Strikers (17 page)

Jordan lights a small fire and digs out a pot, but tells the rest of us to sleep while we can. I know he won’t be able to see much in the dark outside if he’s near the fire, but he winks when I mention it and tells me he’ll go outside as soon as he gets a pot going. When I settle down in the spot I’ve chosen—and I do notice that Jovan waits for me to sit before he picks his own spot, next to mine—I feel good. Safe.

A gunshot is a terrible thing to wake to. It’s sharp, harsh and always frightening. It’s not a common thing to hear in Bailar, given the price of ammunition, but I know it and there’s no question that’s what jerks me from a sound sleep.

What else I wake to is utter chaos. Jordan is standing almost on top of the fire, a gun in his hand and his head jerking in every direction. Connor and Maddix are nowhere to be seen and Cassi is huddled in the spot where she went to sleep. She looks just as confused as I am.

“What?” I shout and Jordan’s head swings in my direction, a finger to his lips. His eyes are wide and that frightens me more than the shot.

“We’ve got company. Get into the back room,” he says. His voice is even but those fearful eyes give him away.

I scramble up, motioning for Cassi to come, but she just stares at my hands like she’s never seen them before. My patience is never at a surplus and this situation calls for urgency, so I step over and yank her to her feet. She’s like a wooden copy of herself and she practically falls on me when I force her to move so we can get to the partially collapsed rear room.

From outside—not near the door where Jordan stands, but behind me, where the opening of a long-gone back door leads out into the dark—I hear the cut-off cry of someone in sudden pain. It’s like the startled sound of someone being hit when they’re not ready for it. I know that sound well enough, given how often I’ve cried out myself before I got smarter about watching my back at home.

When I turn toward the opening, a very big man is holding Connor by the neck and squeezing inside, using my friend as a shield. He’s also holding a very big knife to Connor’s throat.

The sound I make draws Jordan’s attention and I’m immediately sorry about that because a smaller man carrying what looks like one of our guns comes in the front door and points the barrel right at me.

“Drop it,” he growls. He’s looking at Jordan, the only one in the room holding a weapon.

Cassi drops to her haunches and buries her head in her arms. Perhaps she’s hoping that if she ignores it all, it will go away. I’m not so hopeful. We have another weapon and a person who knows how to use it, assuming that is our gun the man is holding. Where is Jovan? Where is Maddix? Which one of them has lost their gun?

Jordan doesn’t drop his weapon and directs his answer toward the incredibly ugly man holding the gun. “And then you’ll shoot us, so I decline the offer. What do you want?”

The man grins a terrible grin. His front teeth are brown, dead a long time, and his eyes are full of that unthinking meanness of the truly bad. This is a dangerous person and the last thing I think we should do is drop any weapons we have.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he says.

Even Cassi looks up at the sound of those words because he says them in a way that makes my hair stand on end. I know what the deal is going to be before he says it when I see him lick his lips at the sight of Cassi.

“What deal?” I ask, my voice as cold as I can make it.

He flicks a single glance my way and then focuses on Jordan again. Which is smart because he’s got the gun. “We leave you and your two boys alone, you give us the girls. We’ll even leave you some of your silver…maybe.” He flips something toward us and it lands at my feet. A silver tenth-ounce coin. Jovan’s stupid coin.

I knew it was too much, but I never thought of this happening. We left too much so these creeps decided we must have more. And then they saw Cassi and decided we have even more they’d like to take. It’s all I can do to suppress a shudder at the thought.

The big guy’s grip on Connor’s throat is tight and his face is turning red, but the knife isn’t quite pressed into the flesh. That seems to me like he isn’t as eager to kill as the other one, though I have no doubt he would if he had to. There’s still no sign of Jovan or Maddix, and that man got one of our guns somehow. I’m starting to feel a scream bubbling up inside me, an undeniable need to call out their names and find them.

The faint sound of someone moving tells me where one of the two is. It’s just the tiniest shuffle of feet on old boards upstairs. The cautious movement lets me know he’s aware of what’s going on and the careful footsteps tells me it’s someone with some training. Jovan. He’s probably weighing his options. They aren’t great options.

“You want me to give you my daughter,” Jordan says, his voice flat and dangerously calm.

From outside, I hear the growl of another voice and an answering cry that can only belong to Maddix. So there are at least three of them, then.

The man’s greedy eyes shift for the smallest second, taking in both Cassi and me, then dart back to Jordan. His grin grows, showing more of his brown teeth, and he says, “You’ve got a lot of kids.”

“And you’re not going to take any of them. Your friend better be careful with that knife. If he slips, you die first,” Jordan assures him.

I’ve known a lot of tension and fear in my life. I’ve known the fear of a child too small and weak to run, the fear of someone who knows she can’t fight back and the fear of the unknown now that I’m finally escaping. I’ve known the tinderbox tension of a house so filled with anger that it felt as if it might spontaneously catch fire. All of those things pale in comparison with what I feel around me now. The air is almost crackling with it.

There is nothing quite like a standoff with guns, a knife to a throat and men who want what these men want to create an atmosphere in a room. I’m still standing in a little crouch, ready to move, the tendons in my legs so tight I think they might spring out and unravel.

But it’s everything else that unravels instead.

Cassi whimpers where she is on the floor, her eyes unable to stay focused on either of the invaders so that her head zips from side to side, looking at them in turns. The man with the gun takes a longer look at her—a mistake—and when he does, Jordan shoots him.

It isn’t a clean shot and the man crumples to the floor to roll back and forth, his arms pressed to his belly. His gun skids across the floor so I grab it, snatching it up just as he reaches for it. I back away as quickly as I can, keeping him in view because I have no idea if he has another weapon. And also because he’s certainly not dead, though the dirt floor around him is turning dark as his blood soaks into it.

More shots from upstairs ring out and I hear exclamations outside from more than one voice. Jovan is keeping them busy out there, but Maddix is still out there as well. Connor’s eyes grow even wider and his hands are clamped around the arm of the man with the knife at his throat. The man no longer looks quite so secure and his eyes shift from person to person.

Jordan’s gun is trained on him now. He seems to have dismissed the man on the floor, which I don’t think is smart. He’s in pain and the blood he’s losing tells me he’s dying, but that makes him no less dangerous. He’ll be dangerous until the moment he closes his eyes and breathes his last. I’m inclined to help him along, but I don’t think I could bear to get close enough to shoot and be sure I hit his head. I’ve never fired a real gun and my aim is a complete unknown to me. And that’s not even counting this strange feeling I have that urges me not to fire. It’s like some old mantra in my head that says, “It’s wrong to kill, wrong to kill.”

I wish it would shut up.

Two more quick shots ring out while Jordan and the knife-man stare each other down. At the second, a sort of horrible strangled cry answers from outside, followed by the dull thud of someone getting struck by something very heavy, interspersed with the labored grunts and curses of the one doing the striking. I can’t tell, but I hope with every fiber of my being that it’s Maddix who’s doing the grunting and the hitting. Connor’s eyes roll as if he might see what’s going on behind him if he just tries hard enough.

A long moment passes like this, the crackling of the little fire punctuating our heavy breathing. My heart gives a jump in my chest when Maddix’s frame fills the space where the door would have been. Up till now, his face had been healing, the bruises turning a sickly yellow-green and the swelling in his nose retreating until he looked more like himself. It’s apparent he’s going to be starting that process over again.

The whites of his eyes are the only thing on his face I can still clearly see. The rest is a swollen, bloody and battered mess. And he’s limping, almost dragging one of his legs. In the wavering firelight, I can see a dark streak that must be blood on his thigh, reaching almost to his knee.

He growls a low, almost inhuman sound when he sees the man holding Connor, and Maddix’s hand reaches out like a claw toward him. The man jerks Connor backward toward a corner where he can see both Jordan and Maddix. His eyes are fearful but he’s still got the knife gripped tightly in his fist.

“There are more coming,” Maddix says, his eyes never leaving Connor’s. “These guys were sent ahead to scout to see if we were here and make camp if not.”

“Shut up,” the man says. His fingers flex rhythmically on the hilt of the knife. Whatever cool he may have had, he’s losing it fast. We need to come to some sort of resolution and the best resolution I can think of is that this man die.

“Maddix, how many? How soon?” Jordan asks urgently.

He shakes his head and clamps a hand to the side of it when he does, his face a mask of pain. I see him pale under his blood and bruises, the few patches of bare skin turning sheet white.

Whatever move Jordan is planning on making must come soon if there are more men like this coming our way. I can see it in the way Jordan tenses and aims. Then his brows draw together—only the smallest bit, but I see it—and a look of confusion flashes across his face. I look in the direction of his gaze and see a gun slowly extending from a ragged hole in the ceiling. The hand and wrist attached to it, corded and strong, belong to Jovan. I’d recognize it anywhere.

When he fires, it is directly into the top of the man’s head. We all jump at the sound and the man drops like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Perhaps even quicker than that. It’s a terrible thing to see, someone boneless and utterly without life so instantaneously. Yet, I’m glad of it, inexpressibly glad.

Connor extricates himself from the tangle of the dead man’s limbs, kicking his body away to get free. He’s got a cut at the hollow of his throat but I’m relieved to see a trickle of blood rather than a stream or spurt. Above us, the sound of pounding boots rattles the boards, sending streams of dirt down between them as the steps cross the floor. It patters like rain onto our heads and makes the fire spit as Jovan passes over our heads.

Jordan lowers his gun and sweeps up my pack, tossing it to me. “Gear up. We need to go. Now!”

I snatch the pack out of the air and start stuffing the things I’ve taken out back into it. Cassi breaks from her stupor and starts pouring the last pot of water into a water carrier. Connor is tending to Maddix, and I feel like I should be helping him, but if we don’t get out of here and more men like these really are coming, no one is going to be helping anyone.

“Can he walk?” I ask, nodding toward Maddix.

Connor looks up from the bloody streak on his brother’s leg. He nods yes, but his face tells me he’s not at all sure of it.

Jovan’s boots pound down the stairs. “They’re coming,” he says, his voice harsh and urgent. “I see torchlight. We’ve got a few minutes, tops.”

Jordan seems to come to a decision. “Connor, take your brother and go. We’ll get the stuff. Just keep going as far and as fast as you can,” he orders. Maddix tries to suppress his groans when Connor gets him moving. I can see very well the effort he’s making, his jaw clenched and his free hand tightly fisted. But they do manage to stumble out of the back door and into the dark.

“If these guys are expecting a camp, I’m going to let them walk into a camp,” Jordan says, tossing bags towards us as he speaks. He isn’t looking at me and I know what he’s saying. He’s saying he is staying behind.

Jovan grabs up the bags and fishes around, pulling out clips for the gun. He checks that they are full and then hands them to Jordan. I see the look that passes between them.

“No. We just need to go. They aren’t going to believe they’re walking into a camp after all that shooting,” I say. Leaving behind the father I just found to an unknown number of marauders is not an option I’m willing to entertain.

“Cassi, go. Catch up with Connor and help him with Maddix. Go,” Jordan orders. Cassi just nods at him and gives me a beseeching look that begs me to come. She grabs two bags and runs.

“Dad. No. I’m not leaving you. You have to come,” I plead and I can hear the waver in my voice.

He smiles at my calling him that but it’s the sad smile of someone hearing it too late. He tucks the clips into his waistband and shoves his bag at Jovan.

“If anything happens, take care of her. Get her where she can be safe. Safe and free.”

Something passes between them, a handing off of responsibility. It’s as palpable as if they had just signed over custody papers. Jovan gives him one sharp nod and turns to me.

When Jovan grabs my arm I shriek at him, heedless of the noise, and he responds by clapping a hand over my mouth and pulling me out the back door. I see my father tossing wood onto the fire, too much for such an old structure built of old dry wood. Then he grabs a burning brand from it as he crosses to the stairs.

He pauses and looks at me for just a second, but it is the longest second of my life. Everything I have ever felt or imagined or dreamed about him runs through my mind at the speed of light. I think the same must have happened to him because his eyes are filled with more emotion than I can catalog.

“I love you,” he mouths. Then I am gone and I fear he will be gone forever.