I lay down behind a thick pine, my left shoulder pressed into the trunk, the pine needles sticking me in the elbows, and got the Ruger Mini-30 in position. I felt my chest heaving and took a couple of deep breaths to steady myself. We were outnumbered and I knew that even with both Carter and myself armed, we were going to have a hard time gaining control of the situation.
“Hey, Lonnie. We get a shot at her before we off her?” somebody asked from the group.
I checked the magazine.
“You know? Do her before we do her?” The guy stepped over Malia. He was tall and thin, black suspenders holding up his camouflage pants over his dirty white T-shirt. “Show the bitch what she’s gonna miss?”
Lonnie stood up and laughed as the group screamed its approval.
I felt my breathing level out, my hands relaxing on the rifle.
Malia’s body bucked in the dirt, the group roaring again at her movement, epithets ringing into the air.
The thin guy pulled his suspenders off his shoulders, straddled Malia, and dropped to his knees.
I adjusted my eye to the scope and brought the guy’s torso into focus, and took a deep breath.
“What do you think, nigger?” he asked, his lips curled into an arrogant sneer. “Want a little of me?”
I exhaled and squeezed the trigger.
The thin guy jerked back, a small red puff popping out of his chest, and fell off Malia.
I took another deep breath, trying to get the action to slow down in front of me.
Two more fell to the ground near him, shots coming from the far side of the campground.
Panic set in. Some dove for the ground and some ran for their guns, screaming and yelling, their heads swiveling in both directions. Lonnie dropped to the ground, obscured by the fire ring. My shots skimmed over him.
The guns near the trucks came to life and fired toward Carter’s side. I shifted to my left and fired in that direction and saw several of the shooters scatter farther into the cover of the pines.
We’d caught them unorganized and unprepared and it showed.
More yelling, then bullets whistling over my head and off to my right. My muscles tightened, involuntarily trying to make my body smaller. I wanted to move, but I would be too exposed.
The two that Carter shot were being dragged away, two guys firing pistols from near the trucks to cover themselves. The one I’d hit was still down next to Malia, not moving.
I couldn’t see Lonnie.
Heavy gunfire erupted from near the trucks. Mo was kneeling just inside the tree line, firing what looked like an AK-47 in Carter’s direction.
I fired twice at Mo. The first one missed, the second one caught him in the thigh.
It didn’t faze him. He shifted to his left, got his body behind one of the trees, and kept firing.
More shots came from our original position up on the ledge, aimed at Mo. I jerked my head in that direction, surprised and confused. I couldn’t make out anyone up on the plateau and wondered who in the hell might be helping us.
Mo moved to a crouch and returned the fire up on the ledge.
A shot boomed from near the fire ring, a large-caliber handgun burst, and Lonnie was up and running low toward the tree line. Mo rotated and fired at me, covering him. I tucked in tight behind the trunk of the pine, my forehead scraping against the bark. Bullets thudded into the trees around me, wood chips showering my neck and face.
The truck engines revved to life, drowning out the screams for the rest to hurry.
Mo waited for the last of his buddies to get into the tree line, then limped back quickly, still sweeping the entire outer edge of the campground with the AK-47. He disappeared into the trees.
Doors slammed, tires spewed rocks and dirt through the trees, and the trucks U-turned and headed out to wherever they’d come from.
The entire skirmish had taken maybe two minutes.
The quiet was overwhelming.
“You good?” Carter yelled from the other side of the circle.
I couldn’t see him. “Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.”
I moved from my stomach to my knees, my throat aching and burning from the gun smoke and dirt.
Malia was still next to the fire ring, her would-be rapist beside her.
Carter emerged from the trees across from me. His rifle was aimed up at our original spot.
I rose to my feet and walked slowly toward the fire ring, holding the rifle at a ready position and watching the entire tree line.
“Who was our helper?” I asked, squinting up at the trees.
“Not sure. I saw somebody when the first shots came out of there.” He lowered his gun. “But they’re gone now.”
We turned to the fire ring.
The skinhead was dead. The entire right side of his body was soaked in blood, an expression on his face that assured me my bullet had caught him by complete surprise.
I wanted to feel good about that, but I couldn’t.
The first thing that had struck me about Malia Moreno when we’d met her at her home was the color of her eyes. They were the same unique amber shade as her brother’s, the kind of eyes that stopped you in midstep.
Now, lying in the dirt, the right one still looked like that, still held on to that mesmerizing quality as she stared up at me.
But the left one was gone, taken by the bullet that had taken her life, replaced by a socket full of red, thick blood.
Thirty-four
I’d called 911 and reported what happened. The local sheriff’s department arrived quickly, took our guns, cuffed us, and questioned us about the four dead bodies on the ground.
Carter refused to say a word, staring aimlessly into the forest.
I told them who we were, that we’d followed Lonnie and Mo out here so that we could talk to them and had seen what was happening to Malia. We’d had no choice but to shoot. I told them to call Wellton. They probed further, but I gave them nothing else, preferring to wait on Wellton. They were annoyed by that and kept the handcuffs on us while we sat in the dirt.
Wellton emerged from the pines and walked toward us from the other side of the clearing.
“Oh, look,” Carter said. “A forest dwarf.”
Wellton was halfway across the circle when he whistled at one of the deputies and motioned for him to head toward us.
They reached us at the same time.
Wellton pointed at us. “Unhook ’em.”
The deputy looked uncertain. “Uh, I’m not sure if I’m supposed to do that.”
Wellton glared at him. “I didn’t ask what you were supposed to do. Do it or you’ll be wearing your own set.”
The deputy’s cheeks reddened, but he produced a key and promptly unlocked both of us. He hurried away, taking the cuffs with him.
Wellton glared at me. “I said you could poke around. I didn’t say you could go around killing people.”
“Hey, we-” I started, but Wellton kept going.
“You drive out here and just start taking target practice?” he asked, his eyes flaring with anger. “I asked you to help me out. I didn’t ask you to drag me into multiple murders. Which part didn’t you understand?”
“I understood all of it, Wellton,” I said, irritated. “But we had no choice.”
“Yeah, you did,” Wellton fired back. “You could’ve put the guns away and called the cops
