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These things were supposed to happen in slow motion.
That's how it worked on the big screen.
But in real life, it happened so fast.
One minute, Samantha had stood on the stoop, trembling, still reeling from the whispered fight she'd gotten into with Brady. Brady, who'd said that Samantha was absolutely not, under any circumstances, going to show herself. Brady, who'd actually grabbed her arm to keep her from running into the yard when Frank had stood at the window. Brady, who'd been as surprised as she when the gun had gone off. When Frank had fallen.
Somehow going back into the cabin had started to feel inevitable after Frank was murdered. She was drawn to it like she was drawn to the trees. But it wasn't the same. Because the trees called to her like the voice of death. The cabin didn't represent death to her. With Garrison and Aiden inside, the cabin represented hope. Terrified as she was to die, she would go back if Lionel insisted.
And she knew he'd insist.
When Lionel threatened to shoot Aiden, Brady muted the phone. "You promised."
"I can't let him shoot Garrison's son."
"You think Garrison wants you both to die?"
"I have to try. I have to."
"I will handcuff you to this car, Samantha."
"But—"
"You said you trusted me."
She did trust Brady. She did. But she wasn't going to hang Aiden's life on it. "You're right. I trust you."
Brady let her go, spoke into his walkie-talkie. "Keep your eyes open. Any shot. There's no more time."
She paused, nodded like she agreed with this plan. Then she ran.
He'd almost managed to grab her. She felt the whoosh of air behind her elbow. She feared he'd run into the yard and tackle her, but the cops were worried if they showed themselves there'd be a shooting match, and nobody inside would survive that. The best option was to keep up the lie that she hadn't brought cops.
"Get down," Brady whispered. "Get back here."
So she made it to the stoop.
And knocked.
There was a cop in a tree in the yard, aiming at the door. If Lionel showed himself, she'd drop on the ground, give the man a good shot.
Only Lionel's hand came out. He grabbed her arm, yanked her inside.
And then, a bang. The sound of breaking glass, all while she was stepping inside.
Garrison flew across the room.
Lionel's eyes went wide, and he jerked the gun toward Garrison. She knew Lionel would shoot him, kill him, and then kill the rest of them. She wrenched away from his grip, felt a scream climb up her throat.
A gunshot. And another.
And then Lionel collapsed.
Screaming, lots of screaming. Maybe it was her.
Garrison crossed the room, nudged her aside. He kicked Lionel's weapon away, then felt at the man's neck.
"Dead."
Garrison jogged to the bald man and checked his neck. Then he looked at her, looked at the boys.
"It's over."
Just like that. Ten seconds. Probably less.
He stood, crossed to the boys, and wrapped them both in his arms.
She stood there, staring, as police streamed inside. Shouted questions. Lowered their guns and surveyed the scene.
Brady stepped in front of her. "You lied to me."
She couldn't respond.
He stared, waited for a response, and then stepped in and hugged her. "You okay?"
"I don't know." She wanted Garrison. Brady was one of her best friends, but she needed Garrison.
A moment later, Brady stepped back, and he was there. Garrison wrapped her in his arms, kissed her hair, her forehead, her lips, and held her close.
He didn't speak. He didn't have to. She knew. She knew.