“All right. Settle down!”
Rodrigo was the first out of his seat. He pulled the doors wide and stepped out to take a look while Hernández got up and racked his shotgun. “Shut your traps, you mongrels.”
Outside, Boone eyed the tree line as Rodrigo made his way around the entire bus before getting back on. “The front tires are blown.”
“You think?” Hernández replied sarcastically before getting out to check. Him and Rodrigo chatted, pointing at the tires and looking up the road.
While they were doing that, Parish got up and shuffled down to where Boone was. “Settle down,” he said to them all before leaning over and unlocking his restraints. Boone eyed him with a smirk. Outside, the sound of gunfire erupted, and Rodrigo fell back against the bus, gripping his chest. Hernández spun around and unloaded several rounds into the forest before hurrying onto the bus. He pulled the doors closed and got down.
“Parish. Can you see them?”
Boone sat quietly, a smile spreading.
“Well?”
Hernández cast a sideways glance toward Parish who was near the back of the bus, looking out. “Come down here, hold the door, I’ll see if I can get this bus moving. Tires or not. I’m not sticking around here.” Outside, there was no movement, no sign of an ambush and yet that’s exactly what this was. Hernández hopped into the driver’s seat and was putting the gear stick in drive when Boone touched the end of Parish’s handgun against the side of his head. “Going somewhere?”
Hernández turned ever so slightly. “Parish?”
“Parish isn’t going to be of much help. Are you, Parish?” He grinned back at him then nudged Hernández. “Now open the doors and shut off the engine.”
All the inmates on the bus cheered, hooted and hollered.
Hernández hesitated for a second. One last moment of reluctance. “Open the doors. I won’t ask again.”
“Parish.”
“Do as he says, Hernández,” Parish advised.
Once it was done, Hernández stood up as Boone shoved him out. “What have you done?” As soon as they were outside the bus, Boone breathed in the crisp morning air.
“Like I said, freedom smells good.”
Without any signal, armed men on horseback began to emerge from the tree line, two at first, then four more, followed by another twelve. It was overkill but neither Boone nor Parish knew how many correctional deputies would be assigned to escort them. One rider headed to the front and slipped off his horse, an AK47 in hand. Tyler Boone was just under six foot, muscular, healthy with a full head of hair, though most of it was gray from midlife. He stretched his arms wide. “Brother.”
“Good work.”
“I aim to please.”
Boone turned his attention back to Hernández. “Drop to your knees.”
“What?”
“You heard the man,” Tyler said. Hernández shot Parish a look as he climbed down off the bus and joined them.
“Boone. Please. I’m just doing my job,” Hernández said.
“As am I. Go on now. Get on those knobby knees of yours before I have Parish force you down.” Tears welled in Hernández’s eyes, for he knew what was coming next. Slowly he got down on the blacktop.
“Hernández. Time to make peace with your maker. Any last words?”
“Let me go. I won’t say anything. I’ll leave the county and never come back.”
He chuckled. “All these years dishing out shit. Not so brave now.”
“Please. I was going to leave after this anyway.”
“After.” He tutted.
“I meant—”
“I know what you meant. You wanted to make sure all these men were escorted to the state pen first. You wanted to get paid. You got your priorities wrong. Now had you been like Parish here, you wouldn’t be staring down the barrel of this gun. So I’m going to ask you one last time. Have you made peace with your maker?”
He shook his head, a firm no, but then dipped his chin and began to pray.
Boone glanced at Tyler who was smiling. “Now those are some fine words. Strikes me as strange how defiant people can be in life but when faced with death, well, they sure as hell acknowledge the unseen then.” Hernández lifted his eyes and looked as if he was about to say something when Boone uttered some final words. “From the earth we came, to the earth we return.” He placed the tip of the barrel against Hernández’s head then squeezed the trigger. The round obliterated his skull, sending him down. Boone stood there staring for a second before muttering, “Dust to dust, and all that shit.” The men burst out laughing and Boone turned to embrace his brother. They gave each other a manly hug.
“Everything is in place,” Tyler said.
“Good.”
Boone stepped back on the bus and looked at the other twenty-nine inmates asking to be unshackled. As he went down the narrow aisle unlocking each one, he quoted Isaiah 61:1. “Because the Lord has anointed me…” He spoke loudly to the cheers of those on board. “To proclaim liberty to the captives. And freedom to prisoners.”
As soon as the men were out, they hustled out of the bus, most jogging off into the distance without a thank you. Others expressed their gratitude and then went on their way. Only a handful remained, keen and eager to serve. But he wasn’t in the business of enslaving others. That wasn’t his way. Kindness was quickly forgotten. Loyalty took years to earn. And he had more than enough family. “You are free to go.”
Parish nodded and turned to leave, thinking his job was done, his debt paid.
“Except for you.”
“What?” Parish turned and offered a confused expression as Boone lifted his gun at him. He brought up his hands. “Whoa. Boone. Hold up. I
