“He knows,” she said. “He’s been preparing. Kill me.”
Ben recoiled. “No. Already too much blood. Not again.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “I have no future.”
Ben knew she was right, at so many levels, including the ones he had blinded himself to for the past two years. He saw similar pain in her eyes, and he did not want her to suffer anymore. She did not deserve this.
Ben released any moral restraints and shot Arlene twice through the heart. Arlene stared into eternity, a thin dribble of blood coursing from her left nostril.
Ben trembled, the gun’s smoking suppressor hovering inches above the dead Chancellor’s chest. A cold emptiness swept over him as he studied the second defenseless person he killed tonight and the fourth since he was dragged across the fold. Ben felt no remorse, only a deep, unbending regret that he became precisely the man he once vowed never to be. A string of profanities snapped him out of his trance. He felt Walt’s hot breath.
“Have you completely lost your mind, Sheridan?”
Ben found courage. “No. If she knew anything concrete, she was never going to tell us. She said I chose the wrong side, that Jamie would be dead before the rebirth. They’d shoot him and burn his body. I snapped.”
Walt loosened his fists. “As much as I despise to admit it, you’re right, Sheridan. We were wasting time and resources. We have to make preparations for our next move.”
“The, um, sheriff. Is everything taken care of with him?”
“Everson is a moron. I told him I’d drive back at first light. That would give us more than enough time for the mission objectives to be completed and allow us to start back toward the fold. The problem is not limited to our burned-out shell of a house.”
Ben nodded. “The neighbors. They claim they saw us.”
“The neighbors were half-asleep. Dim-witted buffoons. Of no concern now.” He turned to Grace, who was standing in the doorway. “We need to prepare the lake house for departure.”
Grace paused on her way out. “Complete preparation?”
“Yes. All of it.” Grace hurried off. “After I explained how we were in Louisiana – in fact, the very camp where Grace and I have been field-training Samantha for years – he sprung additional news on me. It appears one of his deputies was found shot several times along with another man … in your apartment, of course.”
Ben felt light-headed, as if he were watching Ignatius die in his arms all over again.
Walt continued. “This provides a considerable complication. Everson might be a moron, but even he would see there must be a connection between our fire and his deputy’s demise. I don’t think there’s been this much excitement in Albion since … oh, since your parents were murdered. Once they verify that we have not been in Louisiana … suffice to say, the farther we are from Albion, the better. It’s time.”
“Fine, Walt. I concede your point. But promise me one thing. I’ll have a chance to spend time alone with my brother before the end.”
Walt dropped a sympathetic hand on Ben’s shoulder.
“Sheridan, I once had a cousin. He was as close as a brother, so he did not understand when I could not tell him the truth about our mission. On the final night, the two of us barely spoke. If you feel this strange need to bond with James, I won’t stand in your way. However, he will be properly secured to the end.”
A fierce banging on another door drew their attention. They raced into the hallway and saw Grace pounding her fist against Sammie’s bedroom door.
“Samantha? Samantha? Open up now. Samantha?”
Walt wasted no time and launched a powerful kick that threw the door open. Ben saw the open window. Walt grunted but otherwise contained his temper, scanning the room with the quiet professionalism of a detective at a crime scene. He sauntered past Grace uttering the word “incompetent” over and over.
Standing in the doorway, Walt put a finger in Ben’s chest.
“James has lost his bonding privileges. We’ll search lakeside.”
Ben raced through the kitchen, opened the sliding door and tore out onto the deck. He searched east and west, assisted only by the spotlights on the deck. He called out to Jamie and waited in the dark stillness for a response he knew wasn’t coming. He didn’t have a chance to ponder how Jamie pulled this off.
He heard an unexpected hum in the distance, breaking the silence of the night. He couldn’t determine the sound’s origin, as it bounced across the lake and through the forest. His stomach tightened.
Walt screamed. “Sheridan, get in here.”
As Ben entered the kitchen, Grace raced up from the cellar, and Walt took out his keys.
“No time to search. They’re coming,” Walt said, glancing at his watch. He turned his attention to a long, narrow cabinet just inside the kitchen from the foyer.
“Who?” Ben asked. “Agatha Bidwell?”
“Who else?” Walt forged a smile as he turned a key into a lock and opened the cabinet.
“I thought the cabin was secure.”
Walt hesitated but offered no answer. He reached into a deep cabinet stocked with assault weapons in vertical braces with magazines neatly arranged in cubbies below.
Walt grabbed a pair of AK-47s, which he tossed to Ben and Grace, followed by an extra magazine for each. He grabbed an M16, two pistols and extra clips.
“Lights,” he told Grace, who retreated toward the cellar. “Sheridan, come with me.”
“What about Jamie and Sammie?”
“Not an issue.”
Stunned by Walt’s nonchalance, Ben opened his mouth to say, “What do you mean?” Yet in that instant, the distant hum became a vicious roar.
