She let the thought roll around in her head. There were too many questions and not enough answers. She would come back to it later. Right now, Wallace might be bleeding or dying, or this could be another trap meant to lure them into the open.
Colt was already stepping out, his gear snug and secure. Brenna followed, pulling her vest tighter and double-checking the Glock in her grip.
They moved as a unit, quiet and steady, into the thick fringe of trees. The branches above swallowed the sunlight, casting the path in shifting shadow. Somewhere ahead stood the shed Wallace had described. Just beyond that, the rusted skeleton of the old water tower loomed.
Brenna kept her gaze sharp, scanning the trees and brush around them. She didn’t trust anything out here. Not the silence. Not the terrain. And certainly not that this wasn’t another ambush waiting to spring.
The tower came into view, rising above the trees like a ghost of the past. Rust streaked down its legs, and the old white paint peeled in long strips. One side looked buckled near the base, like a storm had shoved it hard and left it leaning just slightly.
Brenna spotted the shed just beyond the tower. Small, weathered, its roof sagging in the middle. The door hung crooked on one hinge. No sign of Wallace. No movement at all.
The shed was wide open. No trees nearby. No brush to hide behind. If someone was watching, they would have a clear shot.
Brenna gripped her Glock tighter and scanned the tree line again. Nothing. Still, every nerve in her body pulled tight.
“I’m calling him,” she said, voice low.
Colt gave a small nod, eyes locked on the shed.
She hit redial, and the phone rang. The sound carried from inside the shed, clear and loud in the silence.
But Wallace didn’t answer.
He didn’t come out.
Her chest tightened. Please, don’t let us be too late.
She ended the call and looked at the others. “The phone’s inside, but no answer. He’s either unconscious or…”
She didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t want to give it voice.
Colt gave a short hand signal.Go.Harlan moved first, keeping low, his rifle up and scanning the area. Colt followed, then Brenna. Every step across the clearing sent a fresh jolt of fear through her chest. Still no movement. Still no Wallace.
They reached the shed. Colt pressed to one side of the door, Harlan to the other. Brenna stayed back, watching the woods behind them.
Colt gave the door a firm push. It creaked open. He went in first, fast.
“Clear,” he called a second later. “Phone’s here. No Wallace.”
Brenna stepped inside and saw a few drops of blood trailed toward the back wall. There was a chair, a cut length of rope, and a needle on the ground. Not good.
“He was here,” Colt said. “Not long ago.”
“Then where is he?” Brenna whispered.
A deep metallic groan cut through the air.
They all froze.
She turned toward the tower. Another groan. A hiss. Then a low rumble.
“Move!” Harlan shouted.
The water tank exploded with a thunderous boom.
Steel tore apart. Water blasted out in a white surge, the force of it shaking the ground. The wave hit the shed like a sledgehammer, and Brenna went flying.
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