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And they started to move.
“WE NEED TO GO BACK, Rand!”
The leader of their homegrown militia didn’t even bother to turn around.
Thunder boomed overhead, so loud, every one of them flinched—save for Rand. The lightning that shattered the sky a few seconds later didn’t affect him, either.
Joe Holcomb was still blinking to clear his eyes when another bolt lit up the night, turning the whole sky a brilliant white.
No...not the whole sky...a large shadow with wide, wide wings swept by above the tree tops.
Terror gripped each and every one of them.
“What the fuck—
“—is that? Son of a—”
The rest of the voices were drowned out by the sound of multiple weapons being fired.
Holcomb jerked as if he’d been shot himself when Rand Blanton grabbed him by the shoulder and slammed him against the craggy rock wall at his back.
“Get those soldiers under control before I shoot them myself!” Rand’s eyes all but bulged out of his face as he bellowed the words and he wasted no time spinning back around to continue up the steep incline, trying to follow a trail that was all but invisible in the gloom.
The storm churned closer, the thunder and lightning a warning that Mother Nature wasn’t in a mood to play tonight.
Still, Joe would almost rather take a chance with the storm than keep fighting his way up the trail that climbed higher and higher up the mountain after a woman who’d been able to steal away a child without so much as stepping inside the building where Rand had been holding the kid prisoner.
Joe shot another look over his shoulder at the cloudy sky, night dark once more.
The next in line behind him was Adam Fogarty, of Fogarty’s Garage, a normally easy-going guy. But he was staring up at the sky and as Joe watched, Adam jerked his sawed-off shotgun upward, aiming at something in the sky.
Joe lunged, grabbing the shotgun before Adam could site on his target—wherever and whatever the fuck it was. Shoving the weapon down, he shouted, “That’s enough! Stand down!”
Adam was shaking.
Grabbing the man by the shoulder, Joe squeezed. “Adam!”
“It’s...did you...” Adam jerked up the weapon and tried to fire again. Joe scrambled to force it down.
The scuffle was short, ending abruptly when the younger, stronger Adam wrenched his shotgun free by putting both hands on it and swiveling his hips, inward and to the back of the long line of single-file militia troops.
Joe stumbled, his feet sliding on the edge of the narrow trail, the grasp he had on Adam’s weapon tenuous.
Adam’s gaze jerked upward as lightning struck, this time finding a target less than a hundred yards away, the scraggly shortleaf pine’s trunk giving itself up a crack that sounded like the entire mountain was dying.
But Adam didn’t look toward the tree, even as orange and yellow flames began to lick up the bark as it fell.
The skies opened up, rain thundering down on them, but that didn’t affect Adam, either. His eyes were wide and locked on something in the sky.
Slowly, he lowered his gaze to Joe.
The older, solidly-built man stared at him in terror. “Help me up, Adam! Come on, kid!”
He planted a booted foot on the slippery slope, but couldn’t find purchase.
Adam shook his head and wrenched at his weapon once more, Joe’s rain-slick hands little hindrance.
Joe pinwheeled his arms, his eyes wide as he fell, screaming.
