The only cameras Dak noticed were at the steel gate blocking the driveway near the main road. Since he'd already eliminated that path as a potential entry point, he disregarded the surveillance devices and kept moving along the perimeter.
While relieved to discover no real security issues to overcome, Dak's concern didn't lessen. Nate was a calculating individual. There had to be a reason for the lack of security.
Of course, there was the possibility that the man was simply overconfident in his ability to disappear, to drop off the grid and never look over his shoulder. He'd taken precautions. Perhaps he thought that was enough. Dak didn't know, but he wasn't going to take any chances.
When he arrived back at the SUV, his mind and body felt heavy from exhaustion. He stowed his gear in the floorboard of the front seat and folded the rear seat down so he could lie in the back and get a little rest. If not for the long period of strenuous mental and physical exercise in the forest, he probably wouldn't have slept at all.
At 7:40 in the morning, Dak woke abruptly to a loud, rumbling sound. Confusion swirled around him as he quickly assessed his surroundings, realizing he was in the back of his SUV after a few seconds of trepidation.
The sound grew louder, reached its climax, and then began to fade.
Harley Davidson Sportster, he thought, recognizing the familiar growl. Dak exhaled and quickly gathered his things. He climbed out of the SUV and set back to work. Noon would come fast, and he needed to be ready.
He stuffed the two racing drones into his rucksack along with the controller. The bag also contained a long-range, remote detonator. Dak had planted a few other surprises in the forest for his old teammate, just in case.
With all his gear loaded and ready, he closed up the truck and set out on foot once more.
His legs felt heavy as he climbed to the top of the ridge, but he pressed on until he reached the crest. Then he turned east and kept moving until he arrived at a bend in the hilltop. He'd identified this location as the closest point to Nate's farm, and where he could get the best view when the hunt began.
The plan was simple, but far from perfect.
Dak knew the boys' plan—to split up in pairs and go in opposite directions. One of the pairs would, inevitably, head toward this general vicinity. If Nate happened to follow those two, Dak would take out the hunter as he pursued his quarry.
There was only a one in four chance that would happen, though, and Dak didn't count on being that lucky. More likely, Nate would go after one of the other groups first.
He had a plan for that, too.
He wished he wasn't on foot. It would be easier and faster to grab the boys and usher them to safety on an ATV. That wasn't an option, so he'd do the best he could with what he had. Right now, what he had was the element of surprise.
Twelve
Brown’s Ferry
Nate tromped down the steps into the basement. He'd considered using a chain and shackles to keep the boys in line, even told them that's what would happen, but he changed his mind. It wasn't necessary.
The pistol on his hip and the hunting rifle slung over his shoulder would be enough. They were, after all, just kids—easily intimidated and cast into the throes of fear.
"It's time, gentlemen," he said, using the term loosely and frosted with cynicism.
He unlocked the first door. "You've been in here the longest. I think it's only fitting you get to stretch your legs first." He spoke to the dark-haired boy with callous derision.
Then Nate set about opening the rest of the doors.
None of the boys dared move, not until they were told. There was something admirable about that, or so Nate thought. These youngsters could be taught. They could learn when to speak or not to speak, when to stand or sit on command. Perhaps, he thought, they could have been good soldiers.
Unfortunately for them, they were going to die here on his property.
"I hope you enjoyed your breakfast," Nate went on. "Now it's time for a little exercise." He motioned to the boy from the first cell, indicating the stairs with his finger. "Go on, up the stairs with you." He looked at the kid to the right, a ginger-headed fourteen-year-old with freckles and a petulant glaze in his eyes. "You too, freckles. Up you go. Everyone fall in line after those two. And don't get any ideas about running once you're up there. That would be cheating. If you cheat, you get shot before the game even begins. We wouldn't want that."
He caught another bitter, resentment-filled glare from another boy, but no one said anything.
No one except the last kid he'd taken.
The older McDowell brother stared at Nate with cold, vapid eyes as he shuffled past, ushering his younger brother to the stairwell.
"You're going to lose," the boy said.
Nate's eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead. "Oh, really? All right, then? I like your attitude, son. Best of luck to you."
The kid's eyelids shrank to slits as he followed his brother up the stairs.
"I like his spunk," Nate muttered to himself. "Misguided, but full of moxie."
He followed the young men up the stairs and found them clustered around the open front door.
"What are you doing standing here?" he growled. "Outside. Now."
They all jumped at the command and hurried out the door and down the steps and onto the grass.
Each boy put their hands up over their eyes, shielding them from the blinding light of the sun. The ones who'd been there the longest hadn't seen daylight in several weeks. Or had it been months? Nate had trouble remembering. He shrugged off the question, slipped on a pair of aviator sunglasses, and followed the boys onto the lawn between the front porch and the seemingly endless rows of harvested corn stalks.
"That's far enough," he
