27
Micahand I get up at dawn the next morning, but Logan and half his people are already up.
We grab a quick breakfast and join some of the others in the council room to talk through how to get ready for when the alert comes that the Holy Rollers are approaching.
Deck and Lilah are there. So is Burgundy and an older woman I met yesterday named Melissa and a laid-back, greasy guy named Carl. As we talk, a few others come and go at the big table, but my mind is on strategy, so I don’t take much note of their names or appearances.
I’m not looking to join up here. I just want to stop Jesse and the Holy Rollers so I can go home.
Logan has a detailed map of the region—I’m pretty sure he drew it himself—and I give him the location of my camp as accurately as I can manage. There are only acouple of routes through the Wild they can approach it from, and I know Jesse.
He’ll take the route we used to get there in the first place. It’s probably the only one he remembers.
Logan doesn’t question my judgment. That’s one good thing about the man. He treats me and all the other women exactly the way he treats the men. He has clearly come to the conclusion that I’m a reasonable person, and not even a stray glance calls that into question. He measures others by their intelligence, competence, and loyalty rather than by their identity.
That doesn’t mean I want to work for him though.
“It would help to know if they’re driving or walking,” Lilah says. “It’s hard to make good plans without knowing. You lived with them for months.” She’s turned toward Burgundy. “What do you think they’ll do?”
“It will depend on how many of them go. Men went in pairs on various mission trips to get their hooks into new people, and they always either walked or rode bicycles. But sometimes they rallied around some sort of crusade and would get a big group together. They always took one of their vehicles for those.” Burgundy looks different in her jeans, T-shirt, and ponytail than she did in the Holy Compound. Still pretty but not as gentle and old-fashioned.
This is who she really is. Not the girl I met in that place.
I wonder how she feels—being back home after so long.
I wonder if she’ll fall apart a little after this crisis is over.
Micah has been watching me watch his sister. He gives me a questioning look. I smile and shake my head in a silent signal that I wasn’t thinking anything important.
“What happened the last time a man decided to get his woman back?” Logan asks, glancing up from the map he’s been working on, drawing a tiny camper and labeling my campsite.
Burgundy thinks through the question before she answers it. “The last time it was a guy no one much liked or respected, so he went by himself. But a few months ago a couple of guys tried to take a woman and she fought back and killed one of them. A whole group went after her—about twenty of them in two trucks. They came back with that woman and three others and declared it a great victory, bragging about how many people they killed on the mission.” Burgundy’s voice and expression are sober as she looks from Logan to me. “Kat and I got out of their compound when they believed no one could and killed a guard in the process. I think they’re on their way here, and there won’t be just a few of them.”
Logan’s eyes have been focused on Burgundy as she speaks, but now he turns his gaze to me as well. “All right. We’ll plan for the worst case and call ourselves lucky if there’s only a few. Two vehicles. Twenty men. Taking thisroute.” He uses his finger to trace the route I indicated. “Make a plan.”
An hourlater we’re still talking. We have the broad strokes of a plan, but we’re still working out the details.
I’m getting nervous. Restless. I keep imagining Jesse and his group of hateful, violent hypocrites on their way right now.
Maybe Logan won’t get an alert.
Maybe they’ll arrive before we’re ready.
Maybe they’re almost here even now.
I reach down to stroke Molly’s head, taking comfort in the dog’s warm presence at my feet. She obviously has no idea what we’re doing in this place with these strangers and occasionally gets up to snuffle at my hand or Micah’s to reassure herself that her people are here and okay. She wants to go home.
I know the feeling.
“We need to disable their trucks before they reach the blockade,” Micah says, looking down at the diagram of positions and movements Logan has been drawing as we speak. “Otherwise they’ll ram us, intentionally or not, and we’ll damage our own vehicles. And who knows how many of us’ll get hurt?”
“Someone can shoot the drivers,” Lilah suggests. “Before they reach the blockade.”
“That could work, but it won’t be easy. The trees around this part of the road are so thick there aren’t any good positions for long-range shooting. And trying to aim accurately at the driver of a moving vehicle from the side of the road?” I shrug and shake my head.
“Not to mention the shooter would be a sitting duck,” Micah says.
Deck makes a series of hand signs, and Lilah interprets them. “We should shoot the tires, not the drivers. They’ll be easier to hit.”
