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“Fine. I’m on my way.”
I hang up and walk over to Donny and Leonard. “We have to go if we’re going to get back before sunset.”
“Are they calling anyone in?” Donny asks as he turns to face me.
My eyes flit around. “They won’t ask for help if they’re intent on sending us away. This investigation is about to turn into a shit-storm. Johnson and Cannon are too busy hiding their crimes of the past to protect their future. Let’s go.”
Leonard doesn’t speak, but I know what he’s thinking. I just had to watch my girlfriend getting raped. It’s all I can do not to kill every-fucking-body wearing a deputy badge right now. Not to mention the sheriff.
I’ve never once thought of killing someone as a desire. I’ve never blurred that line.
That’s not the case at the moment.
I hope she fucking kills every last person with a badge who didn’t come to save her when she was left to bleed out.
Chapter 11
They say miracles are past.
—William Shakespeare
LANA
Twenty minutes after the broadcast, people were fleeing town. Just as predicted, Logan and his team are already gone. The video will find them soon—the same video we just shared with the entire fucked up town.
Our original plan was to have Jake handle that little fun part, but it’d be easier to have someone inside the FBI to do it.
“At least they’re fleeing,” Jake says as we watch from the distance, our eyes on the phone screen that has the sheriff all but imploding.
“What the hell are you doing?” Sheriff Cannon barks, slapping his hand on the driver’s side window of a car.
The man cracks the window an inch. “I’m getting my family out of this damn town before you drag us all to hell for what you’ve done.”
My lips twitch. They’re abandoning their captain.
“Looks like they’re more scared of us than the sheriff now,” Jake gloats. “Finally standing up to him.”
“By comparison, the sheriff now seems insignificant to a monster who sees all, hears all, and knows all.”
“It’s just one fucking person! Stay and defend this town!” the sheriff snaps to the guy.
We knew they’d abandon him. They’ve heard it all, but until today, they’ve never seen it.
Jake nudges me with his elbow, and I look at his phone’s screen which is diagonal from the sheriff’s location. On the back of the old gym’s wall, a message appears as though Jake timed this all too perfectly.
One person cannot change the world. But one person can strike terror into multitudes.
—Robert Evans
The man in the car sees the message, probably thinking something supernatural is going on, giving the timeliness of the message’s appearance. He gasses the car, driving away from the sheriff, and almost sideswiping another vehicle in the process.
“Find that fucker now!” the sheriff barks, giving up his endeavor of stopping the rats who are fleeing the sinking ship.
“Heat signatures have a flurry of motion right now, but we still need to up the game if we’re going to get everyone out,” Jake says as more and more
messages start to appear throughout the town.
With everyone distracted with Logan’s team and our little special broadcast, we ran around town, hurriedly painting the messages with the faster paint. Jake painted some last night with the slower paint.
