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Chapters (88)
  1. Titles by Mark Greaney
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  6. CONTENTS
  7. Epigraph
  8. CHARACTERS
  9. PROLOGUE
  10. 1
  11. 2
  12. 3
  13. 4
  14. 5
  15. 6
  16. 7
  17. 8
  18. 9
  19. 10
  20. 11
  21. 12
  22. 13
  23. 14
  24. 15
  25. 16
  26. 17
  27. 18
  28. 19
  29. 20
  30. 21
  31. 22
  32. 23
  33. 24
  34. 25
  35. 26
  36. 27
  37. 28
  38. 29
  39. 30
  40. 31
  41. 32
  42. 33
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. 36
  46. 37
  47. 38
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. 49
  59. 50
  60. 51
  61. 52
  62. 53
  63. 54
  64. 55
  65. 56
  66. 57
  67. 58
  68. 59
  69. 60
  70. 61
  71. 62
  72. 63
  73. 64
  74. 65
  75. 66
  76. 67
  77. 68
  78. 69
  79. 70
  80. 71
  81. 72
  82. 73
  83. 74
  84. 75
  85. 76
  86. 77
  87. 78
  88. EPILOGUE

Court caught the hammer as it fell, then he moved up the driveway towards the back gate, but while doing so he turned around and heaved the hammer overhand into the windshield of the Ram. The glass cracked and the vehicle’s shrill alarm began to wail.

6

Two men armed with 12-gauge shotguns raced out the back door of the single-story clapboard house, leapt off the side of the porch, and then charged to the locked gate that led to the driveway. One of the men slowed to release a ninety-pound pit bull from his chain, freeing him to run with the humans towards the noise in the front of the property and the man who had caused it. At the gate, one man unhooked a large, loose padlock from the staple hasp on the wooden fence, then kicked the gate open, his shotgun at the high ready in case someone stood waiting for him there. The dog took off up the driveway, and when the man saw no one in front of him, he ran towards the Dodge pickup to douse the flames licking up the side panel of the truckbed.

The second man followed close behind the first, himself waving his 12-gauge in all directions as he did so. He saw the flaming rag in the gas tank of the Dodge Ram and he hesitated a moment, not knowing if it would explode at any second. But his colleague was either braver or more foolish, and he charged at the flames, desperate to save the vehicle.

—

Court Gentry knelt in the bushes next to the gate and watched the pit bull bolt from the darkened backyard. The massive black form of muscle and gnashing teeth raced past Court’s position on his way to freedom. Behind the pit, two men, both rail-thin and pasty white, sprinted through the gate, down the driveway, and towards the Dodge Ram, wooden-stocked shotguns out in front of them. One man slowed for a moment, hesitating, but soon enough he headed on, catching up with his friend at the burning shop rag.

Court slipped into the backyard and closed the gate behind him, locking it by dropping the padlock’s shackle through the hasp.

There was no direct lighting back there at all, but the tiny bit of residual glow from the raining sky above gave him a dim view of his surroundings. The entire yard was surrounded by the ten-foot-high privacy fence. It was overgrown and filled with trash, and a broken-down and weed-covered Chevy Monte Carlo was on blocks alongside the fence near the back porch. The windows of the house back there were boarded, just as they were out front, and the back door was a metal and Plexiglas storm door.