SHE PULLED THE “SAVE THE TREES” flier from her pocket, the one she’d found at the compound. She scanned the Northshire Fourth of July activities listed on its B-side: fun run, parade, concert, fireworks, and so forth. By the time Troy got off the phone with Thrasher, she knew what they had to do.
“I keep thinking about the timing of all this. Maybe there’s a reason it’s coming to a head right now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe it’s staring us right in the face, and we’ve been too blind to see it.” She handed the flier to him. “The Fourth of July. Independence Day. The perfect time for the Vermont Firsters to make their move.”
Troy nodded. “I can see that.”
The dogs danced at their side, ready to move on. Mercy ignored them. “It’s got to be the parade. Lots of hotshots will be there, including the senator.”
“I thought the senator was going to be down in Bennington for the Fourth, with all the real big shots.”
“I guess he’s making a pit stop in Northshire first.”
“If the senator’s going to be there, they’ve already got people in place for the parade. They know what they’re doing.” He turned those warm brown eyes on her. “Besides, you need to go to the hospital.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sure you are. That’s why you’re so eager to go the last mile here to my truck.”
Mercy stood up straight. “I was just taking a little breather while you talked to your boss.”
“Right.”
“Let’s get going. The sooner we get back, the sooner we can check on the prep for the parade.” She barreled down the trail, trying not to let her fatigue show. Elvis and Susie Bear ran past her to take the lead.
“It’s mostly speculation, you know.” Troy strode beside her. “But I’ll let Thrasher know.”
“You need us,” she told Troy. “I’m the only person who’s seen Amy and that guy Max. And you’re going to need all the bomb-sniffing dogs you can get.”
“Even I’m not really supposed to be there,” said Troy. “It’s the local PD and staties’ show. The Feds could be there, too.”
“The parade is open to the public. Elvis and I are the public. We’re going, even if we have to steal my grandmother’s car to get there.”
They argued all the way back to Troy’s truck. She was determined to wear him down, concussion or no concussion. “I know that Amy and Helena are in trouble.”
“Not your problem. None of this is your problem. You’ve done enough. Time to let the professionals take over.”
She knew what he was thinking: she was just another civilian now. But she couldn’t accept that. Not as long as Amy and Helena were unaccounted for.
“You nearly got yourself and your dog killed. I don’t understand why you are doing this.” He leaned in toward her. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Mercy backed away and climbed into the passenger seat. She closed her eyes and listened to the comforting sound of the dogs scrambling into the backseat, followed by the slam of that door and then another as Troy took his rightful place behind the wheel. But he did not turn on the engine.
“Tell me,” he said.
He was more perceptive than she thought. She sighed. What’s more, she knew he was right. She was holding back. And she knew that he would wait her out. Because that’s what she would do.
She might as well tell him everything. “We were doing a house-to-house in a small village several miles outside the wire. We’d built a school there, the first in decades. The Taliban torched it. The teacher—just a teenager herself—and her baby had gone missing the morning of the fire.” She stopped, unable to go on, her head pounding.
“I take it back. You don’t have to tell me,” Troy said gently.
She opened her eyes. “It’s okay. You should know. Maybe then you’ll understand. Maybe then I’ll understand.”
“Okay.” He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. “Go on.”
“We searched every house in the village. Nothing. We finally found the teacher in an abandoned field, bound and gagged and beaten, her baby left to die beside her. But they were both alive. Just barely, but alive. The mother was scared for her little girl. I told her everything would be all right. We got them to the hospital as quickly as we could, and I stayed with them as long as I could. I held her hand, like you’re holding mine.” She looked down at his large hand covering hers. “She begged me to stay, but I finally had to go. Another mission outside the wire.”
“You did what you had to do.”
“By the time I got back, it was too late. The little girl was dying, and the mother was so upset they had to sedate her to save her. I held the baby for her, and she died in my arms. The mother survived, but a week after she left the hospital, she hanged herself.”
They fell into silence for a moment.
“It’s the ones with kids that haunt you.” Troy looked past her, at something only he could see. “We had a little girl go missing a couple of years ago. Wandered away from her family’s campsite at Grout Pond. Her parents were frantic. Seemed like nice people, an accountant and his wife from New Hampshire. We pulled out all the stops—grid search, sniffer dogs, dredging—and forty-eight hours later we found her, drowned, in the lake.”
Mercy felt feverish, whether from his sad story or her sad story or the blow to her head, she wasn’t sure. “That’s terrible.”
Troy looked at her, his jaw tight. “Dr. Darling did the autopsy. The little girl—her name was Madison—had drowned, but the doc’s examination revealed a number of broken bones as well as old and fresh bruises. She’d been systematically abused her whole life.” He hesitated. “By her own mother.”
“Lord.” No wonder Troy didn’t trust Amy. “What about the father?”
“The father was clueless—or at least claimed to be. He got off, and she was institutionalized.”
Shades of Lady Macbeth. I have given suck and know … Aloud Mercy said, “I’m so sorry.”
They sat there quietly in his truck, the darkness of the forest all around them, each lost in their own unhappy thoughts. The dogs settled down in the back, curling up together like spooning lovers, ready to doze off until called into action again.
Mercy squeezed Troy’s fingers and pulled her hand away. “Maybe you’re right, and nothing’s going to happen at the parade, and this is all overkill. But better that than something terrible happening and knowing we could’ve stopped it. Or at least tried.”
“Okay.” Troy turned the key in the ignition and the Ford F-150 roared to life, the headlights beaming a bright light into the tree line. “The parade isn’t until noon. It’s nearly three now. We all need to get some rest. Then, if Patience agrees that you can go, I will drive you there myself.”