Deadland's Harvest (Deadland Saga, #2)(52)

“Why?” Benji asked.

“Because some of those barges belong to me,” he said.

“Why?” the boy asked again.

“Listen, kid. They just do. I need what’s on them. Enough.”

Benji crossed his arms over his chest. “No.” he said sharply. “You look angry. People do bad things when they’re angry.”

Sorenson could’ve shoved the boy out of his way. Instead, he took a deep breath and his expression softened. “They hurt my daughter.”

“My mom got hurt once.”

“It’s tough out there, kid. So you see, I have no choice. I need what’s on those barges.”

Benji shook his head. “Grampa says that people always have choices.”

“Well, your gramps is wrong.”

“Nuh uh.” Benji shook his head even harder. “He’s never wrong. He’s really smart. He’s been around a really long time. He’s old. Like you.”

Sorenson smirked and one eye narrowed. “Yes, I’ve been around and seen plenty. I’ve got to say, I liked the way things used to be a whole lot better than they are now.”

“I did, too,” Benji said. “I liked school. I had a lot of friends.”

Sorenson’s lips tightened. After a moment, he held up the hand not holding a pistol. “We’re leaving.”

“What?” the man at his side asked. “But the barges—”

“We’ve done enough for one day.” Sorenson cut him off with a hard glare. “Everyone’s had enough hurt for a lifetime. We’re heading back to the Lady.”


The man who had spoken seemed pissed, while the other looked relieved.

As they backed up to the door, Benji waved. “Bye. Be careful out there.”

Sorenson gave Clutch and me one final glance before he turned to leave, like he’d just remembered we were still there.

“Game over, *,” Jase said from the doorway, his rifle leveled dead-to-rights on Sorenson.

His men jerked around. “You move, I shoot,” Frost said as he squeezed inside.

Clutch yanked up his rifle, and I went for my sidearm.

“We were just leaving,” Sorenson said slowly.

“Not now, you aren’t,” Jase replied much more quickly. “Drop your guns.”

Sorenson eyed Benji and then spun his pistol and handed it over to Jase. The other two men dropped theirs.

“Benji, are you okay?” Frost asked, cranking his head just enough to see his grandson while keeping his rifle aimed at Sorenson’s pals.

“Grampa!” Benji said. He tapped his leg. “C’mon, Diesel!”

The Great Dane’s growling dissipated and he trotted alongside the happy-go-lucky boy to the older man, both oblivious to the showdown of firepower under way. Sorenson watched as the pair bounded past him.

“Did they hurt you, son?” Frost asked, tugging Benji against him.

“I’m fine, Grampa,” he giggled. “No one hurt me.” He pointed to Sorenson. “He’s just sad because his daughter was hurt, that’s all. He wasn’t going to hurt me.”

I took a big breath and leaned into Clutch, who was breathing just as heavily. He knew as well as I did that the only reason we were still alive was because of a boy. A boy with Down Syndrome just proved that a little bit of kindness was sometimes more powerful than all the brute force and guns in the world.





SLOTH


The Fourth Deadly Sin





Chapter XVII


We held Tack’s funeral the following morning.

Griz had used his Ranger skills and somehow managed to climb onto the riverboat and cut down Tack’s body sometime during the attack without getting caught. Tack had been executed—shot in the head. That he hadn’t been beaten was little consolation to any of us.

Deb refused to leave Tack after he was brought on board. When I stopped by to offer my condolences while she was preparing his body, she seemed oblivious, completely lost in her own world. By morning, she’d regained her composure and now stood strong, her blotchy cheeks and swollen red eyes the only outward signs of her mourning.

Even Manny and his people joined all of Camp Fox on the towboat’s deck, just off the back, where the water was deepest. Frost and Wes had spent the night building a heavy casket out of wood leftover from pallets and various metal parts found on the barges so that Tack would find permanent peace at the bottom of the river.

Griz led the service. He and Tack had been best friends, and Griz had to stop several times during his speech to take a deep breath before continuing. After he recited a prayer, he asked everyone to share a story.

No one spoke. Then, after a long minute, Tyler stepped up and told everyone about Tack, the skinny new recruit on his team who wasn’t expected to make it a week. He ended by finally sharing Tack’s real name. Corporal Theodore Nugent. Yeah, the poor guy was seriously named after a rock star. No wonder he’d always gone by his nickname. We all laughed. Even Deb cracked a smile, though it was still a sad expression.

After Tyler, the stories came easily. Some were short like Frost’s straightforward proclamation, “I’d have been proud to call him my son.” Others, like Benji’s, took fifteen minutes or more. For his story, the young boy went into detail about how Tack had shown up with a foam football for his birthday. Benji went so far as to run back to the barge, with Diesel at his heels, to reclaim the purple ball so we could all see the special present.