Bronson didn’t say anything, looking like he’d lost his appetite.
“The way we’ve been going about things won’t work anymore,” Beatrice said. “Draggin’ people off to a gas chamber, only to drag them off again to a big ole burn pit that we must dig ourselves? It’s too tedious, far too many twists and turns. We need a quicker, more efficient method. A roundabout route.”
“And what do you propose?” Bronson asked, his face contorting, already knowing the answer. “Execution by firing squad and a direct detour to a mass grave?”
“Damn skippy. Kneel them down, put two in their skulls, then bury all of them directly thereafter in one big pit.” Beatrice pulled a bite from her fork. “It only makes sense…we are surrounded by farmland, after all. Their remains would make for modest fertilizer.”
Doug Bronson expelled a rare indignant scoff. “Are you even hearing yourself?”
“I hear fine, and let’s not quibble over implications. You and I both know the endgame here. For them, life isn’t just over—it’s been over. Have you ever taken a close gander at them? They know what’s coming, and they’re ready, rarin’ to go. It was never in the cards for them anyway.”
“It was for some of them.”
“Perhaps.” Beatrice watched him fidget uncomfortably for a while. Finally, she uttered his name in a sultry voice. “Bottom line is, Doug, that we are plum runnin’ out of time. Efforts therefore must be intensified to extend what time we have left. You and I can be a powerful alliance if we put our minds to it, and I have no doubt we can go places far beyond this nasty little assignment. Options exist for us, and I’ll gladly read you in, but I must first know where your loyalties reside.” Beatrice reached across the table for his hand. “Are you with me, Douglas?”
“Is this a test, Beatrice?”
“Absolutely it is.”
“Then I believe I am—with you, that is.”
“Peachy.”
Chapter 30
Trout Run Valley
Sunday, March 13th
Lauren’s world was in ruins. She was disconsolate, devastated, detached from herself, everyone and everything, the aftermath of recent heartbreaking events viciously holding her captive in an oubliette of torment. She stood quivering upon limp legs, several feet inside the forest’s edge, concealed behind budding trees and shrubs, a hundred or so yards away from the succinct burial service now being held for John and Norman.
Lauren didn’t want to be seen. She didn’t want to be quizzed or looked upon, judged, related to, or empathized with. She didn’t want to hear anyone tell her ‘everything would be okay’ or say they were ‘sorry for her loss’. The only thing she wanted was the one thing she knew she couldn’t ever have back. And nothing was going to change that. So she remained here, distant from all those who’d gathered to briefly pay their respects.
She’d worn a dress today. She hadn’t worn one in years, but felt that the occasion more than demanded the gesture. It didn’t fit her nearly as well as it had years ago and barely held to her sagging shoulders, but Lauren didn’t care. Her puffy eyes ached so badly from all the tears she’d shed that she couldn’t bear to rub them anymore. Her nose was chafed and blistering, and her lips were chapped so raw that they broke open and seeped blood whenever she cried.
Lauren’s soul was crushed, but there was one person who was feeling more than twice her pain and exponentially more devastation than she or anyone else in the wake of this. And she watched him now from afar, with eyes so swollen she could barely see through them. Lauren waited here for him to be alone and rid of the mourners so she could go to him and say what she needed to say to John’s brother, Norman’s eldest son, and one of the closest friends she’d ever had.
The funeral services today were set to be brief on purpose. The threat of future attacks was a persistent one, and no group was to be gathered for more than a short while in any one location, especially in the open. The directive was put in place with safety in mind while perceived by many as bothersome and conflicting. It wasn’t fair that family and friends were obliged to limit their time saying their goodbyes and paying their respects. Many considered the mandate intolerable and, thus, regarded it merely as a suggestion.
An overall feeling of gloom had overtaken the valley. Neighbors passing each other by refused to look the other’s way and, instead, hung their heads in sorrow and surrender. What remained of their pride had been ripped from their clutches, and they had all but given up after this latest shock to the system.
Emily Taylor was still missing, as was Brooke Schmidt and the Brady sisters, Allison and Annabelle. Christian, for reasons unknown, had yet to return home. Neo was in critical condition, and he and Grace hadn’t yet regained consciousness. The status of Grace’s pregnancy had yet to be determined. Unit troops, friends and loved ones had been senselessly murdered, blood had been shed, and the looming threat of another attack devoid of forewarning was dealing the valley a finishing blow.
Lauren sniffled and rubbed her nose, feeling the harsh, salty sting on fissured skin. She tried prying open her eyes with her fingers, but it was no use. She looked as though she’d gone ten losing rounds in a professional heavyweight boxing match as a bantamweight. The group began to slowly disperse, but she waited until she was certain Lee was alone and no one was set to return. And then she broke away from the obscurity the trees provided and went to him.
Immersed in sorrow and stoicism, wearing the best dress clothing he could find, Lee stood barely vertical, his hands pushed deep into his pockets, his
