Redemption Road(140)

“Adrian—”

“Hang on, now.” The warden cut her off. “This is still my show, so let’s try this again.” He drew his pistol and put the barrel against Elizabeth’s knee. “Where did you hide it?”

“I’ll take you to it.”

“I know you will.”

“The five of us in a car,” Adrian said. “We drive east on back roads. No cops. No witnesses. Two hours later, you’re rich.”

“My leverage is here.”

“It’s the smart move. Six million dollars.”

“Bring me the boy.”

“No!” Elizabeth fought the cuffs. “You son of a bitch! You bastard!” She kicked the warden once.

He struck her on the head, knocking her bloody. “The boy. Now.”

Gideon tried to fight, but the guard was too strong. He dragged the boy down the steps and across the rotted carpet. He left him at the warden’s feet, screaming as a foot pushed on his throat and the barrel of a gun dug into the place he’d been shot. “You see how this works?” The warden leaned on the gun and twisted. “No one around. Lots of time.”

“Stop it,” Adrian said.

“Where’s Eli’s gold? Come on, Adrian.” The barrel twisted again. An edge of smile carved the warden’s face. “You remember how we do this.”

Adrian tore his eyes from the boy. Three guards. Three guns.

“Girl’s next,” the warden said. “Then, Liz.”

He pushed harder, and Gideon screamed again, his voice as high and clear as that of any choirboy who’d ever sung in the ancient church.

*

Beckett was in all kinds of hurt, but alert enough to know how badly he’d messed up. The warden. Liz. The reverend …

He saw the dead man, the open eyes.

He found Liz, then blinked and thought of Carol.

My beautiful lady …

They were his life, the both of them, his partner and his wife. He loved them each, but the choice had never been in doubt.

His wife.

It would always be his wife.

But this …

Death and children and the way Liz looked at him. He’d never had a choice, but goddamn it was bad. The kids. The hole in his gut. He was dying; had to be. There were words he couldn’t understand, a musty smell and movement like a spill of color. He was fading, nearly gone.

But there was also the pain.

God …

He blinked, and it chewed through him, dragged him in and out, and broke him like a bottle on a rock. Right now he was lucid, if only just. The boy was screaming; the guards were focused on Adrian.

That left Channing.

Beckett tried to speak, but couldn’t; tried to move, but his legs didn’t work. One arm was trapped beneath him, but the other was clear. He could barely move it—just his fingers—but he got fabric in his grip and worked the jacket up, an inch, then five. When the gun at his back was exposed, he tried to say her name, but came up empty. It hurt. Every bit of it hurt like hell. But this was his fault, so he asked God to take pity on a stupid, f*cked-up, dying man. He prayed for strength, then drew air into his lungs and said her name again. It came out a croak, the barest whisper. But she heard it and saw the gun.

The girl, who was bending above him.

Channing, who could shoot like a dream.

*

Olivet saw it first, a slip of girl with a gun too large for such tiny hands. He wasn’t worried. She could barely stand, and thirty feet of carpet stretched between them. His instinct was to hold out an open hand and say, Careful, little girl. Instead, he said, “Warden.”

The warden looked up from the bright-eyed, bled-out little boy. The girl staggered right, as if the gun were pulling her down. Her eyes were barely open. She was basically falling.

“Somebody shoot that little bitch,” the warden said, and Olivet’s first thought was Damn. His own daughter was not much smaller and this one was kind of cute, trying to be brave and all. He’d rather just take the gun and sit her back down.

But nobody crossed the warden.

He took his aim off Adrian, but Jacks was faster, gun dropping low, then swinging up and going level. Olivet saw the little girl go still when the gun started coming her way. For a microsecond she seemed to slump; but it was not a slump. She dropped into a perfect stance and snapped off three shots as crisp and clean as anything Olivet had ever seen. Jacks’s head sprayed blood, as did Woods’s and the warden’s. Two seconds. Three shots. Olivet’s gun was on her, but he hesitated. She was fast and sure, and so like his own little girl. His last thought was to be impressed with whatever daddy taught her to shoot like that, then bright light appeared at the end of her barrel, and the world, entire, went dark.

*

When it was done, Adrian stood in disbelief. The warden’s head had been a bare foot above Gideon’s, and one of the guards had stood directly behind Adrian, so close that Adrian felt the bullet split air as it passed his ear. Now they were gone, all of them, and the church was graveyard still, the girl quietly crying. Adrian’s first instinct was to check the bodies, then see to Liz and the boy. Yet, he did none of those things, choosing instead to pick his way through the bodies until the girl appeared, small, beneath him. He took the gun from her fingers and placed it on the altar.

“I killed them,” she said.