Cross
ALEX CROSS LEAVES THE nurses’ campsite, and twenty minutes later, their fire is just a shimmering dot in the distance. He’s half a mile away, heading up the hill that separates the preserve from whatever lies beyond.
He keeps his light trained on the ground, hoping against hope that maybe Damon came this way too, looking for his bike. Or maybe just trying to avoid running into the rednecks again.
But if there are any clues here, they’re hidden in the dark.
After about ten more minutes of climbing, Alex reaches the crest of the hill. It flattens out for about fifty yards before descending into the valley on the other side. Standing at the lip of the drop-off, he can see the glow of towns in the distance and the bright patterns of roads miles away.
But directly below, there’s only one light. It beams from a whiteclapboard farmhouse, illuminating a bare expanse of farmyard and scrubby grass.
Alex realizes that he’s already walked much farther tonight than he anticipated, and he’s feeling it. His lungs burn. His legs ache.
And it’s probably all for nothing.
He slips and stumbles down the wooded slope toward the house. When he’s about twenty yards away, his right foot slides into a wooden post.
He shines his light back and forth.
The beam catches closely stacked rows of barbed wire rising about twelve feet high. A few yards down, he spots the first of a series of hand-painted signs:NO TRESPASSING.OWNER IS ARMED.
Alex looks closer. Running through the barbed wire are narrow-gauge wires strung through ceramic guides on each post.
Damn! The fence isn’t just barbed. It’s electrified.
Alex crouches down beside the post. He can see the main house, a small barn, and two outbuildings that look like storage sheds. He moves around the perimeter of the fence looking for an opening, but the only gate he sees is directly in the beam of the house light. And it’s secured with heavy chains.
To one side of the gate, there’s a wooden platform littered with pierced cans and shattered bottles. The edge of the platform is pocked by bullet holes.
The shooting range.
Alex keeps going, staying low, until he’s facing the gate and target platform. He shines his light on the trees around him. Some of the trunks are splintered. Smaller trees have been sheared off about five feet from the ground. Serious ammo. Large caliber.
Alex looks toward the house. The door appears to be solid metal, and the windows are barred. As the wind shifts, he picks up a distinct barnyard odor. He squints along the side of the barn and sees a large fenced-in pen. From the smells and the sounds, Alex deduces what it is: a pigsty.
One thing is for sure,Alex thinks,if Damon saw this place, he’d have given it a wide berth.Because Nurse Nell was right. Flapping from a tall metal pole in the center of the compound is a massive Confederate flag. It’s a chilling sight.
Alex takes a step back. Something on the ground catches his eye.
He shines his flashlight directly down and sees a thin strand among the leaves and twigs.
A trip wire.
Alex freezes.
Another inch, and his foot would have caught it.
CHAPTER 82
Sampson
SIX A.M. MY PHONE starts ringing. I roll over in my big empty bed, pick up the phone, and check the screen. Anna Rizzo. I answer.
“Morning,” I croak. “How are you?” My voice isn’t really working yet.
“I’m good,” says Rizzo. Sounds like she’s been up for hours. “Thanks again for that barbecue last night. My kids really loved it.”
“You’re very welcome. Willow loved it too.”
