eight Marines and an armored car. They're on exercises, too. Their COs know where they are, but they don't know exactly why, and they're not asking."
"You sealed the road?" Webster asked.
Johnson nodded.
"We're all on our own up here," he said.
Chapter Thirty-Four
REACHER AND HOLLY sat alone in the forest, backs to two adjacent pines, staring at the mound above Jackson 's grave. They sat like that until the afternoon light faded and died. They didn't speak. The forest grew cold. The time for the decision arrived.
"We're going back," Holly said.
It was a statement, not a question. A lot of resignation in her voice. He made no reply. He was breathing low, staring into space, lost in thought. Reliving in his mind her taste and smell. Her hair and her eyes. Her lips. The feel of her, strong and lithe and urgent underneath him.
"Nightfall," she said.
"Not just yet," he said.
"We have to," she said. "They'll send the dogs after us."
He didn't speak again. Just sat there, eyes locked into the distance.
"There's nowhere else to go," she said.
He nodded slowly and stood up. Stretched and caught his breath as his tired muscles cramped. Helped Holly up and took his jacket down off the tree and shrugged it on. Left the crowbar lying in the dirt next to the shovel.
"We leave tonight," he said. "Shit's going to hit the fan tomorrow. Independence Day."
"Sure, but how?" she asked.
"I don't know yet," he said.
"Don't take risks on my account," she said.
"You'd be worth it," he said.
"Because of who I am?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Because of who you are," he said. "Not because of who your father is. Or your damn godfather. And no, I didn't vote for him."
She stretched up and kissed him on the mouth.
"Take care, Reacher," she said.
"Just be ready," he said. "Maybe midnight."
She nodded. They walked the hundred yards south to the rocky outcrop. Turned and walked the hundred yards east to the clearing. Came out of the woods straight into a semicircle of five guards waiting for them. Four rifles. Center man was Joseph Ray. He was in charge of the detail, with a Glock 17 in his hand.
"She goes back to her room," Ray said. "You go in the punishment hut."
The guards formed up. Two of them stepped either side of Holly. Her eyes were blazing and they didn't try to take her elbows. Just walked slowly beside her. She turned and glanced back at Reacher.
"See you later, Holly," Reacher called.
"Don't you bet on that, Ms. Johnson," Joseph Ray said, and laughed.
He escorted Reacher to the door of the punishment hut. Took out a key and unlocked the door. Swung it open. Pushed Reacher through, gun out and ready. Then he pulled the door closed again and relocked it.
The punishment hut was the same size and shape as Borken's command hut. But it was completely empty. Bare walls, no windows, lights meshed with heavy wire. On the floor near one end was a perfect square of yellow paint, maybe twelve inches by twelve. Apart from that, the hut was featureless.
"You stand on that square," Ray said.
Reacher nodded. He was familiar with that procedure. Being forced to stand at attention, hour after hour, never moving, was an effective punishment. He had heard about it, time to time. Once, he'd seen the results. After the first few hours, the pain starts. The back goes, then the agony spreads upward from the shins. By the second or third day, the ankles swell and burst and the thighbones strike upward and the neck collapses.
"So stand on it," Ray said.
Reacher stepped to the corner of the hut and bent to the floor. Made a big show of brushing the dust away with his hand. Turned and lowered himself gently so he was sitting comfortably in the angle of the walls. Stretched his legs out and folded his hands behind his head. Crossed his ankles and smiled.
"You got to stand on the square," Ray said.
Reacher looked at him. He had said: believe me, I know tanks. So he had been a soldier. A grunt, in a motorized unit. Probably a loader, maybe a driver.
"Stand up," Ray said.
Give a grunt a task, and what's the thing he's most afraid of? Getting chewed out by an officer for failing to do it, that's what.
"Stand up, damn it," Ray said.
So either he doesn't fail, or if he does, he conceals it. No grunt in the history of the world has ever just gone to his officer and said: I couldn't do