As soon as the main gates open, they make their move.
To get in place in time, we had to crowd into every vehicle we had available and drive down to a crossing farther down the river. Then come from the west, using the woods for cover so we could lie in wait close enough to do this.
From the guardhouse, I watch as pickups and Jeeps and ATVs surge down the road and into the walls of the compound.
When one of the guards starts picking himself up, I zap him again.
As soon as our entire force has gotten through, I close the gate again.
So no one else can get in and take us by surprise.
And no one can get out.
After that, one of Cade’s guys comes into the guardhouse to take my place. He has a gun, so he’s a better choice for manning the gate. I hurry into the main courtyard and find Pete, Rick, and Trevor waiting for me.
“The jail cell is around back,” Trevor says. He has a cousin who was part of the militia for a few months until he got disillusioned and left. But his knowledge of the inside of the compound has come in quite handy.
The four of us start walking and then speed up into a jog. There’s a lot of activity around us. Rick and Trevor shoot a couple of men who make a move toward us. But there’s really not that many fighters left inside the walls.
Most of them were lured out.
The jail is a small freestanding building with barred windows and a barred door. The keys are hanging right there on the wall, so I grab them and unlock the door.
Cade is beat up. Half his face is darkening with bruises, and blood is dried on his skin and staining his clothes. But he must have heard the activity because he’s standing up and trying to see out of one of the windows.
As soon as he sees me step in, he stumbles over and kind of collapses into my arms.
“No time for kissy-face,” Rick says, motioning us back out of the cell with his shotgun.
“I wasn’t kissing him,” I tell him. “He can barely stand up.”
“I’m fine. Some cracked ribs and a fuckload of bruises. What the hell are you guys thinking? You didn’t storm this place on your own, did you?”
“No. We got your crew and everyone else on board for it.” As I talk, I’m helping Cade walk with an arm around his waist. “I told you everyone would step up if they had a chance to get rid of the militia.”
Cade looks awed and still confused and in a lot of pain, but he manages better than I was expecting. We join the others in the courtyard and discover that they’ve already killed or subdued all the remaining guards and any others who tried to fight back.
One of Cade’s crew comes over, visibly relieved to see him alive and on his feet. Watching them talk through the plan in quick, efficient questions and answers, I realize this man must be one of the buddies Cade mentioned. The ones that came from his hometown with him.
I like that he has real friends.
Maybe one day I’ll have the chance to get to know them.
I don’t have time to dwell on that thought because someone calls out from a perch on the wall, saying the militia army are on their way back.
This was inevitable, of course.
It wouldn’t take them long to realize this whole thing was a ruse.
They’re moving fast, rushing back to protect their compound, and they fill the bridge over the river tightly in their eagerness to reach us, to make us pay for this outrage.
But Cade’s father and a few other guys have been busy this whole time, strategically setting explosives.
And when as many of the militiamen are on the bridge as can fit, it’s time.
They blow the bridge.
It’s a huge series of explosions, and the foundations of the bridge crumble one by one. It’s like a movie. Or a video game. It hardly seems real.
