Page 91 of North

No, no⁠—

Alan pulled her back, away from the firepit, to behind the picnic table, then pushed her to the ground. She sat, watching the house.

Please, North, don’t—don’t⁠—

And yet, a minute later, he appeared. Walking out of the back of the house, hands up, holding the canister.

She felt like she might retch, right there into the grass.

Selah, what have you done?

I trust You, God.

North walked halfway out into the lawn.

“Get on your knees,” Alan said.

Oh, no, no⁠—

And the words just bubbled out of her, broken through her thickening throat. “Please don’t shoot him, James.” Yes, she knew that wasn’t his name, but—“For all we went through together. Because for a little while, we were friends. And deep down, I know you’re not that man.”

“You don’t know me, Selah. Not really.”

Not at all, actually, but, “I know James. Or at least enough of him to know there is a good man inside you. I met him. He saved a man and bought a little girl a teddy bear and…and told me that maybe, well, that there was more to the story about North. But there’s more to the story about you, isn’t there? You’re not just…this evil man trying to destroy the world.”

He had pointed the gun at North. “Put the canister on the ground. Then get on your knees, hands behind your head.”

North complied, on his knees, hands clasped behind his head.

Alan hauled Selah up by her hair and dragged her over, closer to North. Ten feet away.

And suddenly, all she could think was Shoot him. Someone, anyone. The rest of the guys had to be watching. Ford—he was a SEAL. And Reuben, a rancher, and RJ—she worked for the CIA. Certainly…

“Selah, you get that canister for me. And don’t think of doing something crazy, or I shoot him.” Alan released her hair.

She fell forward, then crawled over to the canister. Met North’s gaze.

He smiled at her. No fear, no anger, just…“It’s okay, Selah.”

It wasn’t okay. None of it. Evil didn’t get to win today.

And she realized exactly what North had meant when he said that for the sake of peace, he went to war.

Shoot. Him.

But no barrage of bullets shot from the house, so she picked up the canister.

“Give it to him,” North said softly.

But—She closed her eyes. I’m trusting You, God.

So she turned and tossed the canister at Alan. Then to North: “Run!”

But he’d already moved, already grabbed her, tackling her to the ground.

Shots fired, hitting the grass around her, North’s body over hers, holding her. “Head down, honey. Just keep your head down.”

More shots barked into the night, so clearly they hadn’t gotten Martin.