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He gestured at the men still standing on the porch.
They hurried into the clearing. Two of them grabbed Sophia's arms and hauled her to her feet, while the third kept his gun trained on her.
"Bring her," Grimes said.
He pivoted on his heel and strode off toward the east end of camp. The men forced Sophia to follow him, while
Hazel brought up the rear.
I looked at Warren. "Do you know where they're taking her?"
He nodded, his face dark, grim, and troubled. "I have a good idea. And if I'm right, then it's the same wretched place that Fletcher and I rescued her from before. "
Warren crawled away from the edge of the ridge, got to his feet, swung his satchel over his shoulder, clutched his rifle in front of him, and moved out.
The pine trees that clung to the crest screened us from any prying eyes below as Warren led Owen and me along the top of the ridge. With everyone focused on Sophia and
her impending punishment, no one noticed us darting along the parallel path high above their heads.
Gunshots rang out through the camp, three blasts of three, for nine shots total. They must have been some sort of signal, because more men appeared in the clearing below. They left whatever they'd been doing behind, stepped out of the various buildings, and fell into step behind Grimes, Hazel, Sophia, and her guards. Every new man who appeared made my heart sink a little more, because each of them would make it that much more difficult to save Sophia from whatever terrible thing Grimes had in mind for her.
Warren, Owen, and I moved as fast as we could, but it was still slow going, running up and down the ridge, having to stop to skirt around or climb over the rocks and fallen trees that sporadically blocked the path.
Finally, after ten minutes, we had left the rocks behind and plunged back down into the forest. Warren didn't follow a set path but instead led us through one gap in the trees after another, still keeping an eye out for traps and circling around to the extreme eastern side of the camp.
We hadn't gone far when the stench of death hit me.
One moment, all I could smell was my own sweat as the July sun baked me in my long clothes and silverstone vest. The next, the stench of rotting, putrefied flesh hit me like a punch in the nose, forcing its way down my mouth and throat and choking me from the inside out.
Behind me, Owen let out a low, strangled cough, as disgusted by the horrid scent as I was. Warren stopped long e
nough to pull a blue bandanna out of his pocket, knot it around his neck, and use the cloth to cover his nose and face as best he could before moving forward again.
Three minutes later, Warren stopped, crouched down low, and gestured for Owen and me to do the same. Together, we eased up to the edge of the tree line and peered through the screen of leaves, branches, and bushes.
Another clearing lay before us, much smaller than the spot where the buildings were located and only a couple hundred feet from end to end and top to bottom. At the western end, a narrow trail curved into a sharp bend before disappearing into the trees and leading back to the main camp.
Grimes was already there, along with Sophia, Hazel, and the rest of his men. Several worn, weathered tombstones dotted the landscape, like faded brown and gray daisies that had sprouted up out of the bed of dead leaves, twigs, and grasses. But Grimes ignored the markers and strode forward until he was standing on the edge of what looked like a trench about seven feet deep and fifteen feet square. If there had been any water in it, it would have been a bona fide moat. At first, I thought that perhaps it was another trap and that there were sharpened stakes lining the bottom.
I was right, and I was wrong.
Because it was a pit. Only there weren't stakes at the bottom. There were bodies.
Chapter Sixteen
Owen, Warren, and I were on a slight rise, and our higher vantage point let me see down into the pit. There must have been close to twenty bodies, maybe more, all in various stages of decay. Hence the overwhelming stench.
The bodies must have been tossed down into the trench and left to lie where they landed, because they were all sprawled on top of one another, tangled together in an awkward pile of arms and legs. I spotted a couple of bodies wearing brown suits, probably some of Grimes's men who'd pissed him off and paid the price for it. But most of the victims seemed to be women, judging from the bits of light blue, pink, purple, and green fabric that I spied among the broken, bloody, rotting limbs.
A cloud of flies churned over the pit, and for a moment, their hungry hums were the only sounds.
Finally, Hazel stepped forward. "You know the drill. In you go," she said with gleeful malice.
Then she grabbed Sophia's injured arm and shoved her down into the pit.
Sophia landed awkwardly on her left side and let out a sharp gasp of pain. Slowly, she got to her feet. Even though she was standing on the foulest sorts of things imaginable, covered with the foulest sorts of things imaginable, flies buzzing in the air all around her, the men hooting and hollering at her, Sophia still squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and glared at Hazel with murder in her eyes.
It was one of the bravest things I'd ever witnessed.
