The green silhouette of a man with a gun pointed our way is backlit by the half moon.
“Night goggles off, mates.” Lucky turns on a bright LED flashlight and the idiot Po stands back up to catch the action.
Under me, Blake struggles and I thank God she’s alive. “Do not fucking move until I say so.”
“Put the gun down, mate. It’s over.” Lucky shines the light in Young’s squinting eyes. The cult leader leans over slowly and puts it by his feet.
“Kick it to me.”
After Young does as asked, I help Blakely to her feet. “Are you hurt?”
“Just where you landed on me. Why did-”
“Shush. Come on and for God’s sake, stay behind me and do as I say.” She and Po follow me to where Lucky motions Young back into the building. The bright flashlight beam catches a countertop, long-rotted store shelves, and stops to rest on a big white freezer with a padlock.
Blakely hisses from behind me. “That’s it. That’s the one.”
“Open it.” Lucky pushes Young forward toward the monstrosity while I turn to Blakely’s wide-eyed stare. “You might not want to see this.”
“I’m okay.” She juts out her chin, lower lip quivering as Young puts a key in the padlock. When he lifts the cover and steps back, Po gets his shot. Then, he runs out the front door, gagging and retching.
I grit my back teeth as Blake inches forward, arms raised, her phone recording all.
I’m a seasoned vet and yet nothing in my life prepared me for this. The freezer is full of limbs, heads, frozen skin, and hair. I hate to think how he must’ve hacked up the bodies to get them all to fit.
Blake runs outside, and seconds later, sounds of her puking joins with the cameraman.
Under the circumstances the serial killer seems too smug. “Aren’t you going to call nine-one-one?”
“There’s no point, no bars out here.” Shaking my head with disgust, I leave Lucky and Suds covering Young.
Then, I pull my t-shirt over my head, walk outside the building, and squat next to Blake. I pull her hair out of her mouth, and wipe her face with the well-worn cotton.
“You okay?”
She spits one more time and nods. “Y-You think Faith is in there?”
“We’ll know more when forensics gets at it but I would guess it’s a safe assumption.”
Young snorts and speaks loudly enough for us to hear. “Good luck with that.”
“What’s he talking about?” Back inside, I question Suds, figuring as a local, he’d know.
He shrugs. “The tribe has some issues with state and local officials. But no worries, I already got it covered.”
A helicopter flap-flaps in the distance and soon our small building is doused in bright light from overhead. A Black Hawk lands and about a half dozen, bent-over FBI agents run under the blades. A couple SUVs with tribal-police logos arrive, shortly thereafter.
David Young won’t be getting away with any more murders.
