He was doing it. Michael strained, tipping the barrel further. A little mor?—
“Enough!” a voice yelled. But it was a child’s scream that made Michael take notice.
“You don’t want the little guy to get hurt, do you?” Booker Wilson stepped into the puddle of light, holding a gun to Eddie Carter’s head. Stephanie stood behind them, gagged and bound, screaming muffled words.
Michael froze. “Let him go.”
Booker laughed. “Nah. He’s come in pretty handy. It’s amazing what you can get people to do when you have some leverage. Now, let go of the gun.”
Headlights cut through the dark. More vehicles arrived, kicking up dust from the dirt road. They must be in the hills, but there were no trees around, only wide, dark space. No fresh mountain air, but the stench of refuse. A rusty backhoe lay beyond the pole light. They must be at the landfill outside of Renegade. More guards with M16s surrounded them. More of Martha’s personal army.
This wasn’t looking good.
“Let it go, Martinelli.” Booker snaked his thick palm around Eddie’s neck.
Michael released his hold on the gun. The guard pitched forward before catching himself. Too bad he hadn’t fallen on his face completely. But there were bigger problems now.
Martha herself stepped out of an SUV. “You got the party started without me, I see.”
Michael growled. “I’m surprised you’re even here when you have filth like Wilson to do your dirty work.”
“What can I say? I thought I’d give you one more chance”—she sauntered over to Eddie and brushed his hair off his forehead—“and a little more motivation to do the right thing here.”
The right thing? Nothing about this was right. Michael could feel the press of darkness on his soul. How were they ever going to fight this kind of evil? The kind that manipulated, infected, and spread like a disease. The kind that had grown to mountainous proportions and seemed to have every advantage. How was he supposed to fight this?
Yeah, there’s a lot of brokenness in this fallen world. But we can also look for the things that are good. The evidence of God at work. Because He is always at work, no matter how dark it seems.
His father’s words stilled the despair trying to take over.
Okay, Lord, where are You in this? Where are You at work? Because this is pretty dark. And there’s not much I can do to make this right. I finally find the people responsible for my mom’s death, and it’s so much worse than I imagined.
All the people he loved flashed through his mind. The people he fought so hard to defend. He looked at Eddie, in the hands of a monster.
If God was at work here, Michael needed help to see it.
“You might as well give in now, Michael. It doesn’t have to get ugly. And no one else needs to know. We’ll protect you,” Martha’s voice purred.
“Your idea of protection feels a lot like extortion. And it didn’t work out so well for Donner.”
She lost the alluring smile. “Fine. Either way, look around. You’re outnumbered. There’s no one here to help. There’s only one choice here.”
Help.
The words of his mother’s favorite psalm whispered through the night.
I will lift up my eyes to the mountains;
From where shall my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
Who made heaven and earth.
A quiet assurance flickered and caught.
God had made these very mountains. Surely He could vanquish this foe.
But would He?
