I took a deep breath, forcing myself to think clearly despite the fear clawing at my insides. “We work. We do exactly what he wants, and we don’t give him any reason to call our POs.”
“And when we collapse from dehydration?” Darius asked, his tone bitter.
“We won’t,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “It’s just one morning. Don’t overwork yourselves and we’ll take breaks.”
Joey clapped me on the shoulder. “Alright then. Let’s get to it before that bastard comes back and shoots us all.”
We divided up the tools and got to work, starting with the section of fence directly in front of us. The sun rose higher in the sky, beating down mercilessly as we dug post holes in the rocky ground. My muscles screamed in protest, my stomach growled with hunger, and my throat grew increasingly parched. But Ikept working, driven by the knowledge that my freedom hung in the balance.
By midday, we’d managed to replace about fifty yards of fence, a truly pitiful amount considering the miles that stretched ahead of us. My hands were blistered and bleeding, my shirt soaked through with sweat. We’d found a small creek about a quarter mile from where we were working to cool off in halfway through, but it just made us more thirsty.
“Anyone else hear that?” Joey said suddenly, pausing mid-swing with his post hole digger.
I stopped working, listening carefully. The distant rumble of an engine cut through the stillness of the afternoon. Pete was coming back.
“Everyone look busy,” I hissed, returning to my task with renewed vigor. The last thing I needed was Pete catching me slacking off.
The truck came into view, dust billowing behind it as it sped across the uneven terrain. Pete was driving even more erratically than before, swerving and fishtailing across the field. As he got closer, I could see he wasn’t alone. There was someone in the passenger seat.
“Who’s that with him?” Kyle asked, squinting against the sun.
I shook my head, unable to make out the figure. “No idea.”
The truck skidded to a stop about twenty yards from where we were working, and Pete stumbled out looking absolutely furious. The passenger door opened, and a uniformed officer stepped out. My blood ran cold. It was a local cop, one I’d never seen before.
“Shit,” Joey muttered beside me. “This can’t be good.”
“Connor Martin?” the officer called, looking at me.
“Yes sir?”
“I need you to put down those tools and come with us.” His voice was calm, but his hand was on the butt of his gun.
I dropped the post-hole digger immediately. My heart raced as I held my hands up, slowly walking toward the officer. I’d done this dance before and I knew what to do.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, keeping my voice even, despite the grin on Pete’s face.
“You know what you did, you little shit,” Pete hissed. “We found it in your bunk. Don’t try to play innocent.”
My stomach twisted, but I can’t say I was surprised. I knew Pete would pull something. He’d made that very clear. But I was surprised that he’d done it so quickly, especially after what had happened at the church and Evelyn’s threats. Still, there was nothing I could do about it now.
“I told you my side of the story, officer,” Pete said, turning back to the cop. “And you saw the evidence. Now get him off my property. I don’t want to see him in this town ever again.”
The officer nodded and looked my way. “Hands behind your back, son.”
I swallowed hard and turned around, placing my hands behind my back as instructed. The cold metal of the handcuffs bit into my wrists as the officer clicked them shut. The familiar sensation brought back a flood of memories I’d spent months trying to forget.
“What evidence?” I asked, my voice steadier than I felt. “I haven’t done anything.”
The officer placed a firm hand on my shoulder. “We found a handgun under your mattress during a routine inspection. Possession of a firearm violates the terms of your parole.”
“A gun?” I couldn’t hide my shock. “That’s impossible. I never?—”
“Save it for your parole officer,” the cop cut me off. “We found the gun, the damage to Pete’s gun safe, and the tools you used to break into his house.”
Break into his house? What the hell was he talking about? I glanced up at Pete to see the faintest hint of a grin on his face.
That motherfucker had set me up. He drove us out to the middle of nowhere and left us so he could frame me before calling the cops. And now, just like I knew they would, they didn’t believe a damn word I said. Pete’s reputation might be damaged in Hell Creek, but his word would always be worth more than a convict’s.
