this understanding that calms her. It will play out as it must.
Curtis says, “You’ll need to get close. You may only get one shot.”
She nods. They wait loaded and ready.
Then, quietly, to no one, “Nothing in my life has prepared me for this.”
“You can’t prepare for this.”
She cannot wait too much longer. Each passing second the drive to confirm her family is still alive pumps more adrenaline into her body. One more minute.
She asks him, “What happened to your legs?” Odd, she thinks, this would have been a question she was too polite to ask before this night. Tonight there are no social rules.
“Firefighter.”
“Oh. Something collapsed on you?”
“I was putting out a blaze in the hood and some gang kid used me for target practice.” She turns her eyes to him and sees Curtis for the first time as a person sitting on the porch. The crusty delivery of his words does not veil the betrayal. He is looking away into the distant dark nothingness. She reaches out and touches his shoulder. It is a fleeting gesture. It is what she has always done unconsciously. Sometimes it is a gentle brush of her hand on another’s arm as she engages in conversation; sometimes it is a little squeeze as she laughs, or a tiny push away meant to pull nearer. She penetrates the personal glass shell and just that simple contact draws people to her over the natural bridge it forms. He does not look back at her, but he feels being touched for the first time in years.
She turns her eyes out into the same darkness that holds his gaze as says quietly to herself, “The world is not what I thought it was.”
“Me, either.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Eight years.”
“It seems it would be harder to live here without assistance than back in the world.”
“The world’s the problem.”
“Yeah.”
A crack of lightning strikes her to attention. She aims at a tree in front.
She counts, “One banana, two banana, three banana, four bana…”
She pulls the trigger simultaneously with the thunderclap. The timing is perfect. The gun jerks back and fires. Yes! It fires. She is thrilled and ready to bolt toward the lodge. Curtis stops her.
“Aim for the chest and keep firing until he goes down. Don’t stop firing until he’s down.”
“Yes.”
“If you can, find a way to use the gun as a last resort. Surprise is your only advantage right now.” Even though her chin shakes, she is focused like a laser on what he is saying. “If you come up against one of them in close contact, go for the eyes. Anything else will be useless for you.”
She repeats, “Eyes.”
“Don’t hesitate. Don’t hold back. Take this.” He hands her a knife. She puts it in her belt. “Check the storage shed. Hobbs had a lot of shit in there. Use your brain. It’s your best asset.”
“Yes.” She leaps off the porch and vanishes into the woods. He will wait for the gunfire and then he’ll know it’s over. He, too, understands the odds. He has stayed reclusive in these woods so his mind and emotions would remain as insensate as his legs. He has been at peace here, but he has not been alive. Having Alison blast into his consciousness has clarified that. She is what alive looks like. Seeing her run heedlessly into the woods is really no different from when he would run into a burning building. And while it has been his life’s goal not to care again, he cannot deny his need to see her survive, to succeed. He wants something today. He hasn’t wanted anything in such a long time. It feels peculiar. He wants her to win and he knows precisely how unlikely that is. If there’s any justice in the universe this young mom running around bloody and half-mad trying to save her family should win, but justice is accidental. Most of the women he’s ever known would have crawled crying into a hole and waited it out - hell, most men would have, too. Maybe that’s exactly what he has done.
In the lodge, Ben processes the problem with the carburetor float. Can he fix it? Should he try to replace it? He just loves puzzles. He decides to check the tool bench outside on the porch. He rises from where he’s been working on the floor. Every time one of the Burne brothers moves the hostages tense. Ben feels their fear. He’s embarrassed for them; what a pathetic little group