33

Sarah knelt in the grass by David’s grave. It was a simple mound with a cross. The words, David Woodson, Loving Husband and Father, were carved on the wooden cross.

“John wanted to put the dates on himself,” Mike said softly from where he stood behind her.

She touched the grass that edged the grave. The last time she had seen David was in this pasture. It was nearly impossible to believe that he now lay under this sod, the very sod where they’d grazed their goats and horses all summer long.

She wasn’t sure what she thought she’d feel when she saw David’s grave. Closure of some kind, she supposed. Instead, she felt nothing. It just didn’t feel real to her that her animated, handsome husband was here. Not when the sky was so blue, the birds still sang and the trout still jumped in the pond. David was here, but she’d never touch him again. She’d never hear his voice again. She stood up abruptly and dusted the dirt from her jeans.

A wave of irrational anger pierced her. She felt like she wanted to punch something. Hard.

“You all right, Sarah?”

“As good as I can be,” she said, staring at the simple cross.

“I’ll get the dates on it straightaway.”

She shook her head. Poor Mike. So helpless in the face of her agony. Flailing around desperately to come up with something that would somehow make a difference or make it all better. She looked at the grave and all she could think was, David gone, Evvie gone, Papin gone, John gone.

Why am I still here? What possible reason or purpose could that be?

“You all right, Sarah?”

She turned to him and nodded. “Let’s go on back. I don’t know what I was expecting to see.”

“Would you feel better if he were in the kirkyard? We could do that.”

“No. John’s right. This is as good a place as any for his earthly body to rest.”

“I’m just so sorry, Sarah.”

“I know. Thanks.”

A shout off in the distance made Mike turn in that direction. Sarah could see a figure running toward them across the pasture. It was the most direct route from Donovan’s Lot but was rarely used because there was no road.

“It’s Gavin,” Mike said. He was moving toward the boy before Sarah even registered his words. She grabbed the reins of both horses and led them after Mike. When she reached the two, Gavin was gasping for breath. There was a gash on his forehead and his eyes looked wild. Frightened.

“Slow down, son. What’s happened?”

“Da, they took the camp! They came from all sides and when we…it was all I could do…I hated to run but…Da, we have to hurry!”

“Gavin, lad, take a breath. Who’s come? What’s happened?”

Sarah stood, holding both horses, trying to fight down the panic that was rising up in her throat.

“It’s them, Mike,” she said. “It’s Denny’s gang. They’ve come for me.”

“Are the women and children safely out at least?”

“They tried but was herded back into the center of camp. The blighters knew about the escape routes. Someone told ‘em where they were.”

Mike cursed. “How many of them are there?”

Gavin shook his head and looked back over his shoulder. “I guess, ten? Maybe more. They were on horseback. And they’re armed, Da. They had automatic weapons.”

Mike strode to his bay and pulled out his rifle. He checked the cartridges and handed it to Gavin. “Go to the tree overlooking the wash pond and climb to the top like we practiced.”

Gavin took the gun, but before he could move away Mike grabbed him by the shoulder. “Wait for my signal. Don’t just start shooting or they’ll pick you off like a sitting duck.”

“Right.”

“Take Mrs. Woodson’s horse. We’ll double up. Now hurry!”

Sarah handed her reins to Gavin and watched him vault onto Dan’s back and swivel him into a gallop back toward the community. She turned to Mike. “What are we going to do?”

“Do you remember exactly where David put the landmines by the goat pond?”

“I think so.”

“Take me to them.” He mounted his big bay and held out his hand to pull her up behind him on the saddle.

They cantered across the pasture with Sarah holding to Mike’s waist. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the white cross that marked David’s grave. The same people who put him there were back to kill more people she cared about. Somewhere deep inside her, a low, slow fury began to build.

She pointed to the southeast corner of the pond and Mike rode to it. She slid to the ground and ran to the spot where she had last seen the ordinances. She splashed into the soggy lip of the pond and pulled back the rushes. Mike jumped down to search too. She felt every precious second tick by, knowing those monsters were terrorizing the people at the community, the children, Fiona…

She felt a wave of relief that John wasn’t there.

“Son of a bitch,” Mike said in frustration and looked at her. She knew he desperately wanted a different answer but she didn’t have one for him. She looked at the pond bank, willing herself to see them where they should be. But it was no use.

The landmines were gone.

They rode as close as they dared before Mike let his horse roam free and then walked the rest of the way to the camp. Mike touched her on the shoulder when they got close and held a finger to his lips.

She knew. The bastards would have sentries posted. As soon as Denny discovered she wasn’t in the camp, he’d be waiting for her to make her entrance. She nodded and kept walking. When they were still far enough away not to be able to pick up sounds, Mike stopped. He brought his hands together and gave a birdcall.

Sarah frowned and looked around.

“Gavin?” she whispered.

He looked at her in frustration and what she thought looked very much like burgeoning fear. The sight of it made her stomach roil. “He should be here,” he said in a low voice.

She scanned the treetops but could see nothing. “Could he have mistaken which tree you wanted him in?”

“No. He’s trained in this tree for six months.”

“Mike, we can’t wait. Trust me, they’re hurting people. We need to go.” Sarah gave the trees one last look, hoping to catch sight of the boy, and then walked toward the camp. Mike hurried next to her until they could hear voices from the camp, then he tugged on her sleeve to indicate they should crouch in the bushes.

On her hands and knees, Sarah crept up to the camp until Denny’s voice, the words still indistinct, seemed to be the only thing in her ears. Its loud nasal tone rang in the quiet of the early afternoon. When she got close enough to see him, she stopped. Mike bumped into her from behind and she put a hand out to tell him to stay down.

In the center of the camp, Denny stood next to a woman who he held wrapped in his arms. Sarah’s eyes swept the crowd that lined the camp center. She was close enough to see the terror on their faces. The men had protective arms around their women and children. Even the camp dogs were quiet. Or had been slain.

Sarah stifled a gasp when Denny turned in her direction.

The woman he held was Fiona. One hand was entangled in her hair. The other held a large double-edged dagger to her bared throat.