Page 97 of Homestead

In the five seconds it takes me to process all that, my body starts to shake even more.

“Get down now,” Mack murmurs, moving his legs so I can fit better. “You stay here unless someone calls for you to help.”

“Okay.” The response comes out as more of a gurgle as I crouch down beside Mack’s big work boots.

Because I’m curled up on the floor, I can’t see what’s happening. I can’t see anything, and it’s torture.

Cal stomps the gas of the pickup. Then it stops with a weird series of jerks and bumps. I wonder if he plowed into something intentionally.

Or someone.

I have no idea. All I know is that the others are all jumping out of the truck, and the night is filled with deafening gunshots. One after another.

Jimmy is in real danger. All these people—many I care for deeply—are in real danger.

And, me, I’m huddled uselessly on the floor of the pickup.

I’m desperate to peek out to see what’s happening, but I resist the foolish impulse. That would put me in danger too. It would make me a possible target and a distraction to the others.

The last thing they need is to be worried about me getting hurt.

So I hug my knees and I shudder and I pray and I wait for the shooting to end.

It feels like it lasts a long time. Forever. I’m in no fit state to accurately measure the passing of time. There’s a lot of shouting, but I can’t really tell where it’s coming from or make out the words.

Then I hear Rachel’s voice clearly from not too far away. She’s loud. Urgent. “Cal’s pinned down. Mack!Mack!”

“I got it!” That’s Mack. His voice is unmistakable. There’s a bump and the truck rocks slightly like he might have jumped into the back.

Cal has a huge transfer tank for extra gas in the truck bed and also a large built-in toolbox that’s filled with weapons. It’s like an arsenal. I saw it when we were getting ready to leave.

Maybe he’s getting something out of there.

“Mack!” Rachel screams again. “We need to take out the guys behind that boulder. Shit, he’s hit!Mack!”

“I got it! Heads down!”

I have no idea what’s happening. What Mack is about to do.

A few seconds pass, and then there’s an explosion that seems to rock the entire world.

Most of the gunshots stop after that. There are a few more, scattered with pauses between them.

Then a light tap on the window of the pickup startles me so much I gasp.

“We’re all good now.” Mack opens the passenger door and helps me out. “We got ’em all.”

I’m so disoriented and dizzy that I can’t even stand up. I lean against the seat after I get my feet on the ground. “What happened? What was that explosion?”

Mack glances over in what I assume is the direction it happened. “Threw a grenade. They had the better position, and we couldn’t get ’em out of there any other way.”

“So they’re all dead?”

“They’re all dead. Should be safe now.” Mack nods toward the Jeep with the blown-out tire. “Your man made it through. He’s still there.”

That piece of information consumes me so entirely that nothing else matters. I run as fast as my limping will allow until I reach the Jeep. The hatch is swinging haphazardly, barely holding on after being shot up so much.

Jimmy has fallen back in an awkward heap, a rifle resting on his belly and his fingers still hooked around the trigger.

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