
I decide to play it by ear.
I bend down low, measuring each footstep, careful I don’t make a sound. I feel most alive during moments like this. I’m in control, a hunter stalking her prey. It’s what I was born to do.
“She’s in the house! She has a gun!”
Dammit. That sniper idiot. I thought I paralyzed him with fear, but he must have been made of stronger stuff than I assumed. I meld into the shadows, pressing my back up against the wall.
“Is that you, Alex?” Harry asks.
I wonder whether or not to answer, decide there’s no harm now.
“It’s me,” I say.
“Found yourself a gun, huh?”
“Yep. And I have more than one bullet, Harry. Where should I shoot you first? I’ll let you decide.”
“Come a little closer and I’ll tell you.”
I laugh, then take a step forward.
“You think you can hit me left-handed, Harry?”
“I don’t have to. Mom has that particular honor.”
Another step. “That old lady with the crippled hands? She can’t even hold a gun.”
“She’s not holding it. I am. She’s aiming for me.”
I stop in my tracks.
“Mom’s an expert markswoman. She taught Jack how to shoot. Isn’t that right, Mom?”
“Stick your head out, Alex,” Jack’s mother says. Her voice is strong and sure. “I’ll teach you how to make some mincemeat pie.”
I back up. Maybe they won’t hit me, but maybe they will, and a.50 bullet in capable hands is not something to take lightly. I’ll sneak back outside, come in a different way.
I head for the front door, and see Jack and Phin heading toward the house, their arms filled with weapons.
Maybe I could win with a better gun and more ammo, but a smart girl knows when to fight and when to run. It’s running time.
Still, I can spare
I get down on a knee, support my wrist with my free hand, and draw a bead on Jack’s head. Then I wait for her to get within range. If she’s too far away, I’ll miss. If she’s too close, that will give Phin a chance to catch
