Page 108 of Last Light

The dog is growling threateningly, baring his teeth and turning from side to side as if he’s trying to find the main source of the threat.

“There’s nothing for you here,” Travis says, his voice loud, authoritative. “Might as well move on.”

“I see somethin’ I’d like to get my hands on.” The man who spoke is the oldest of the group. He’s got grizzled hair and a beard, a tattoo covering his neck, and an ugly smirk.

My panic must have heightened my powers of observation because I see something in the man’s tattoo.

A stylized wolf—exactly like the drawing on the message.

The wolf.

These men must be part of the drove heading to Fort Knox.

Maybe we’re already too late.

“You ain’t gonna get her,” Travis says. I don’t know if he’s noticed the tattoo or not.

“You sure ’bout that, boy? I never finished school, but I can count to five. Five of us. Two of you. How ’bout we let you and the dog go. Just leave us the girl and your stuff.”

“Never gonna happen.” I’ve never heard Travis sound so hard. “I can count to five too. And here’s what I count. I can kill at least two of you before you get to me. She’s good with her gun. She’ll shoot at least one of you. That just leaves two. And the dog’ll be at the throat of one of you before you can get a shot off. So that’ll just leave one. Not a real good deal for the four of you who’re dead.”

“And I’ll kill myself before any of you can touch me,” I say, trying to sound as fierce as Travis.

I’m terrified.

I can’t remember ever being this scared, not even when the guys accosted me at that farmhouse. My whole body has gone cold. My gun hand is shaking slightly. I’m gripping the fur at the back of the dog’s neck with my other hand so he doesn’t make a lunge for one of the men surrounding us.

He’s growling constantly now.

“She will too,” Travis says. “So none of you will ever get her. Four of you dead. And for nothin’ but a vehicle you don’t need, a few towels, and some bottles of water. Is it really worth it to you?”

We have more provisions than that in our Jeep, but the men don’t know it and we’re not about to tell them.

They continue circling us on their motorcycles for a minute, but then the leader says, “Don’t show your faces round here again. Next time you won’t be gettin’ out alive.” Then he makes a gesture with his hand, and they all ride off with a few nasty comments.

I’m so relieved that they’re leaving that I barely notice what they say.

I was crouched on my haunches like Travis, but I collapse back into the seat when they’re out of sight.

Travis sits down more slowly, his shotgun still positioned against his shoulder.

I try to make my voice work. “Should we—”

“Not yet.”

I wait since Travis is still tense and alert. After a few minutes, when we hear nothing but the silence of the pastureland around us, he puts down his gun and starts the engine. “We’re getting off this road.”

“Yes. Please.”

I’m shaking uncontrollably. I can’t help it. My body still feels ice-cold.

I was absolutely sure I was going to die a few minutes ago.

I’m not sure how Travis managed to talk those men down. Maybe they weren’t as violent as they looked. Or maybe they weren’t in the mood for a fight.

Either way, I should have died. Both of us should have. And the dog too.

I keep stroking the dog at my feet. His hair is still standing straight up on the back of his neck, his dark eyes darting around warily.

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