People who’d welcomed Sophia and me when we had nothing but fake names and fabricated backgrounds. Now their lives depended on how quickly Dutch and I could work through the night.
“Longfields first,” Dutch said, his voice rough from too many cigarettes and not enough sleep. The wound in his armwas bandaged tightly, but I caught him wincing each time we hit a particularly deep hole. “Then the Craneys and that troublemaking Hollenbeck kid. Four ranch families out past Thunder Basin to wrap it up.”
“How are we explaining this to them?” I asked, the truck’s headlights cutting twin paths through the darkness. “Mind control isn’t exactly an easy sell.”
Dutch snorted. “Truth. They’ve all seen enough to know something’s wrong. Just need someone to confirm they aren’t crazy.”
We pulled up to the Longfields’ ranch house, a weathered two-story that had probably stood since homesteading days. Before we could kill the engine, the porch light flicked on, and Mr. Longfield appeared with a shotgun balanced in the crook of his arm. His wife stood behind him, her silver hair gleaming in the yellow porch light.
“I’ve known these folks forty years,” Dutch murmured. “Let me start.”
Mr. Longfield recognized Dutch’s truck and lowered his weapon slightly, but his eyes narrowed when I climbed out. The night air bit through my jacket, carrying the scent of hay and cattle.
“Bit late for social calls, Dutch,” Mr. Longfield called, his weathered face suspicious.
“Not social,” Dutch replied, limping slightly as he approached the porch. “Got trouble in town, Ray. Big trouble.”
Mrs. Longfield stepped forward, her small frame somehow commanding even next to her husband’s bulk. “Is it about everyone acting strange? Sheriff came by yesterday talking nonsense. Used the same exact words three times in a row.” She shook her head. “Like talking to one of those phone robots.”
I felt a rush of relief. They’d noticed. “That’s exactly it, Mrs. Longfield. There’s something in the town water. It’s affecting people’s minds.”
Ray Longfield’s bushy eyebrows drew together. “Mind control? That what you’re selling?”
“Seen it myself,” Dutch said flatly. “Beth Morris tried to kill this one’s kid with scissors yesterday. Sheriff’s walking around like someone else is pulling his strings.”
“And Carol Ruper shot at me yesterday,” I added.
The old couple exchanged glances loaded with decades of silent communication.
“Always knew that new cell tower wasn’t just for better reception,” Ray muttered. “Military experiment, is it?”
“Something like that,” I replied. “There are professionals handling it, but we need to get everyone unaffected to safety. Tonight.”
Mrs. Longfield disappeared inside without a word. Three minutes later, she returned with a small suitcase and her husband’s heart medication.
“Figured this day would come eventually,” she said, matter-of-fact. “World’s too strange not to fall apart sometime.”
That resilience—the sturdy practicality of people who’d weathered every kind of hardship—nearly brought tears to my eyes. Twenty minutes later, the Longfields were tucked into the back of Dutch’s truck, and we were bumping down the road toward the Craneys’ place.
Milt Craney met us outside his small house, eyes darting frantically as he ushered us in. His wife Joelle, thin as a rail with ash-blonde hair braided down her back, quietly made coffee while Milt paced their kitchen.
“I told you!” he crowed at Dutch. “Been telling you for months something was happening in The Breaklands! Nobody believed me!”
“Believe you now,” Dutch replied grimly.
Joelle set steaming mugs before us. “He thought it was aliens,” she said with a long-suffering smile. “Or government implants. Turns out it was just the water.”
“And the cell tower,” Milt insisted, eyes wild but lucid. “They’re broadcasting something. Makes people go blank.”
“You’re right,” I told him, watching his chest puff with vindication. “And we need to get you both somewhere safe while it’s dealt with.”
Joelle was already packing, efficient movements born from a lifetime of preparing for Milt’s next conspiracy panic. “Where are we going?”
“Rally point at Lone Quill,” Dutch answered. “We’ve got a medical station set up. Military team’s handling the rest.”
Milt grinned, revealing stained teeth. “Military, huh? Black ops?”
Dutch sighed. “Something like that.”
