“We only have a bit left to do—and I want to have that done by the time we finish today. It shouldn’t take more than—what do you think, Danny Ray, an hour or so?”

“’B-b-bout that,” Danny replied with a bob of the head.

“Okay,” I said. “But no more than that, and then knock off. I’ll bring in some firewood before I leave, but keep an eye on that stove. I won’t trust it completely until we see where the hot spots are and know it’s not going to crack and spill out hot coals. You never know about the condition of these old cast-iron stoves—they can fool you.”

“I have a scrap sheet of quarter-inch steel I can slip underneath. That ought to give a good measure of safety,” Parker said.

“Perfect. That will make me feel a lot better,” I replied as I stood to clear off the table. What I didn’t say was that I’m terrified at the thought of a house fire.

The meal over, Parker and Danny Ray returned to their work. Tybee curled up on one of the beds, and I prepared to leave. But first, I went to my bed and, opening the foot-locker I had brought from the boat, retrieved and put on my shoulder holster. I then charged a round into the chamber of my CZ 75, slipped on the safety, and inserted the pistol snugly into the holster. An additional two magazines of ammo went into the pouch hanging beneath the other shoulder. I checked the fit of the familiar rig and then slipped on my jacket.

I now felt ready for any firebombers I might encounter in the great unknown. If I met Leon Wren again—and I was pretty certain he would give me cause to take action—I would be fully ready from now on. I considered taking one of the shotguns with me but decided to leave it where it was stowed, on the floor beneath my bed.

I topped up Tybee’s water bowl and filled his dry-food plate before bringing in several armloads of wood. The last item I took from the locker was a handheld CB radio. I turned on the switch and checked the battery level. All okay there, I clipped the radio to my belt. Satisfied that everything was in shape here in the cabin, I picked up my car keys and headed out into the gathering darkness.

Amber had informed me of the places I was most likely to find Sweet Thang. One was south of town about forty miles, at a place just off the I-95 corridor called Sally’s. In fact most of the stops Amber had named were along I-95, from just over into South Carolina, down to the Florida border, along with a few headed west along I-16 in the direction of Macon.