“This man is a liar!” said Clay, pointing his finger back at my husband.
“This man is Aaron Cooper!” said a woman from the back.
She had a small child with her. She nodded toward Aaron like he was her favorite brother. “He’s defending my home and my family.” Then she turned to Clay. “I’d trust him over you.” Then she nodded to Jed to add, “Over both of you!”
“So would I,” said another local.
“So would I,” said another.
“Aaron Cooper’s been helping us for almost a year,” said the guy in the cowboy hat. “I’d trust him with the life of my newborn.”
The workers and residents had taken his side, our side, which felt amazing, truly.
I finally spoke up. “I can tell you what this man did. I can tell you every detail.”
Clay had reached his threshold. With the flames of hell whipping around behind him, he aimed his rifle directly at my chest and shouted his war cry, “Liar!”
I saw each split-second elapse individually. I heard each millimeter of his index finger begin to pull that sliver of metal. A flurry of gunshots went off. And I swear I felt each bullet go inside me.
Chapter 30
But that was an illusion. The others fired, Aaron’s defenders and now mine. A total of fifteen rounds from four different guns. I don’t think anyone missed. Every single shot pierced Clay Hobson in the chest before he ever squeezed his own trigger.
The bullet-riddled man teetered backward, took two clumsy steps, paused, coughed up blood, then fell into the trench behind him, into the roaring inferno of the rig, where instantly the dynamite sticks in his vest combusted.
Boom.
Luckily, our crowd was on the opposite edge of the blast radius. Clay Hobson wasn’t spared. His body was obliterated, while the rest of us remained dazed but still on our feet. Aaron had instinctively clutched downward, curling himself over Sierra. She was shell-shocked, but she would see her fifth birthday.
The one person now trembling in our midst was Jedediah.
The crowd had fully aligned itself with Aaron, defending him, and thereby me. Jed’s goons were nowhere to be seen, successfully evaded by my determined husband.
“Set your gun down, Jed,” said the tattooed woman.
Jed didn’t seem popular here. Maybe everyone saw through him.
The man in the cowboy hat cocked his revolver. “Jedediah Branch, I don’t care how high up you are on the food chain. If you move one molecule of that index finger, I will shoot you in the throat.”
Jed was pale. He lowered his weapon slowly.
I gingerly made my way over to Aaron. I wanted so badly to hug him but he looked frail enough to crush. I didn’t even want to exhale in his direction. Instead, I took my place at his side.
Jed was covered in oil, head to toe, doused by the spray of snuffing out the first derrick. One of the men looked directly at Jed, pulled out a pocket lighter and flicked it without ever breaking eye contact, holding the flame aloft like a torch.
Jed trembled in horror. The implication was terrifying. These people might actually burn him alive. He dropped to his knees, to face, of all people, Aaron.
“No. Please,” Jed began to grovel. “Please don’t.”
He must’ve been convinced Aaron would condemn him. I had to be honest: seeing my husband hold our child, thrashed, bruised, teetering on the edge of death, mere yards away from the man responsible for the agony of it all, I almost wondered if he might actually give the word.
Almost.
But I knew better. I knew what Jed didn’t know.
“You asked me to speak at the rally on behalf of Drake, but you found out I was going to blow the whistle on the whole operation. So you ordered me killed. You ordered my family killed. All so you could keep getting kickbacks from Drake Oil while these laborers got sicker and sicker, poisoned by the drinking water in their own homes.”
Aaron stared at Jed.
“You want me to call them off?” said Aaron to the judge.
Aaron isn’t a murderer.
“I’ll make you glad you did,” said Jed. He kept his movements slow and cautious, well aware of the muzzles pointing at his vital organs. His desperate gaze turned to me. “Please, Miranda. Anything you want.”
“There’s nothing you can say,” I told him.
His ghostly face then peered around the group, frantically calculating.
“I’ll say it,” said Jed. He took a deep breath. “I did what you saw other judges do. I obstructed justice. I was paid to rule in favor of Drake Oil.” He clasped his hands as if in prayer. Imploring. “But I can make it right. Help me make it right.”
It had no value, this sad speech. Under duress, stating something he’d later dispute, it had no legal weight. This was just another stunt. But the moral victory definitely tasted sweet.
What was bizarre was that everyone was staring at me just as much as they were staring at the judge, wondering what kind of verdict I would render.
“Help me, Miranda,” pleaded Jed.
I said, “My family will be giving you back your $145,000.”
I let that sit for a second, watching his confusion.
“The bonus your people paid us?” I continued. “You’ll be getting all that back. Starting with…” I began to fish in the pockets of my jeans. Here came all the cash I had on me, some bills and two coins, a grand total of six dollars and eleven cents. I tossed the wad toward Jedediah, then added, “The rest is coming soon.”
In the distance were sirens.
I looked over at Aaron. He emitted a frail half chuckle, his best version of a laugh. Which meant, given the state he was in, that he found me hysterical.
“There’s an ambulance for you, Mr. Cooper,” said the tattooed lady, kindly. She was pointing to the front gate at the far end of the ranch, ready to assist him down the road.
I still didn’t want to hug my husband for fear of toppling him over, but before I could tell him
