to be actively involved; he’d get them set up the way he’d promised Sela, then let them handle it.
Sure.
He growled a bit under his breath as he gave up that fiction; come morning, he’d be stepping into quicksand and he’d likely never pull himself out. The idea of helping the community with their self-defense was tantalizing. As disgusted and emotionally exhausted as he’d become with political decisions that had cost the lives of his friends, his men, at his core he was military and part of him felt as if he was going home. This wasn’t just in his wheelhouse, it was his wheelhouse. Even when he’d devoted himself to being as solitary as possible, he’d used military applications for self-defense.
Not only that, he had to accept that Sela wasn’t solitary. She came with people she cared about, not just her relatives but her neighbors, her community. He couldn’t isolate her up here with him, despite his instincts to do just that. For as long as this reluctant fascination with her held, she would link him to those people. Exactly how long that would be, who knew—
The sharp, light crack of rifle fire echoed across the valley.
Years of training kicked in and he was moving before he had consciously identified the sound as that of a .22 rifle. The mountains could mess with sound and a lot of people around here had .22s, but his instinct told him it was coming from in front and to the right, which would roughly be where Sela’s store was.
Alarmed, the dog stood up and barked when Ben erupted into the house. He grabbed his hunting rifle from the rack, a box of cartridges, the Mossberg in its scabbard, and his truck keys. He was out the door again seven seconds after he entered, leaped off the porch, and was in the truck at ten seconds, accelerating down the rough driveway in twelve seconds.
In the three seconds between porch and truck he heard more gunfire, the distinctive sound of more .22 shots, and the deeper bellow of higher caliber rifles.
“Fuck!” he ground out.
This was his fault. He should have been thinking strategically, from the second he agreed to get involved, instead of letting himself stay secure behind his emotional walls for one more night, as if that meant anything. He’d told Sela himself that the gasoline was beyond valuable, and he knew she’d spread the word for people to come first thing in the morning to begin getting it. Logic dictated, then, that if anyone wanted to get all the gas for themselves, they had to do it tonight before all the valley inhabitants showed up in the morning for a share.
He’d bet his ass that the .22 fire was coming from Sela’s rifle, which meant she’d been way ahead of him in planning, and was guarding the gasoline supply.
Dear God, let her not be by herself.
The small caravan slowly rolled forward. If she could see them, then obviously whoever was in the vehicles could see her SUV parked there. They might or might not be able to also tell that the store door was open. Sela held her breath as a dark-colored pickup truck slowly crunched its way over the gravel at the edge of the parking lot, facing toward the store. She couldn’t tell how many people were in the truck, but she thought she saw someone in the bed. The truck stopped, and a dark figure hopped out of the truck bed. All the vehicles came to a stop; the drivers exited and reached into truck beds and back seats for gas cans. They were all men, going by their build, but with their winter coats and ball caps, or hoods pulled up, she couldn’t recognize anyone.
She might have missed someone but she counted six men—at least. There could be more.
She heard muffled voices. They seemed to be looking at her SUV. Beside her, Olivia was sucking in quick, shallow breaths. Sela reached out and gave her a comforting touch on her arm. With luck, the group would decide that since she had blocked access to the tanks, they might as well leave . . . unless they thought they could move her Honda.
Three of the men started toward the SUV.
Dear God, was she doing the right thing? She didn’t know. But decision was better than indecision, and Sela made her decision. She raised the rifle, aimed high so she wouldn’t accidentally shoot someone, and fired over their heads.