again, it could all prove a pile of crap if my recce turned up nothing untoward.
The Logan family.
At first I’d assumed that they were brothers, but Scott had put me right. Carson was the elder, and father to Brent. The other, Samuel, was a cousin. Once there had been a couple of women living at the homestead: Brent’s mother Arlene, and also Carla, Samuel’s younger sister, but I was glad to hear that neither woman was there now. Arlene had passed away from throat cancer fifteen years back, while it was believed that Carla had headed for the West Coast and a new life just over a year ago. That, at least, was the story told to anyone who asked about the young woman. No one had heard from her since, but then most people tried to stay out of the Logans’ business and didn’t raise the subject very often.
It’s shameful, I know, but there have been times in my life when I’ve hurt women. Not out of choice, but during the wild firefights I’d been involved in during my military days there had to have been some women injured if not killed. I wasn’t proud of the fact, and had never intentionally targeted a woman or, God forbid, a child, and for that reason I was happy that neither Arlene nor Carla could fall into my sights if things did come unstuck with their menfolk.
From my position I could see a ramshackle dwelling of sun-bleached boards and shingles, and beyond it further barn-like structures in equal disrepair. There was a stockade at the back, empty of animals, and then a mound of junk and debris comprised mainly of deteriorating mechanical implements, empty plastic sacks and steel drums. An ancient wagon rested up on blocks, but now it was little more than a disintegrating feature of the landscape. The Dodge pick-up was drawn up at the front of the house, telling me that at least one of the Logans was at home, but there was no movement or sound to give them away.
Crouching behind a boulder that reminded me of a lion’s head, albeit ten times the size, I downed some more water. Then, with half of it now gone, I replaced the container in my rucksack, but propped it in the shade in the lee of the rock. I’d made myself a promise earlier that I wasn’t going to spend all day in this furnace but if I just stayed put and watched for an obvious sign that my suspicions about the family were true I could be in for a long vigil. For all I knew they were sleeping through the hottest part of the day, and I wasn’t prepared to wait them out. Before setting off, I made another inspection of my weapon. Having already loaded my pockets with spare ammo, I was good to go.
That wasn’t exactly true. I should let someone know where I was, because with the exception of Scott and his buddies, no one did, and I didn’t trust them to race to my rescue if anything bad happened. I took out my cellphone, intent on dropping Rink a text message, but true to form there was no signal. At least I tried. I pocketed the phone again.
I was on my own but it wasn’t the first time. Having Rink or Harvey at my back would have been a bonus if indeed this was a hot zone, but I hadn’t confirmed that yet. I slipped out of concealment, and staying low and utilising the natural hiding places that the landscape offered, I headed for the homestead and into another desperate chapter of my life.
13
Long before the rope gave way, the sharp burr of tin plate blunted, caught in the strands and snapped off. Frustrated, Jay screamed into the ground, but would only allow an almost silent exclamation by pinching the sound in her throat. Though she rocked back and forth, straining against her ropes, she could not snap them. It was a pointless waste of energy, as was the way of anger. Better that she concentrate on finding some other protrusion to snag the rope on. It was a difficult search to undertake, bound the way she was, but by twisting and contorting and throwing one scapula almost out of joint, she discovered the protruding head of a bolt where
The Logan family.
At first I’d assumed that they were brothers, but Scott had put me right. Carson was the elder, and father to Brent. The other, Samuel, was a cousin. Once there had been a couple of women living at the homestead: Brent’s mother Arlene, and also Carla, Samuel’s younger sister, but I was glad to hear that neither woman was there now. Arlene had passed away from throat cancer fifteen years back, while it was believed that Carla had headed for the West Coast and a new life just over a year ago. That, at least, was the story told to anyone who asked about the young woman. No one had heard from her since, but then most people tried to stay out of the Logans’ business and didn’t raise the subject very often.
It’s shameful, I know, but there have been times in my life when I’ve hurt women. Not out of choice, but during the wild firefights I’d been involved in during my military days there had to have been some women injured if not killed. I wasn’t proud of the fact, and had never intentionally targeted a woman or, God forbid, a child, and for that reason I was happy that neither Arlene nor Carla could fall into my sights if things did come unstuck with their menfolk.
From my position I could see a ramshackle dwelling of sun-bleached boards and shingles, and beyond it further barn-like structures in equal disrepair. There was a stockade at the back, empty of animals, and then a mound of junk and debris comprised mainly of deteriorating mechanical implements, empty plastic sacks and steel drums. An ancient wagon rested up on blocks, but now it was little more than a disintegrating feature of the landscape. The Dodge pick-up was drawn up at the front of the house, telling me that at least one of the Logans was at home, but there was no movement or sound to give them away.
Crouching behind a boulder that reminded me of a lion’s head, albeit ten times the size, I downed some more water. Then, with half of it now gone, I replaced the container in my rucksack, but propped it in the shade in the lee of the rock. I’d made myself a promise earlier that I wasn’t going to spend all day in this furnace but if I just stayed put and watched for an obvious sign that my suspicions about the family were true I could be in for a long vigil. For all I knew they were sleeping through the hottest part of the day, and I wasn’t prepared to wait them out. Before setting off, I made another inspection of my weapon. Having already loaded my pockets with spare ammo, I was good to go.
That wasn’t exactly true. I should let someone know where I was, because with the exception of Scott and his buddies, no one did, and I didn’t trust them to race to my rescue if anything bad happened. I took out my cellphone, intent on dropping Rink a text message, but true to form there was no signal. At least I tried. I pocketed the phone again.
I was on my own but it wasn’t the first time. Having Rink or Harvey at my back would have been a bonus if indeed this was a hot zone, but I hadn’t confirmed that yet. I slipped out of concealment, and staying low and utilising the natural hiding places that the landscape offered, I headed for the homestead and into another desperate chapter of my life.
13
Long before the rope gave way, the sharp burr of tin plate blunted, caught in the strands and snapped off. Frustrated, Jay screamed into the ground, but would only allow an almost silent exclamation by pinching the sound in her throat. Though she rocked back and forth, straining against her ropes, she could not snap them. It was a pointless waste of energy, as was the way of anger. Better that she concentrate on finding some other protrusion to snag the rope on. It was a difficult search to undertake, bound the way she was, but by twisting and contorting and throwing one scapula almost out of joint, she discovered the protruding head of a bolt where
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