“Oh, let’s let him hang for a while longer,” George said.

Joey added, “I kinda like the look. Reminds me of deer season.”

McCrea stepped forward. “Mrs. Emerson said to let him down. Do it now.”

“Who the hell—” Whatever George saw in McCrea’s expression convinced him to back down. “Yeah, okay. Gotta do it from the front, though. I don’t want to get blood all over my shirt.” For some reason, he found that funny.

McCrea stepped behind Brandon-Lee and gripped the prisoner’s chest just under his armpits. George stood on tiptoes and unhooked the bound hands, and Brandon-Lee’s knees buckled. McCrea eased him down to sit on the ground.

Victoria eased George out of the way and kneeled down in front of the prisoner. “Give me your hands,” she said. “I’ll untie you.”

“I’ve got it,” McCrea said as he produced a folding knife. “The knots are good ones.”

It took a few seconds to saw through the rough hemp fibers. As the loops of rope fell away, they revealed that the flesh of Brandon-Lee’s wrists were nearly as raw as that of his back.

“Take your time getting up,” Victoria said. She stood and offered her hand.

The glare she got in return was beyond toxic. Brandon-Lee got his feet under him and he rose unsteadily. “You’re going to pay for this,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m going to kill you. I’m going to kill your whole family and burn this town to the ground. Have a good day.”

His tone froze something inside of Victoria. She felt a flash of light-headedness and she took an involuntary step back to keep her balance.

“What’s wrong?” McCrea asked.

Victoria shook her head. “Nothing. Escort him back to his clothes and then to the town line. Get him out of my sight.”

* * *

Victoria worried that the day would never end. After the trial ended, she had to put her community-organizer hat back on to make sure that donations to the clothing bank was being handled properly. It wouldn’t do to have people sifting through random piles of garments in search of a particular size. Thankfully, Ellie Stewart, one of the newcomers, stepped up to take charge of that.

Victoria had spent years training for Armageddon, and never once in all those exercises did she ever envision running a community effort. Her specialties were all about her family being on its own, surviving in the wilderness and protecting that which was theirs. She didn’t hate it all as much as she’d feared, but it was all kind of exhausting.

After darkness fell, she sneaked out of the shelter at St. Thomas’s and found a comfortable spot on the ground at the base of a tree. Thick roots combined with soft ground created a kind of natural armchair for her to rest in.

“That you, Vicky?” McCrea asked.

“Hello, Major.”