A tangible silence sat between Deanna and Sean like another passenger as the plane glided noiselessly toward the ground. Sean prayed but kept his eyes wide open. If death was near, he wanted to see it coming. Would Dad be waiting for him on the other side?
Deanna aimed for the field below. For the second time in a day, she would be landing on Loomis land. And for the second time that day, Sean wondered if he would survive it when she did.
He’d plowed and planted this field himself. This alfalfa would become the hay they needed to feed livestock during the long winter months ahead when grazing wouldn’t be an option. The plants were nearly ready for second cutting. How much damage to his crops were they about to do? Would he be alive to even care, or had all that work last spring been simply the preparation of his own grave?
The twenty-acre field sat atop a plateau and wrapped around a brush-filled ravine that was too steep to farm. Somehow Deanna would need to land in the impossibly narrow strip between the sprinkler lines on the left and the timberline on the right without hitting the ravine.
At the far end of the field, Uncle Paul’s farmhouse sat tall and white, the only spectator to the event. Sean’s breathing shallowed as helplessness enveloped him. He watched the ground and the possibility of death come closer and closer.
Sean had always been a doer. He preferred keeping his ducks neatly in a row so life couldn’t surprise him. He hated surprises. But life had a mind of its own and seemed to enjoy humbling him. Live or die here, it wasn’t his call. Sean could do nothing but trust God and the skill He’d given Deanna.
In the final moments of descent, Deanna barked orders. “Get your seat up and make sure your belt is tight. This is going to sound crazy, but when I get close to the ground, I want you to open your door.”
“What?”
“You won’t fall out. Trust your seat belt. If the cockpit gets crunched on impact, the doors could get jammed shut. Plus, we might need to jump out fast.” She pointed behind her seat. “See that backpack? I’ve got an old jacket in there. I need you to use it to cover up the latch so the door can’t swing back and close itself again.”
If he didn’t worry that arguing with her would distract her, he would say more. It was counterintuitive to open his door when they were about to crash. But she was the pilot, and she knew best, so he kept his mouth shut and followed her instructions. Lord, please help us live through this.
The field came at them fast. What would the moment of touchdown feel like? The alfalfa looked like green grass and stood a foot to a foot and a half tall. It appeared lush and soft, level even, but it only hid how uneven and rock hard the ground would be underneath it. Would there be an explosion when they hit the ground or would pieces of the plane—and pieces of them—scatter? They needed a smooth, paved airport runway. He’d even choose the steep mountainside landing strip they’d just used over this bumpy, narrow slot of hay.
“Do it now,” Deanna instructed. “Open your door.”
Fighting every instinct, Sean pressed open the passenger door, revealing the speeding ground below, and flung the jacket over the door latch.
“Watch out for the irrigation circles,” he hollered.
“I see them,” Deanna said between clenched teeth.
Sean wanted to yell “Pause” or “Wait” or “I’m not ready.” All would be useless. The ground kept coming closer and closer, and then impact. Hitting hard, the plane bounced across the rutted ground, flattening surrounding plants. The plane’s wing clipped the closest irrigation line, sending the aluminum structure flying. The complaining sound of breaking metal hit Sean’s ears. Was that the sprinkler line or pieces of the plane busting up? His body rocked and rolled with the bucking airplane. It was like riding a bull. Hold on for the eight seconds and then he’d be able to get out and kiss the ground.
The field wasn’t an airport and no one could have ever imagined that it would be used as one, but at least the space ahead was all clear. Deanna had touched down on the open strip and now nothing hindered their progress—no trees, no houses closer than Uncle Paul’s in the distance, not even a tractor got in their way.
They would survive.
As the plane decelerated, then slowed and then stopped, they sat still, gulping deep breaths.
“You alive?” Deanna asked, her eyes closed.
Sean patted down his arms and legs, opened and closed his hands. Did everything still work?
“Yeah. Are you?”
“Well, I’m talking, so I must be.” Deanna leaned her forehead against the instrument panel, continuing to suck in ragged inhales. Her hands were shaking.
Sean put one of her shaking hands between his larger ones. “You did it again, Deanna.” He squeezed, trying to express his gratitude and his admiration of her. “It’s going to be a long time before I fly in anything smaller than a 747. But if I do, I want you to be my pilot.”
She lifted her head and offered him a wavering smile. “This baby won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.” Then she moaned. “I don’t want to go out there and see the damage to my plane.”
“Well, I don’t want to see the damage you did to my hay crop, either,” Sean said, fake-punching her on the arm. “I’ll send you the bill.”
The joke fell flat. “Hey.” He stretched his arm around her for a quick side hug. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I know that. Just give me a minute to believe it.”
“I wish I had a minute to give you, but we’ve got to get moving. We were recognized back there and with that many men, they’ve spread out. They might’ve even seen us land here.”
“Well, we can’t fly away. We have no fuel, and I’m sure the plane is too beat up.”
Sean doubted she could get him back in the air anyway, but he didn’t admit it aloud.
Deanna added, “She’ll have to sit in your field awhile until I can come back for her. I’m sorry.”
He pointed toward the distant farmhouse. “That’s my uncle’s place. He’s probably not home, but we can borrow a vehicle and try his landline.”
* * *
The door to the farmhouse wasn’t locked. It never was. As they entered the kitchen, Sean grimaced at the mess but his stomach growled. He had missed breakfast with Uncle Paul and the crew this morning, and it looked like he’d missed a feast.
Remains of the hearty morning meal were scattered everywhere. Pans, now white from the cooled grease of goose sausage and fried eggs, sat unmoved on the stove. Heavy-duty paper plates—Uncle Paul’s idea of fine china—littered the rickety oak table, while crumbs and buttered knives from hastily made toast decorated the countertop. The crew had eaten well this morning.
“Uncle Paul, you here?” Sean called, but he knew his uncle was out working. Hopefully, getting the last of the cattle rounded up. Something Sean should be helping them with.
Despite how desperate he was to get Deanna back to town in one piece, there was something about this place that made him smile. He spent more time in this kitchen than in the one in his own house because Uncle Paul was a better cook.
After his father disappeared and then Uncle Paul’s marriage failed shortly after, Paul had thrown himself all the more into being there for Sean. Uncle Paul, Sean and Sean’s mother had leaned on each other hard during those early years, supporting each other through their grief. Uncle Paul had become the mentor and father figure Sean had needed. They’d had plenty of heart-to-hearts sitting at that oak table drinking coffee.
Deanna stood by the kitchen door waiting, reminding Sean there wasn’t time for reminiscing like this.
“Sorry about the mess,” Sean apologized. “Uncle Paul can cook like no one you’ve ever known, but he’s allergic to cleaning.”
Sean lifted the ancient wall-mounted phone—probably the last left in the county—and listened for a dial tone. Nothing.
“Wish my cell worked,” he said, placing the heavy receiver back into its cradle. “We’ve never had dependable service up here as it is, but now cell, internet, landlines, they’re all gone. We’ve been cut off for two days.”
“Service has been patchy in town, too,” Deanna said. “Depending on where you’re at. Some parts of town have the newer phone lines buried underground. We should be able to find a phone to use once we get back to town.”
Pawing through the junk drawer under the phone, Sean found the key ring he was looking for. “Follow me.”
He led Deanna to the detached building at the end of the short breezeway outside the kitchen and shouldered open the old door, releasing the garage’s signature scent of diesel fuel and WD-40 spray. He reached inside and slapped around for the light switch on the interior wall.
Light flooded the small space. He kicked an empty coffee can out of his way and ushered Deanna inside, waving his hand at the rusted Ford pickup parked in front of them.
“It ain’t pretty, but it should get us back to town,” he said.
“I’m not picky,” Deanna said.
The truck was ancient. It had been old in 1970. They only used it for work around the ranch, but it was transportation, and they had to get back to town somehow. Hopefully, it wouldn’t die on them before they got there. Sean wrenched open the whining metal passenger door.
“Your chariot awaits,” he said to Deanna with a slight bow.
She rolled her eyes. “You mean the Beast awaits.”
“I thought you said you weren’t picky.”
He walked around to his own side and was about to slide into the driver’s seat when a familiar noise stopped him. Diesel engines, slamming doors, angry voices. His stomach sank to the floor.
Sean ran to the filmy window and peered out.
Deanna opened her door. “What’s going...”
“Shh, they found us,” he whispered.
Out the window, he watched the first truck pull up into the driveway. Rex Turner, along with the pilot and one other guy Sean didn’t recognize, exited the truck, their weapons raised. Sean wondered how long they’d left Nathan Reid in that duct tape before they freed him. Or had he figured out how to get out of it himself?
The men in the meadow must have split up into search groups, and this group had been assigned his uncle’s place. Sean was glad he wasn’t facing all those men at once, but fighting Nathan Reid the first time around had been hard enough. Now Reid had two other men to back him up, and they were all armed.
“See ’em anywhere?” Rex’s muffled voice asked. He stepped into Sean’s line of sight. Rex seemed to be in charge of the small group.
“Not yet,” Reid answered him.
“What do we do when we find them?” asked the third man.
“We leave no witnesses,” Turner answered.
His voice lowered in volume, making it more difficult for Sean to hear through the garage walls. But it was the last part he heard that mattered.
“You find them,” Turner commanded. “You shoot them. It’s that simple.”
* * *
Deanna groaned softly. She and Sean had escaped one cage today only to find themselves in another one.
She rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hand. It had been only the span of an afternoon, but she was battle weary, tired of fighting to stay alive. How good would it feel to be back in Kinakane with Gram making coffee, with nothing bigger to worry about than money and Blake. The things that had weighed her down back at The Hangar earlier today seemed so trivial now. Bankruptcy didn’t seem that scary anymore. Even the fires seemed farther away. Being shot at had a way of putting life back into proper perspective.
There had to be some way to let someone know what was happening to them. But there wasn’t. Without phones, they couldn’t even dial 911. She thought of Harley Hopkins and how helpless and panicked he must have felt out in Scotch Creek when he was having his heart attack, unable to call for help.
No superhero or police officer was going to come crashing in to save the day here, either. Their only hope was themselves.
Wasn’t that true about life in general anyway? She was responsible for fixing her own messes. This mess just happened to have higher stakes than she was used to. It was bigger than she knew how to fix.
Her dad had tried to drill that lesson into her. “You need to have the skills to take care of yourself,” he told her. “It’s a dog-eat-dog world, and if you are going to survive in it, you have to look out for number one.”
He might be the king of clichés, but he’d gotten his point across. And when she was only five years old, he gave her plenty of practice at being independent. He was tired of Kinakane and restless. Alaska called to him, as he put it. When the right job offer finally came through, he left her with Gram.
“It’s just a job, Dee-girl. I’ll be back soon,” he promised. He kept up the pretense for about a year, sending her scenic postcards of the Alaskan wilderness with even more promises, “Looking at all this beauty reminds me of my beautiful girl. I’ll be home soon, sweetheart.”
But “soon” never came, and she’d quickly learned that he was right. She couldn’t count on anyone but herself. She squared her shoulders. She would not be a damsel in distress here, either. Time to save herself.
Sean scratched the side of his head. “We need a plan.”
“No, we need to get out of here.”
“I know, but as soon as I open this garage door, they’ll be on us.”
“We can make all the plans we want, but it’s time to choose. Sit in here and wait or take charge.” She put her hands on her hips and tried to stand taller. “We need to take the power back,” she said. “Otherwise we might as well go out there and hand ourselves over now.”
Sean’s eyes narrowed. “That’s all good in theory. But you still haven’t given me anything we can act on. They’ve got orders to silence us. They’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”
The shotgun that Sean took off Nathan Reid had been left behind inside his uncle’s house. Without any shells, it wasn’t worth lugging around, but Deanna still had her Glock, and she’d reloaded it before they left the airplane. She had about eight rounds. Was that enough to shoot their way out in a blaze of glory?
The walls hiding them from the armed men were thin and uninsulated. She could hear them coming closer. Her gaze jerked over to the truck. “What if we don’t open the garage door at all?”
“You mean stay in here?” Sean spun around like he was playing a game of hide-and-seek, looking for the best hiding spot.
“That’s not what I meant,” she said. “What if...” She hesitated. This was action-movie, stuntman-type stuff she was thinking up. “What if we gun the truck and bust through the garage door?”
Sean blinked at her, the expression on his face dumbfounded. He probably thought she was insane. But he’d been thinking that all day.
“What?” she challenged. He wasn’t coming up with any better ideas. “You have to admit it would give us that element of surprise you’re always talking about.”
A slow smile spread across his tan face, softening the chiseled stone. He really did have an amazing smile.
“You are certifiable, you know that?” Sean said.
“You’ve told me that a couple times today. Looks to me like doing something crazy is our only option.”
She patted the truck’s hood gently. “You’re not afraid of letting this beast get a few scrapes, are you?” she whispered.
“Get in,” Sean said.
Deanna settled into her seat, easing the truck door shut as quietly as she could.
Sean chuckled softly. “What is it you like to say? Hold on? Get ready? Oh, I know.” He winked. “Brace yourself, Deanna. This might be a bumpy ride.”
She rolled her eyes. “Very funny. You know there are guys out there with guns that want to kill us, right? You could get going anytime now.”
Sean pushed the key into the ignition and turned a satisfied smirk toward her. “It’s just nice to be in the driver’s seat for once.”
“Don’t get used to it, cowboy.” Deanna stared at the solid wall in front of them. She did not like being in the passenger seat like this. Her idea had felt more right in theory than it did in actual execution.
“Oh man. You were right. This really is nuts,” she whispered.
“Nah, I prefer to think of it as being brave,” Sean whispered back. “Ready?”
No, but she nodded anyway. The engine growled a few sleepy grumbles before it finally roared to life.
“Here we go!” Sean hollered, slamming his boot against the accelerator.
Deanna jerked backward, held hard against the ripped upholstery as the truck lurched forward, punching a hole through the old garage door. Pieces of broken wood and splinters flew around them as the old Ford broke free. It was easier than she’d thought, like a football team running through a butcher-paper sign before a high school game.
The shocked expressions on the men’s faces probably mirrored her own. Rex Turner had approximately two seconds to dive out of their way to avoid getting run over. Profanity rang through the air as the three men scrambled to start the pursuit.
“Yee haw!” Deanna yelled. But then a bullet connected with the passenger-side mirror, and the thrill evaporated instantly. Glass shards exploded, leaving a hole that went straight through the mirror’s metal backing. Deanna screamed and slid down in her seat. If there was any remaining doubt in her mind that they were still in danger, it was gone now. Only a slight move to the left and that bullet could have blasted through her head instead.