Clark heard it too. Oh sweet Jesus, no: another truck was heading fast for the ring of trailers. Its chugging muffler was unmistakable. She turned and saw Whiskey Brazos racing toward a gap between the black camper and silver Airstream to her left. KT Staler was sitting wide-eyed in shotgun, T-Bay Baskin gawping behind him.

It happened so quick Clark couldn’t stop it, so slow she couldn’t miss a moment. Whiskey’s face stretched with shock as the guns turned his way. Jamal, seated behind Whiskey, bent his body toward his door. T-Bay screamed. KT Staler was holding out his arm, mouthing, “No!”

Garrett Mason brought his AR-15 semiautomatic assault rifle to his shoulder and aimed down the sights with a hatred Clark could see through his helmet’s grill.

Garrett fired.

KIMBRA

Well then. All summer long Kimbra and April had giggled whenever fresh young Deputy Browder in his tight khakis and polished boots had stepped into the Egg House, when he’d grinned at the waitress with that little twist in his lip that seemed sly and abashed all at once. Deputy Babe, all the girls had called him. He’d never seemed to pay Kimbra a minute’s attention until this afternoon, when he’d waved to her from in front of the busted bank building.

And now here he was, hustling in her direction with every intention of killing her because she’d been dumb enough to help Joel Whitley, and she was handcuffed to a goddamn pipe. It was really something, oh shit, no sir, you don’t get this every day. Better think of something, darling, he’s almost here.

Now.

Thank God she’d been conscious enough on the truck ride here to realize that the duct tape around her ankles had been loose. While the men’s attention had been elsewhere earlier she’d worked a leg free of the tape’s binding. When Browder got close enough to smell—and Jesus, he suddenly had a stench on him that would skin a cat—Kimbra braced her elbows on the trailer floor, tightened her stomach, arched her back and blindly swung a stiff, meaty leg in the best goddamn kick of her high school career.

Her foot connected with Browder’s ankle and the deputy stumbled. Kimbra spun out with her other leg and through pure luck caught the man behind the knee. The knife in his hand clattered to the floor.

Browder let out a little grunt as he fell. Kimbra felt his hand grasp at her ankle but she was too quick for him. She slid the foot away, pulled it up and drove it back. The kick knocked the deputy’s head into something hard. She heard a wet thud.

She felt Browder’s nose fold under the sole of her shoe with a snap.

Kimbra kicked him again, catching him on the forehead and knocking him back.

She kicked a third time and caught nothing but air. Her mind went white with panic.

But she was fine. She heard Browder slump to the floor beside her, smelling of clay and blood and spoiled meat.