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Darby jumped to her feet so fast she knocked back her chair and almost turned the table over when her thighs hit the underside of it. The table crashed down to the floor, scaring the older girl, the one holding the box-cutter.

Noel was up on his feet too, spinning wildly, madly, bouncing off the wall and window behind his chair and spraying blood, one hand pressed against his neck and the flap of white-belly skin dangling from it, the other clawing at the air as though it contained the antidote he needed not only to save his life but to turn back time.

Darby already had her hand on the safety of her handgun, her eyes on the two girls, both of their faces red and wet. The older girl looked as if she had just finished her first ride on a rollercoaster: blinking with excitement and nearly breathless, the fear already dwindling, soon to be forgotten.

Miriam was furious. She looked up into the face of her sister and screamed, ‘It was my turn! You promised!

Darby had her nine out as the eldest handed the box-cutter to her baby sister, like she was passing a baton. Noel had collapsed on the floor near Darby, the blood pumping and spurting between his fingers so dark it looked black.

Drop it,’ Darby shouted. She felt Noel’s hand clawing at the cuff of her jeans and she saw the eight-year-old beaming at having finally been given the box-cutter.

Drop it,’ she shouted again, only this time she backed up to give herself distance between the target – targets, she reminded herself, there were three targets here.

But only Miriam was moving. Her sister looked solemnly down at the table and the mother remained seated, hands folded on her lap and slowly shaking her head. ‘You have no authority here, missy,’ she said. ‘Only God.’

Grab her, Sissy!’ Miriam shouted as she darted from around the table, making her way toward the living room – the fastest route to the front door. ‘Grab her and hold her down so I can cut her throat!

The older one didn’t move and the mother remained seated, their heads bowed, as if what was happening wasn’t worthy of their attention. Darby told herself the girl was evil and needed to be put down – the sister and the mother as well. Put them all down like rabid dogs because whatever this was, it was a part of them.

But she couldn’t kill a child. She beat the girl to the door and threw it open, the sunlight and cold, fresh air that greeted her feeling as though it belonged to another world.

Darby ran down the steps.

No, an inner voice countered. Turn around and blow the kid out of her shoes and then go back inside the house and put the rest of them down. Then make the call.

She didn’t stop running. She glanced over her shoulder and, incredibly, saw the girl following, the box-cutter gripped in her tiny, bloody fist.

Darby ran past the end of the driveway, into the street, and turned right.

Stopped running.

Straight ahead, people were standing on opposite sides of the street, as if waiting for a parade. Had to be several dozen people, and when they saw her, they filed wordlessly into the street together and started coming her way – fathers and mothers holding the hands of their youngest children. A boy no older than three was holding a rock, being led forward by his mother. A few men were armed with shotguns, but almost every male she saw was holding some other weapon – rocks and baseball bats, even a tree limb, its end having been whittled to form a spear.

Darby turned, and was unsurprised to see another crowd heading her way – with Sheriff Powers at its head, the only one who wasn’t holding a weapon.

A small army surrounded her.

The town of Fort Jefferson.

Behind Powers she saw faces she recognized: the man who had picked her up at the accident site and driven her to the Moonlight Mile Lodge; the two young women who had checked her in. Darby saw the chubby one with the braces and remembered how she was inconsolable that evening when Karen Decker had been found inside the water cistern. You helped arrange that – helped make it look like Karen killed herself, Darby thought.

Thought, That’s why Karen’s face couldn’t be seen in the video.

You, everyone in this town and the people at the lodge – you’re all working together.

Something hard, like a small rock, hit her back. Darby whipped around and saw a doughy-faced mother grab the arm of a young boy who couldn’t have been older than four.

‘You do not throw a single rock until you are told,’ she hissed.

Miriam stood at the edge of the driveway smiling, as though she had just entered a room and discovered a surprise birthday party had been arranged for her.

Fifteen rounds in her magazine and she had another fifteen in the spare clip tucked in her shoulder holster. Thirty rounds total and she knew she would never survive, but she could take people with her – starting with the sheriff.

Darby brought up her weapon.

Powers smiled.

Go on, his smile said. I dare you.

She pulled the trigger.

Click.

The sheriff’s smile grew wider, his eyes hungry. She pulled the trigger again.

Click-click-click-click.

‘Don’t bother,’ Powers told her, less than fifteen feet away from her. ‘We disabled the firing pin.’

But when? The only time she hadn’t had her gun on her was last night, when she went to see Noel. She had locked her gun in the room safe.

But hotel employees could bypass any room safe, because they had the master code. They had the codes and keys to every room, every space inside the lodge. She remembered the young kid who was cleaning her room on the evening Karen’s body was discovered and wondered if he had accessed her safe.

Miriam had joined Powers. The sheriff waved her away and Miriam stood defiantly, seething, the wind ruffling her hair and her brown smock. The people simply moved around her, not taking any notice of the box-cutter gripped in her small hand or the blood on her face and clothes, and then the crowd swallowed her.

They had formed a circle around Darby, clearly itching to use their weapons on her, to beat her and throw rocks, bleed her right here on the street in the middle of the day.

Is this what happened to Coop?

Powers was clearly the one in charge; he stood apart from the others. He sized her up and down. Behind him, she saw the young woman from the realtor’s office, Caitlyn.

She’s a part of this too.

Powers saw where she was looking and said, ‘I had her call Noel. We were waiting for you at her house, but then I saw you took this detour, courtesy of the GPS tracker we installed on your car.’ He reached into his pocket. ‘Way I see it, you got yourself two choices: submit or fight.’

A boy not much older than Miriam edged his way past the throng to the front. He moved behind Powers, carrying a red plastic beach bucket full of stones.

Stone her now!’ a voice cried out. It sounded like a young girl’s.

No!’ This from Miriam, who had suddenly pushed her way through the crowd. Her cheeks were mottled red, not from the cold winter air but from anger. ‘No, it’s my turn.’

The boy holding the bucket said, ‘The Lord God teaches us women should be seen and not heard.’

‘Hush, the both of you,’ Powers said, ‘or you’ll be spending some time in the prayer room.’ The Ziploc baggie pinched between his fingers held a folded handkerchief. Then, to Darby, ‘The stone or the rag? Which do you prefer?’

‘Jackson Cooper,’ Darby said. ‘Where is he?’

Powers sighed, like he was dealing with a child. Everywhere Darby looked she saw savage faces and more than a few knowing smiles and grins. No one answered.

‘The stone or the rag?’ Powers asked again.

Miriam struggled to keep quiet, no doubt wishing she had the strength to knock the sheriff aside and tackle Darby, take the razor to her throat.

‘Last time,’ Powers said.

‘What did you do to Jackson Cooper?’

‘You don’t get to die knowing all the answers,’ Powers said. ‘That comes later, if the Lord God decides you’re worthy.’

Darby said nothing, a part of her brain thinking she could push her way past the crowd and start running, outrun them all, a marathon to nowhere.

‘It won’t work,’ Powers said, as if sensing her thoughts. ‘We’ll catch you.’

The sun felt warm on the back of her head and shoulders, with Darby not knowing what to do, feeling powerless.

‘Decision time,’ Powers said.

‘The rag.’

Disappointed faces everywhere and a few groans.

Powers pulled the handkerchief from the bag.

Balled it in his fist and stepped forward.

The sheriff placed one hand on the back of her head and Darby tensed, ready to fight. She could break his nose and one of his arms before she hit the pavement.

Powers smiled. ‘Go ahead and try,’ he said. ‘Either way, I’m gonna leave here satisfied.’

When he pressed the wet rag against her face, Darby sucked in chloroform and another chemical she couldn’t identify, and she thought of Coop, hoping that whatever was going to happen she would be delivered to him, in this life or the next.

Then, as she began to drift away, as her body began to slump, she heard Powers say, ‘That’s it, just give into it. Go ahead and sleep. All the answers you ever needed are coming, everything’s gonna be just fine.’