They walked. She lifted her head to gaze out at the snow and she thought of making a run for it. Of shouldering Lemuel and charging past him . . . of running back to the barn and climbing into the hayloft or making it to the Jeep and driving down the lane. But wishes weren’t horses, as her mother had always said. Rachel didn’t have the strength or clear head to run. It took every ounce of her strength to put one foot in front of the other. If she tried to flee, she’d be as helpless as a blind kitten. Alma would shoot her, or Lemuel would run her down and knock her to the ground.
She closed her eyes and saw again the flash of red as the mitten turned into a cardinal and flew into the sky. She wished she were a redbird. She’d fly away. Alma let go of her and Rachel fell onto her knees in the snow. A few yards ahead of her, Lemuel began to kick the snow off a sheet of tin. It lay on top of a few rotting beams, just another pile of debris in a farmer’s field. If it snowed again tonight, no one might notice it for months or years . . . or ever.
Lemuel lifted another section of metal and Rachel caught a glimpse of mossy fieldstones that lined the inside of the well. She stiffened, thinking of the dank walls and the icy water at the bottom. “Alma, you can’t do this,” she murmured. “You’re condemning your son to—”
A loud metallic click sounded in the still air . . . the sound of Alma cocking the rifle. “I’m sorry to do this to you, Rachel,” she said. “But I have to protect my—”
The wail of a police siren drowned out her words. Rachel staggered to her feet. Hope lent her strength and she ran toward the barn. “Evan!” she screamed. “Evan!” Between the barn and the chicken house she heard the roar of the motor and saw the vehicle spin into the yard, lights flashing. A door banged open.
“She has a gun!” Rachel yelled. “Alma has a gun!”
Evan, dressed in his tuxedo, dashed around the barn, gun drawn. Rachel heard the crack of the rifle. Evan got off a shot, but the bullet missed its mark as Alma fired again. The air was filled with the echo of the shots and the smell of gunpowder.
It all seemed so surreal.
Rachel watched, everything seeming to move in slow motion, as Evan crumpled and fell forward. A red stain began to spread across the snow.
“Mam!” Lemuel cried.
Behind her, Rachel heard Alma slam another cartridge into the rifle.
Rachel ran toward Evan, screaming his name. Something whined past her head and she heard the sound of Alma’s rifle again. Rachel ducked and kept running. She had to get to Evan. Another bullet slammed into the ground beside her. She threw herself over Evan, wrapping her arms around him and trying to shield him from Alma. Evan groaned. “God help us,” she managed.
Suddenly, a pack of barking dogs swept down off the slope. A burst of gunfire rang out. “Drop it or the boy dies!” a male voice shouted.
“Don’t hurt him!” Alma screamed. “Not my Lemuel.” She threw the rifle aside and ran to her son.
“Hands in the air! Flat on the ground, both of you!” Chuck Baker shouted a command to his pit bulls and they closed in on a weeping Alma and the boy. Snarling viciously, the dogs crouched low, muscles tensed and teeth bared. “Don’t move or they’ll tear you apart,” the prepper warned. “If they get a taste of blood I won’t be able to call them off.”
Tears clouded Rachel’s eyes as Chuck snatched up Alma’s discarded rifle and strode toward them. He ejected a cartridge and hurled Alma’s gun to the ground as he came toward Rachel and Evan, his semiautomatic rifle tucked under his arm.
“How bad is he?” Chuck asked, slicing through the baling twine at her wrists with his hunting knife.
“He’s shot,” Rachel said.
Gently, the big man rolled Evan onto his back.
Rachel gasped. A neat round hole in Evan’s right shoulder was oozing a trail of deep crimson down the front of his tuxedo jacket. “Is he alive?”
Chuck pressed the base of his palm against the bullet wound. With his free hand, he sought for a pulse at Evan’s throat. “He’s alive,” he said. “What about you? That wound on your head looks pretty bad.”
“I’m all right,” she said. “It’s Evan who needs help.”
“Good. Then hustle yourself back to that police car and call for an ambulance. Tell them we’ve got a trooper down and two suspects in custody.”
“You’re sure?” she asked, tears running down her cheeks. Behind her she could hear Chuck’s dogs barking and growling. “You’re sure he’s alive?”
Evan’s eyelids flickered. “I’m alive.” He clenched his teeth and inhaled raggedly. “You’re late, Rachel. Do you . . . know what today is?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Oh, Evan, don’t die. I love you so much. I—”
“For pity’s sake,” Chuck exclaimed and rolled his eyes. “Will you two lovebirds quit your cooing and get an ambulance here before he does bleed to death?”
Epilogue
The nurse pushed Rachel’s wheelchair into Evan’s room. One of the four state police officers who were just leaving held the door for her. They greeted her, asked how she was doing, and offered condolences for her injuries. She murmured something she hoped was appropriate to each of them and thanked them for coming to support Evan.
“He’s a good guy,” Lucy Mars said. In spite of the fact that she was in full uniform, she bent to hug her. “Don’t let him get away,”
