Sylvie strode towards the gun range with a spring in her step. She knew she was grinning like a raccoon in fast food restaurant garbage cans, but she just couldn’t seem to stop. Today she’d be getting a pair of brand new colt pistols from Barnaby, and she couldn’t wait.
She walked over to the range and found the place packed to the rafters with people; everyone had come to see her try out the pistols; she could see her swim team, her friends from high school, townsfolk, and strangers by the busload. Alfred hadn’t been kidding about the interest ever since the story broke that Colt had signed an endorsement with her.
She blinked in surprise, having caught a glimpse of bedraggled blonde hair. Of all the people she expected to see at the range, Sara was the last.
Wonder what she’s up to? She followed the girl with her eyes as she found a seat halfway up the stands, hunching behind a happily chatting family as if trying to disappear.
Sylvie found the behavior odd, but let the matter be. Perhaps she had come off another of her long shifts and felt exhausted. Those should be ending very soon, Sylvie thought firmly. She knew what it was like being overworked, and she resolved to talk to her the first chance she got. She needed to get some rest, and perhaps eat better, before she got hurt.
Look at me, a regular Betty May, Sylvie smirked.
Letting her eyes slide past Sara, she concentrated on the center of the commotion; Alfred stood talking to Barnaby and a young man holding a locked case. Alfred kept glancing at it, and most people seemed to be staring hungrily at the brown leather brief, so Sylvie assumed that must be where they put the pistols.
Feeling eager herself, she hurried over to the group.
“Hey Sylvie.” Alfred said as he spotted her.
“Hey Al. Is it Christmas yet?” she joked as she came to a stop.
“Pretty close.” Barnaby smiled tolerantly. “We’ll see what you think of these pieces.”
“Well, I’ve already given the recommendation for the Python and the 1911.” Sylvie said. “Though to be honest, not what I’m really looking for. What’s next?”
“A pistol I think you’ll really love.” Barnaby said as the young man placed the briefcase down and proceeded to remove a silver key from his shirt pocket. Unlocking the silver handcuffs, he then entered a combination into the face of the briefcase, then to Sylvie’s shock, pulled on the handle until it stood a full six inches from the top of the case on slender metal bars. The man then turned the handle counterclockwise until the handle was directly opposite of where it had started, then pushed it back in. The top popped up with a snap.
“That’s some briefcase.” Sylvie said admiringly.
“Thanks. We like it.” Barnaby said. “Now, we would like you to have these pistols in appreciation for what you’re doing for us. I’ve given details to Paul, our best weaponsmith, and Riker’s father.” He nodded to the young man.
Riker smiled at her, pleased at Sylvie’s eager, intent expression. With a flourish, he opened the lid all the way to reveal two western pistols.
“These are Colt Peacemakers, one of the first pistols Colt made and famous as the main sidearm in the Old West.” Barnaby announced.
Sylvie stared in awe at the craftsmanship displayed before her. Each pistol had a deep rose-colored handle sanded with exquisite care and embossed with a centaur cowboy on the butt. The metal pieces and barrel were etched in vine patterns like cactus flower, matching her holy Winchester rifle. When she picked them up, every piece moved smoother than silk, with “the best reliability.” Riker claimed. “Like the originals, several pieces can break on these guns and they will still work.”
“I don’t want to put that to the test.” Sylvie moaned. The pistols seemed to call out to her, and upon closer examination, she found her name etched on the sides of the barrel.
“How would you like to fire them?” Barnaby asked.
“I would love that.” Sylvie said eagerly. She saw several .45 rounds nearby in a fast-loader (a circle that held six rounds in the exact configuration of the magazine, allowing a person to load the entire cylinder at once).
Selecting one, she loaded both pistols and selected one to fire.
“Not going to fire simultaneously?” Alfred asked.
“I’m not as up on pistols as I am my rifle.” Sylvie told him. “Halls wasn’t going to teach me the pistol for a while, probably on the way up through Africa so I was ready in Europe.”
Looking ahead at the target, Sylvie lined up on the ten-spot and pulled the trigger. The round hit the x perfectly.
“Wow, that’s pretty good!” Alfred exclaimed.
“Thanks.” Sylvie grunted; the recoil of the pistol was far worse than she was used to, and keeping the piece steady and on-target was proving difficult.
She reloaded twice by the time she’d finished zeroing in on the response of the gun. She placed it down on the bench and picked up the second one, also putting eighteen rounds downrange with her left hand before she was satisfied.
Now she decided to try shooting both at the same time. It proved…something else entirely. For the first time her aim suffered, with a couple rounds hitting outside the eight spot.
“Nice.” Alfred said cheerfully. “Especially since this is, what, your first time shooting a brace before?”
“That’s right.” Sylvie affirmed. She shook her head. “Not too good though. I could really use some help today.” She told Barnaby. “Could you teach me?”
Barnaby looked surprised. “Young lady, your already better than a lot of professionals I know, and that’s picking them and playing a little. Keep at it, but I suppose I could give you some pointers.”
He proceeded to call out any mistake he saw her make and explain about fanning the striker (in a way to make the cylinder constantly rotate and shoot rather than stopping), how to keep the pistol steady when doing so and how to keep an opponent in sight.
Sylvie, for her part, took all his advice to heart and utilized them as she trained. She trained like she remembered training under Halls; long, weary work with no rest and vicious recriminations for herself when she felt she’d failed. The sun arced high overhead and fell to the earth, turning the sky crimson and puce when Sylvie at last called a halt. She stood in a mound of brass casings while in front of her stood thirty target sheets utterly destroyed by her efforts. Way out at the forty yard range stood another target with a tight grouping of an inch across which she’d just put there firing double.
Everyone around her appeared to be exhausted, Sylvie noted. Alfred’s shoulders slumped and the small table that had appeared in front of him some point during the day was littered with dozens of cups, a couple of which from the smell held brandy mixed in with the spiced cider he’d been drinking to ward off the chill. Barnaby looked equally weary, though his pile of cups was smaller and held nothing but water.
Sylvie had no cups in front of her, she wouldn’t suffer the distraction from her training. Her tongue felt fuzzy and huge in her mouth and she was pretty certain that her horse body was flecked with foam, but she felt satisfied that she’d gotten in some good training on the range.
The crowd had morphed and changed a lot while she’d worked; many people had come and gone in the interest of work or business and been replaced by new faces. One of the few that had been there all day, besides her father, was Sara’s.
Sylvie took a moment to study the sleeping girl, zonked out on the shoulder of a young brown-haired mother next to her who looked positively flummoxed about what to do. Her own children were sleeping nearby and a man Sylvie took to be her husband was wrangling them up and taking them out to the parking lot, but the mother didn’t stir.
Sylvie kept an eye on the situation as she policed all her brass and gave them back to Alfred.
“Thanks Alfred.” She said quietly, accepting a mug of water from Natalie, who clucked fiercely and eyed her until she’d drained the whole thing.
“No problem, Sylvie. That was…something to see. I didn’t think you’d ever stop.” Alfred croaked.
Sylvie shrugged. “It’s the way I train.” She said shortly.
No one had anything to say about that.
When Sylvie had finished cleaning the stall she walked carefully up the stand to where the young mother sat with Sara on her shoulder.
“Hello.” She said quietly.
“Hi.” The woman said shyly, looking wide-eyed at her.
“Thanks for taking care of my friend like that.” Sylvie said, still trying not to disturb her.
“I’ll see that she makes it home all right.”
“Oh, thank you!” the mother gasped.
She remained very still as Sylvie bent down and gently grasped Sara under the legs and on the back. She lifted her as if she were no more than a sleeping child, her head lolling forward and the strawberry blond hair obscuring her face.
“You have a nice night now, ma’am.” Sylvie said politely.
“You too!” The mother smiled as she rubbed her shoulder to get feeling back into it.
Sylvie twisted her upper body around so far the other woman gasped, but all Sylvie did was lay Sara down on her back comfortably. Then with one hand to steady her passenger, Sylvie started home from the range.
Her father came up next to her as they walked out.
“Hey.”
“Hey dad.” Sylvie smiled sunnily at him. “Great training today, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, it was. Bit more intense then I’d like to see, sweetie. Alfred’s ain’t exactly a marine base, you know.” He said dryly.
“Oh dad, I wasn’t trying to be that good.” She laughed.
“Right. What are you doing with her?” he asked, pointing at Sara.
“I thought I’d take her home. It’s time to bury the hatchet with her anyway.” Sylvie replied.
“We were huge enemies in high school, but after what I’ve done and all she’s accomplished here…I think it’s time to end our feud.”
Her father leaned in to hug her. “I’m so proud of you, angel.” He said. “I’ll go grab the car and follow you. I think her parents are on Solden and Main.”
“How do you know that?” Sylvie asked curiously. “I mean, I only know where she lives because Melody went to her house once when she invited her over to do homework.”
“Her father works as one of the clerks.” Her father shrugged. “His car broke down one night and I gave him a lift home.”
“Ah.” Sylvie said. “All right. I’ll keep walking.”
She passed the outer limits of the neighborhoods and set a course for Sara’s house when she felt a sudden jerk and gasp on her back. There was a strange feeling of sliding and shifting load on her back and she spun her torso to fully catch the surprised and pinwheeling girl before she nosedived into the pavement.
“Aaah!” Sara yelped.
“Calm down Sara!” Sylvie overrode her screams. “You’re fine! I’m just taking you home!”
As she started to calm down, she looked wide-eyed at Sylvie as she fully realized where she was at. Tugging her hands from Sylvie’s grip, she placed them on either side of her barrel to steady herself.
“What…what are you doing?” she asked.
“Just what I said; I’m taking you home.” Sylvie explained. “You fell asleep in the stands. I think you were drooling a little on that poor woman next to you.” She gibed. She immediately felt sorry for obeying her old impulses; Sara flushed scarlet in mortification and looked ready to burst into tears.
“I don’t think she minded at all.” Sylvie hurriedly assured her. “Everyone there could see how tired you were. A lot of people…well, alright; no one but me really, wanted to know how come you didn’t go home if you were tired?”
“Didn’t feel like sleeping.” She said in a tiny voice. She’d started to scrunch up as if trying to hide from Sylvie’s questions. Behind her, hidden in the blaze of headlights, her father waited for them to continue.
Sylvie leaned away a little and regarded her passenger evenly. She recognized someone that was being bullied or pressured into something they didn’t want to do; she should, after all she’d been forced into much the same thing.
“Sara, who is attacking you, and why?” she asked bluntly.
If any doubt existed, it disappeared at Sara’s reaction. She jerked as if struck with lightning and gasped.
“N-N-no one! Why do you say that?” she whimpered, her eyes locked onto Sylvie’s as if she had the power to kill her.
Sylvie eyed her, wondering how much she should press her at this point, or if she should just let it slide for a while. One careful look at the bloodshot eyes, the pale face, and the golden hair starting to whiten at the roots convinced her; whoever or whatever was putting the screws to
Sara was pushing her to the limits and beyond, and needed to be stopped, but the question remained; why? What could she be doing that would stress her so—
Abruptly her vision flashed before her eyes and she froze in momentary wonder before volcanic rage erupted in her heart. Sara’s face turned deathly pale and she scrambled backwards away from her. Sylvie lunged forward with the speed of a striking mantis, holding the girl firmly to her back.
“How long have you been spying for Nightshade?” Sylvie snarled.
Sara fainted dead away, nearly falling off again. It took all Sylvie possessed to keep her on her back. There came the sound of a car door slamming and her father hurried up to them.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” he demanded.
“She’s the spy!” Sylvie spat angrily.
“What? Are you certain? Course you are, you wouldn’t make a statement like that unless you were, but how did you know?”
“She was acting caught out when I mentioned how she’d been following me today, and then when I realized what she was acting like, I demanded to know who’d been pressuring her. She freaked at that and denied everything. But when I stopped to think about it…who would we know that would want to keep an eye on me? Who had practically told us there was a spy in our midst? Who would be more perfect than Sara? WE were rivals in school, both at sports and boys! WE were in competition for the best costume of the year that started this mess! I won the grand prize. SHE lost and stormed out of the building. That’s where Nightshade made his move.”
By the time she was finished, her father stared at the body on her back with thinly disguised hatred and contempt. His hand twitched as he stared, then looked at her.
“We need to call this in to Ben.” He told her.
Sylvie was about to agree with him, but a nagging sense of doubt lingered. Would this be the best option? Sara’s life would be effectively over as well; no one would stand in her corner if they found out she was a spy, people would remember her only her role in aiding the Riots—if she had indeed helped with that.
She’d be ostracized, the moment she got out of jail. With the media attention, I doubt she’d be able to escape anywhere in the country, and what about her family? The good work she’s supposed to have done.
She looked at her rival—how thin she was, how bedraggled and pathetic her appearance dictated—and felt pity for her.
“Wait dad,” she said as she realized her father was dialing the phone. “Ask the chief to come to our house. Let’s keep this off the record for now. Let’s find out the truth first before we condemn her.”
He looked at her as if she’d lost her marbles, then looked at the slack face as it rested in repose on Sylvie’s haunch.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked.
“Absolutely.” Sylvie said sincerely. “She deserves a chance to explain this to us. If I’m right, then it wasn’t her fault. But by the time it’s found out, everyone will be against her and her family.” She explained.
“You’re right.” Her father admitted. “But, well, we’ve done a lot of loose playing with the law in this whole affair. We can’t keep doing that honey, we’ve got due process that we have to follow.”
“I know dad.” Sylvie said quietly. “And I’m sorry, but I think we’ll be doing more good by doing it my way than not.”
He sighed. “All right. I’ll try and get Ben and Sara’s father out to the house. We can talk to her there. Decide what to do from there.”
“Okay dad.” Sylvie agreed. “I’ll get Taryn as well, she should hear this as well.”
“If you think that would be best.” Her father agreed.
Sylvie watched her mother wake up Sara with some smelling salts. She coughed and spasmed; moving her head away to try and escape. Slowly she began to regain consciousness.
Around her, the living room of her house seemed pretty packed. Her mother and Taryn’s were seated at either end of the couch, supporting Sara as she began to woozily stir. Sylvie’s father and Ben stood at the other end of the room, talking quietly with Sara’s dad. He was a tall, portly man that had the look of a body-builder that had completely let himself go. His short, reddish hair matched his curly beard that stuck out of his face like a Viking. However his watery blue eyes, wet with tears, betrayed a man watching his world crumble around him.
“What are her options?” he asked desperately to Ben.
“Well, that depends.” Ben admitted. “If the girls decide to press charges, then we’re in a bit of a legal bind here. However, you can thank Sylvie for trying hard enough to give your little girl there a chance to speak her mind and prove to us that she isn’t involved with this, out of the legal limelight.”
“Thank god.” Her father ran his hand distractedly through his hair. “This…this is just going to destroy Kate. I just know it. That’s why…that’s why she couldn’t come. Not to this, her interrogation! And Sara! What…what can we do?”
“Hush.” Taryn said, standing next to Josh. “She’s coming around.”
“Hunh.” Sara moaned. She finally opened her eyes and looked confused a moment as she started searching for where she was. When her eyes fell on all the people in the living room, she burst into tears and sobbed hard, her shoulders shaking with grief.
Sylvie reacted before anyone else in the room could do more than stare at the pitiful wreck; with a couple of steps she reached the couch and dropped to her knees, letting herself come to head height with her onetime enemy. She reached out and hugged the girl, letting her cry herself out on her shoulder while she waited.
When Sara at last calmed herself, she seemed to realize who it was that had hugged her and pushed away very weakly.
“Feeling up to some questions?” Taryn asked as she came and laid across from Sylvie, effectively pinning Sara on the couch.
She noticed this effect and hunched down, hiccupping.
“Sara, we know that you were spying for Nightshade.” Sylvie told her. “What we want to know is; how long?”
“Since the party.” Sara whispered. “I—I stormed out after losing to you two. Met me in the bushes…offered to walk me home. He seemed so nice, just wanting to let me talk.” She blinked. “Said some nasty things bout…about…”
“About me.” Sylvie nodded. “I kinda figured. Not that I was much better than you that night. Go on.”
Sara looked surprised. “Got home…gave me his card. Said…maybe, maybe you weren’t in costume that night. Maybe you really…really were a m-monster. Didn’t believe him…thought him crazy.” She laughed bitterly. “Snuck out…went to your place. You weren’t there. Got to Taryn’s, saw you pulling in with that…horse trailer. Saw you jump and prance about like anything. Couldn’t…couldn’t believe my eyes.”
Sylvie sniffed. She hadn’t pranced. Taryn shot a warning glance at her, but Sylvie said nothing. She hadn’t been planning to say anything anyway.
“Went home…called him that night…asked me to simply tell him if you changed venue…he wanted to see about inviting you to his show first…I told him unlikely.”
She shrank further into her seat and stared at her knees.
“I watched you move…told him…told him where you had been taken too.” She mumbled quietly and flinched.
Everyone glanced at Ben, but other than a tightening around his eyes, he said nothing about it.
“Found out…next week about…about what happened…felt awful.” Sara now said to her thighs. “He called…told me that I…I helped…I would be indebted to him…told him I’d be caught…taken…told me he’d ensured I would never be linked to the crime unless he told them specifically how I helped…all I had to do…keep an eye on the families…see that they got the money…let him know if trouble came.”
Sylvie glanced at Taryn, reading the troubled look on her face. That information had let Nightshade deal with Taryn and ensure that she would work for him in exchange for her pay being sent to her mom.
“Then what happened?” Taryn asked.
“Nothing.” Sara said. “For a while at least. Then new man came to town, went by the name of Jacob something. He told me he knew about our deal…wanted me to work for him…keep close watch on Taryn’s mom. He needed to send her south…couldn’t use Nightshade’s man, didn’t…didn’t want her to arrive in good health. Easy, since she stopped taking her meds.”
Sylvie stared, stunned, as did Taryn. Nightshade had ordered her to arrive in good health and his agent didn’t want that to happen? Why?
“Didn’t…didn’t want Nightshade to know. Threatened to kill mom.” Sara whispered. “He…he taped me up when I pointed out Nightshade’s instruction.” she shivered. “Brought some men to the house. Gangers. Offered them a deal…took me to the back, said I could be used to…to sweeten the pot if I didn’t do what he wanted.”
There was a collective sound in the room, a low growl that transcended sentient speech into primal hate.
Sara stared off at her knees. Her voice when she spoke next sounded as if spoken beyond the grave. “The deal caused the Sangers to walk into a trap. Started the riot. Took Taryn’s mom and brought her to the house. Told me…told me to watch her until he found the right gang member to take her…he’d slit my throat if he came back to an empty house. Kept…kept an eye on her…it was easy since she’d been forced into unconsciousness. Brought back a small, weedy looking man. Told him…he told him to dump the meds into the sea above Mexico, or to sell them or whatever. She wasn’t supposed to take any at all during the trip unless it looked like she’d die.”
“But why?!” Taryn blurted out. She’d been looking horrified at her mother, who gazed at Sara with pity.
“He—wanted to force a response.” She whispered. “Didn’t tell me much. The man took Taryn’s mom in a van. He drove me to where the riots were. I figured he’d decided to kill me and let the Riot be blamed.”
She looked completely lost. “He said…said he wasn’t done with me yet…when the changed ones returned he’d come back…needed them to end this existence…he would be in touch, but should I ever betray him…he’d…he’d.”
She fell silent, choked with fear and sorrow and guilt.
Sylvie couldn’t have said what she’d thought she’d hear when she suggested this. She’d figured Nightshade had simply used his charm on her, then her guilt about the farm to ransom her help. But now…
“So he came back?” Taryn guessed, filling in the blanks.
Sara nodded, still not looking up. “Called me the other night. Told me to watch you…maybe make some mischief. He’s been having me tail Sylvie, said he needed her the most…Not you Taryn. Hasn’t had me watching you. Wants her.” Her hand came up to point to Sylvie.
“Why?” Sylvie’s mother demanded, clasping Sylvie to her. Sylvie allowed it, though she didn’t need the comfort.
“He…he just needed her for something. Didn’t know what.” Sara admitted. “But he’s all but finished. Said last night that I’d need to do one more job for him. Tell him how Sylvie did on the range today…then I’d be done.” Her laugh sounded insane. “He’d finally kill me.” She fell silent, as if realizing how unwrapped she’d become.
Sylvie tried to process everything. But one thing seemed clear.
“Sara, you keep saying that he would kill you and that you pass information to him. Are you doing that by phone or are you actually meeting him?” she asked.
“Meeting him.” Sara admitted.
Everyone tensed, looking right at her. Meanwhile Sara’s father stared in horror at his little girl, his face locked in a grimace as he stared at her, he kept moaning “My little angel…my little angel.” Over and over like a mantra. No one noticed.
“And…how is he here?” Taryn asked.
“He’s the leader of the Tenebrae Cultor.” Sara said.
“The who?” Ben asked, confused.
“That’s what they call themselves. It’s latin, I think.” Sara said. “But they’re all marked, so they’re easy to find. Usually. They all have a strange symbol in blue on their right arms.”
Ben stilled, hardening. Sylvie saw the fiery pits his eyes had become and shivered; she felt very glad that he was on their side.
“What is it?” Sylvie’s father asked Ben.
“That tattoo,” Ben said to Sara, ignoring him. “Can you describe it?”
Sara nodded. “It has a blue sun with a black blot in the center. One of the rays drops to a demon or something in red beneath it.”
Ben’s jaw worked.
“What is it?” Sylvie’s father asked again.
“I know that symbol.” Ben told him, “I’ve seen a lot of it lately on the people we’ve been busting for petty theft. Hell, that guy Sylvie and Taryn busted? He was one of them. And another of them shot Mike two weeks ago? That was one of them too.”
“How is Mike?” her father asked in concern.
“Pretty good.” Ben admitted. “The doctors think he’ll be able to be home for Christmas at the end of the week, and that would be something for his family. I’ve borrowed one of the extra security detail for the beryl and placed a watch on his family and the hospital, just in case.” He frowned. “Sounds like a good thing that I did, if what half I’ve heard tonight is true. But what on earth could this Tene…whatever want?”
Sara had hugged her knees to her chest as they talked and now seemed to be ignoring everyone in the room.
Josh pulled out his smartphone and quickly pulled it up. “Tenebray, tenebray,” he muttered as he typed.
“No, Tenebrae Cultor.” Taryn corrected him. “It’s not “y” in there, but ‘a,e’.”
“Ah, okay.” Josh said, typing.
A moment later he exclaimed “Ah, here it is. According to Google translate, it…means…” he trailed off, staring at his phone as if he couldn’t believe what he was reading.
“What?” Ben demanded.
“It means worshiper of darkness”. Taryn said quietly. “Or those that worship the devil.”
“The vision.” Sylvie said slowly, her mind racing with the new information. “So, that is who we are supposed to be watching out for.” She said quietly.
“Apparently.” Taryn said. “But why now? Why the fuss?”
“I don’t know.” Sylvie’s father said. “But satan worshipers are a dime a dozen, especially in the big cities. Most aren’t too bad; they get busted for gutting live chickens and drinking the blood or using it in some sick ritual or what have you, but that’s generally as far as it goes. Sometimes though, there are those that are more hard-core about it.”
He looked at Sylvie’s mom, who looked back grimly at him.
“You speaking from personal experience, Greg?” Ben asked quietly.
“Yeah.” Greg nodded, “One of our cases that went bad back when we were hostage negotiators.
“Well, what are we going to do?” Josh wanted to know. “I mean with Sara here. It’s obvious she needs help, isn’t it?”
Everyone looked at her, then her father.
“Look, Josh is right.” Ben said. “You guys are in a lot of danger right now, with this cult running loose. We’ve got to bring you guys into protective custody, we can put you up at the station for a while. That should be safe enough. You too, young lady.” He added, looking at Sylvie.
“Me?” Sylvie frowned, panicking a little. She was supposed to meet Dr. Merrick tomorrow at the lab.
“Yes.” Ben said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “You’re apparently a person of intense interest to this cult, and they are going to be coming after you, soon, according to Sara. We need to have you locked down.”
Sylvie frowned, thinking. “I’ve got to make a call or two.” She said quietly. “But I guess we can…wait.” She stopped, appalled by the notion.
“What is it?” Ben asked.
“Sara said this Jacob guy kept threatening her, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And that probably means that he was having her watched herself so he had some sort of warning if she wanted to betray him. They saw her being taken to my house and her father showing up with…with you.” She looked horrified at Ben who snatched up his mic with a roar.
“All units! Converge on 1312 Seldon and Main now! I’m on my way!”
“Mom!” Sara cried, jolted from her stupor.
“Kate!” her father said in dismay, racing out the door with a wild look in his eye.
Ben beat him to the door.
“Ted, stay here. You’re too close to this. We’ll get your wife. You, go with Greg and Sara and
Sylvie to the station. You’ll be safe there. Go!” he shouted when he saw Sara’s father unmoving.
The large man took one step back, towards Sara, then shouted something and bolted out the door.
“Dad!” screamed Sara as Ben cursed. A moment later an engine fired up and there came the sound of a car peeling out from the driveway.
Ben was right on his heels though, and a second later the police cruiser shot out after him, siren wailing and lights glaring.
“Come on, Sara.” Sylvie said in a no-nonsense voice. You’ll come with us.”
She walked out the door and to the trailer, not caring that everyone followed.
In the huge semi-trailer, she went to a corner cabinet and pulled out an extra spear for Taryn and tossed it to her. At the same time she pulled out several boxes of ammunition and a leather ammo belt she’d gotten but never worn.
When she emerged from the trailer a short time later, she’d donned her cowboy hat and had her pistols strapped on. Open rounds gleamed in their ammo loops while the pouch on her right hip held five fast loaders filled and ready to fire. Her rifle ammunition was in the pouch on her left hip and in bags on her back.
Josh held a tire iron idly in his grip; in Rio he’d proven capable with the weapon and his great strength. Taryn had her spears and a small leather shield that Sylvie hadn’t seen before.
“When did you get that?” she asked.
“From Running Cloud.” She replied.
“Who?” Sylvie blinked.
“Long story, I’ll tell you about it later. For now, we need to go.”
They locked the trailer and fell into step behind the car. She could see her parents armed and ready behind the wheel and in the back. Sara was lying down on the bench, with a couple of jackets tossed over her to ward off breaking glass.
“Let’s go.” Sylvie said, and the cavalcade started off.