“The roof!” Colby bellowed. Some soldiers darted up the stairwell. Colby quickly stepped forward and drove his foot into Bill’s face, knocking him out cold.
“Release,” Colby said, his memory clearing at the sight of Kane. It was like stepping out of a fog into clear air. As soon as the dog let Bill go, the cops were on him, hauling Bill to his feet and dragging him out. The dog went crazy, bouncing around him, tail wagging, tongue licking him as he dropped down and embraced the ball of fur.
“Move out!” A soldier yelled, hurrying them out of the store that was now ablaze. Smoke continued to pour in. Black. Thick.
As Colby lifted his eyes he met a woman’s. “Alicia. Right?” She gave him a confused expression as if it should have been clear. As he stood, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly.
“I thought you were… I…”
She backed up, realizing the awkwardness of the moment.
Over her shoulder, Paul smiled. He handed Colby a set of keys as they were led out. They were for the truck. “Never used them in the end. Take care.”
He headed out the same way he came in, ushered out by soldiers.
“We should…” Colby jerked a thumb to the fire that was now licking its way into the building’s foyer.
Stepping outside into the night, Colby inhaled fresh air and was greeted by the sight of members of the National Guard and multiple Los Banos police officers. It was the sight of hope, of people not giving up.
Although there were probably dozens of Bill Mannings out there across America, this one wouldn’t have the hold he’d intended.
Colby heard crying. He turned to see Rachel in tears.
Jackson suffered one loss that day. A son. Edward. He’d taken a bullet to the head before his mother shot Hector’s son, Gilbert Sanchez. It was a costly lesson. As much as Jackson wanted to defend his property, it had come at a great cost. Losing one of his own. As Colby, Alicia and Kane walked away, he cast a final glance back. He observed the Hartridge family huddled together, comforting each other in their grief. They weren’t the first to lose someone, they wouldn’t be the last.
TWENTY-SEVEN Jessie
Humboldt County
Three days later
It was a rowdy gathering. Hundreds from the community were crammed into Eureka City Hall, even more, waited outside the council chambers — all to hear the update on the Bayshore Mall. Word had spread fast, faster than the flames themselves. Many from Jessie’s family were huddled on one side of the room, waiting for the meeting to begin, when Hank and his corrupt reprobates entered. There wasn’t enough room inside, but they made some, elbowing their way through a knot of people just as they had in the black market.
Many had tried to stand shoulder to shoulder with the Rikers and take food out of their mouths but had fallen away, or vanished from the town out of fear of retribution — the Stricklands never. Like them, they never backed down from a challenge. Maybe that’s why they hated each other so much. They were a mirror version of each other.
“Well take a look at what the cat dragged in,” Zeke muttered.
Lincoln balled his fists. “They’ve got some nerve.”
Jessie eyed Seth from across the room, one of those he’d learned had been involved in Miriam’s attack. While she had now awoken and was stable, her memory of what happened was still vague. It had been his mother that had confirmed Seth’s involvement. He wanted nothing but to lunge at him and tear his throat out.
Regardless of what agreement his mother had made, he had every intention of ending Seth’s life if it was the last thing he did.
His mother admonished them as if they were in some church meeting. “Eyes forward.”
Dylan refused. He didn’t take his eyes off them for even a second. The youngest of his brothers, his connection with Miriam was strong. If anyone was about to lash out, it would be him. Dylan ran a hand over his fierce beard, each finger covered with chunky silver rings that doubled as a knuckle duster in a pinch.
Although none of them were packing handguns because cops searched everyone on the way in, that didn’t mean they hadn’t found unique ways to bring blades inside. They were familiar with police pat-downs, the areas hands would go, the places they didn’t. It was routine. Predictable.
At the front of the room, council members, emergency operation planners, and county and local police were preparing for Dan Wilder to address everyone. Jessie’s eyes ticked across faces. The one person he expected to be there wasn’t — the mayor.
Jessie turned his head, hearing grumblings in the crowd.
“I’d like to hear how they plan to get us out of this mess.”
“I want to know who did it.”
“I bet it was the Rikers.”
“No, it was the Stricklands.”
“It wasn’t either. I’ve heard it was an accident.”
No one knew. Opinions and beliefs colored every conversation.
Themselves. Well, they believed the Stricklands were behind it, and if their dagger-like stares held any truth, they must have thought the same about them.
The locals looked as fired up as they were. People wanted answers.
Dan made his way to the front of the room. He looked tidy in his uniform. Capable even under these conditions. Jessie was interested to see how he planned to wiggle his way out of this one.
“Good evening, everyone. I know that many of you have questions and we will do our best to answer them this evening, however, I would like to call up Pastor Danielle Harris. I wonder if you would do us the honor of starting this meeting with prayer. I think we could all use it.”
“Prayer isn’t going to feed my kids! Moron!” someone bellowed from the back of the room. Heads turned. Someone was led out of the room by two officers.
A redheaded woman approached the front and turned to
