After running another sixty yards, Dak reached the edge of the forest where it met the cornfield. He only paused for a second, slowing his pace to a brisk walk as he entered the rows of skeletal stalks. In the distance, he saw the red brick chimney rising up from the end of the house. It kept him oriented now that he stood on level ground with the enemy.
Finding a landmark was always something he'd found useful in situations like this, especially in a place like a cornfield that felt more like a chaotic maze.
He checked his watch. Only a few minutes left. Dak crouched down and made his way through the dried stalks, careful not to rustle them as he moved. He knew he wasn't going to reach Nate by the time the allotted head start ended, but he didn't have to. That wasn't part of the plan. He just had to be close.
Thirty more yards and he stopped, once more checking how much time had elapsed.
As he figured, only a minute remained.
Dak got down on one knee and retrieved the radio from his backpack. He flipped the power switch and a digital readout appeared on the display. Dak pried open a plastic guard on a switch on the far right side of the black box—a personal addition to the controller. There were three other smaller switches near it, along with a red button.
He flipped the safety switch up and then glanced over at his watch for the last time.
In the distance, he heard Nate's voice scream. It carried through the corn rows and rolled up into the surrounding hills. Even as a grown, fully armed man, the sound sent a chill through Dak.
"Ready or not, here I come!"
Dak looked down at the controller, held his breath, and pressed the button.
Fourteen
Brown’s Ferry
The explosion rocked the valley. A concussive wave rolled through the cornfield, knocking over several of the rows closest to the house.
Dak covered his head, letting the radio hang at his chest. Tiny chunks of debris sailed over him; a few pieces pattered the ground around his feet. When the rubble ceased raining down around him, Dak stood up straight and looked toward the farmhouse.
Black smoke billowed into the sky. The fuming column climbed higher with every passing second, and Dak knew that it was only a matter of time until someone saw it.
He doubted the blast killed Nate. Dak didn't consider himself to be that lucky. The explosion might have injured the enemy, and if that was the case, then Dak would have a strong advantage.
Careful to stay low to keep his head below the tops of the cornstalks, he crept forward. He watched where he stepped, knowing that while speed was important, it was more critical he didn't signal his location to Nate by snapping a dried stalk underfoot.
The smoke pillar loomed high in the air now, the top of it reaching a hundred feet or more. Dak had trouble gauging the actual distance, but the sight added to the surreal feeling that lingered over the property.
He kept moving, stepping gingerly on the earth as he pressed the edges of his boots into the dirt with each step. Drawing closer to the farmhouse, the crackling sound of flames filled the air, along with the smell of burning fuel and scorched grass. He noted more smoke trickling up from other areas of the cornfield to his right and left, though it wasn't the same as the black clouds roiling from the propane tank his drone had destroyed. Flaming debris must have caught hold on some dried cornstalks—collateral damage that Dak didn't anticipate, though perhaps he should have.
This part of Kentucky hadn't been in a severe drought, but there hadn't been any rain in the last few days. Based on the texture of the stalks, combined with the dried leaves in the forest, he figured it had been more than a week—plenty dry enough to make the entire field more than adequate tinder for a massive blaze.
He hurried forward with the thought, his concerns splintering to the kids who were trying to escape. They should be fine, he hoped. If a fire did start, they should be far enough away to be safe, or would keep running at the sight of it.
Dak crept to a halt at the edge of the cornfield. He peered through the last few stalks at the roaring flames lapping out of the torn remains of the destroyed propane tank. The gas had been consumed entirely in the explosion, but the grass around it and part of the house burned steadily, spreading the flames gradually across the lawn and exterior walls.
He scanned the immediate area twice from one end to the other, searching for Nate. A terrible realization descended into his mind. Nate wasn't there.
He searched again, finding no trace of the man.
Dak felt a sudden wave of concern wash over him. The feeling came from his gut, a sense of fear that kept him alive through the years when in dangerous situations. Back then, he had a team that watched his back. Now, he was on his own, and he suddenly felt very exposed on the edge of the cornfield.
He retreated, almost involuntarily, pushing with his toes to gain cover behind the browned stalks.
Nate wasn't just a ferocious killer with a machine gun. He was an expert marksman with a rifle. If he survived the blast, odds are he was regrouping. There was the outside chance Nate might consider the explosion an accident, but that was unlikely. Those kinds of things didn't happen often. And Nate wasn't stupid.
As Dak continued to withdraw from the burning yard, he noticed something lying on the ground about forty feet from the center of the explosion. He stopped and peered through the stands of corn at the anomaly and realized almost
