August had immediately lowered his weapon and allowed its sling to let it fall to his side. He’d approached them while speaking softly to them, but hadn’t known the first thing to do. He’d never been trained for anything like this. He’d pulled the blankets from the nearby bed, gone to his knees and carefully, cautiously covered them, concealing their bodies, their innocence, and their indignity from the world.
“Hey there. My name’s August. I’m a friend,” he’d said. “It’s going to be all right. My associates and I are good guys…we’re here to help you. No one’s going to hurt you anymore. I promise.”
August gritted his teeth, got inside his vehicle, and started the engine, slamming the door shut so fiercely that the dashboard lights flickered. He tapped the button to roll down his window, but it didn’t work. He tried others and got nothing. He’d evidently broken the door but didn’t care. He only considered one thing in that moment—the feeling he’d had on the day he’d found those two helpless angels. August had felt like a hero that day. He’d learned what it had felt like to protect the innocent, save lives and do the right thing, and how he felt now was the farthest thing from that.
August wasn’t a good guy anymore. Somehow, somewhere along the line, he’d veered off that path and lost his way. He used to consider himself a patriot. Now he was nothing of the sort. He was an instrument of a government that had transformed him into a human trafficker. He’d become that which he had once fought so righteously against, something he’d always hated. August had become a scourge, and there was no excuse for it, and he didn’t know how much more of this he could take.
Chapter 18
The cabin
Trout Run Valley
Monday, March 7th
Christian sat unusually passive at the kitchen table, staring at the Baofeng radio’s mellow blue illumined screen, his chin resting atop hands balled into slackened fists. His preoccupation and unease had skyrocketed since announcing young Emily Taylor’s disappearance hours ago. Not long after, a blonde woman had come into view atop an ATV, driving like an enraged wildling while declaring that her daughters Alli and Annie were missing. The woman sped off before she could be identified, while hollering her daughters’ names, leaving Michelle to fill in a crowd of confused onlookers as to who she was. Since then, radio chatter had been sporadic, and Christian hadn’t moved so much as an inch while matters grew even worse.
Whitney Schmidt had reported her daughter, Brooke, unaccounted for. The family had been together almost all morning, moving their possessions from the Masons’, where they’d been living since their home had been burned to the ground, into a vacant residence recently chosen as their own. Brooke had initially been with them, but had stepped away for a few minutes. No one had seen her since.
The entire valley was on alert now, and several search parties were in the process of assembling. Christian was planning to join and possibly lead one of them, that is, if he could find a way to convince Grace to give him the go-ahead.
One missing child was nothing short of a major concern, but four missing children reported on the same day mere hours apart from each other was far too coincidental. Christian contemplated the likelihood of what might have happened and who could’ve been responsible for such a thing. So far, he had only come to a pair of plausible conclusions. One of them involved ‘porn stash’ Max, the leader of the taker faction that had invaded the valley months ago and who remained a detainee. His other theory was one he knew was possible; he just didn’t want to believe it was actually true.
Ever since narrowly escaping his former employer, Christian had known all along that they would never stop searching for him. Killing a trio of agents, relieving them of their gear, and forsaking their corpses for the coyotes to pick at had bequeathed him a proverbial scarlet letter. The valley had never seen any form of aggression on behalf of DHS until his arrival here, and if they were behind these disappearances, accountability could easily fall in his lap. He’d warned everyone of their true aims months ago, but with so much having come to pass since, his counsel had become an afterthought, even to him. The broken families and those missing worried him, but what concerned him most was knowing what he knew: that if DHS was involved, this was only the beginning.
Grace appeared from the hall and shimmied up behind him, embracing him around the neck. “Buenos días, mi amor.” She kissed his cheek and yawned inches from his ear. “I seem to have slumbered through breakfast. Any leftovers? Why is there no coffee made? And why do you have my radio? What the fuck is going on?”
Christian squeezed her hand. “Sorry, breakfast and coffee were omitted. A lot’s happened this morning.”
“Other than breakfast and coffee, you mean.”
“There’s been some trouble. Some kids are missing, Emily Taylor, Brooke Schmidt and two Brady girls.”
“Which Brady girls? Wait—never mind, continue…not like I can tell them apart anyway.”
“Michelle and your dad left a while ago to help look for them, and I’ve been here ever since, watching the radio.”
“You mean my radio.”
“Right.”
Grace counted with her fingers. “Four missing? That’s…I don’t know, scary.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.” Christian sent her puppy eyes. “It’s never happened before. It’s worrisome. I’m…sorry about breakfast.”
“No worries, there’s lot’s going on, like you said.” She fidgeted. “Oddly enough, I’m not feeling too hungry. Maybe I’ll just caffeinate. Being pregnant is fucking whacky; it’s like…demonic possession, but from the spirit’s point of view, every morning waking up in a new, alien host body. For the longest time, all I
