Page 164 of Hush
Villegas sat up beside them, grimacing. He glared at Mike. “Fuck, man, you took forever.” Villegas held his arm, trying to stop blood oozing out of his elbow, wrecked with a bullet and hanging limp and askew. Another bullet hole leaked blood from just above his knee, staining his camo pants, from when he’d leaped in front of Tom when Barnes fired. “What the fuck happened to you?”
Behind them, five ragged mountain men were standing over Barnes. Tom recognized Willy, by Barnes’s feet. Barnes shook as he lay in the meadow grasses, choking, struggling to breathe. Through the golden blades, Tom spotted blood burbling from between his lips. “Don’t shoot,” Barnes croaked. “I’m a federal agent—”
“That’swhywe’re gonna kill you, dumb ass.” Willy raised his rifle and fired, dead center into Barnes’s forehead. Barnes went limp, sagging into the dirt.
All eyes turned to Mike, Villegas, and Tom.
Fear sluiced down Tom’s spine. These men weren’t heroes. They weren’t knights riding in to save the day. Mike had brought Willy into the forest to rescue him, but who else had come along?
Mike shifted, moving himself in front of Tom. He tugged Villegas behind him as well, squatting in front of them, protecting Tom and Villegas, two wounded, bleeding men huddling in the dirt. Mike was also hurt, badly. “Willy… please. Let us go.”
“They’re fuckin’ feds,” one of the men behind Willy shouted. He spat, a messy glob of spit that misted in the air. “We should do ‘em right!”
“Shut your mouth!” Willy raised his hand, as if he’d slap the man.
Behind Mike’s back, Villegas slowly tried to draw his weapon. Tom watched him, and tried to shift to cover his movements.
“Drop it!” One of Willy’s men had his rifle up in a flash. “Throw it over here!”
Cursing, Villegas chucked his handgun. Another of Willy’s men picked it up, looked it over. Pointed it back at them. Mike held up his hands. He swayed. Blood soaked through his shirt, dripped from the hem. “We just want to get out of here.”
Willy stalked toward them, his rifle held with the casual indifference of a man used to killing, used to the power that a weapon over another man held. He crouched low, staring into Mike’s eyes. For a moment, he looked at Tom, but his eyes, formerly warm and neighborly, were dark and closed off.
“Now you listen here, boy,” Willy said, his voice a low growl. “You walk out of these woods, what guarantees do I have you won’t be back? ‘Cause this part of the world ain’t for you.”
Mike swallowed hard. “We’ll never come back.”
Behind Willy, the rest of his men were gathering around Barnes, pulling out knives. Each man spat on his corpse, hurling curses at his lifeless form.
Villegas breathed hard, and he scooted next to Tom, inching one shoulder in front of Tom’s. As if he could do anything to protect him now, like this.
Willy peered at Mike, his gaze sharp, as if he was staring into Mike’s soul. Tom rested his hand on Mike’s blood-drenched back. Mike was still trembling, swaying. What had happened to him? What had Barnes done? How was he still going? Adrenaline and pure grit? He leaned into Mike trying to help support him.
“Let us go,” Mike whispered. “You’re ghosts. You’re ghosts to us. We’ll never come back. We were friends, weren’t we, Willy?”
“I ain’t your friend, marshal. I ain’t your pal, or your ally, or your boyfriend, or whatever you city folk do. This is my land and my home, and my word is law in these parts. You feds are invaders, and I don’t take kindly to invaders on my land. You hear?”
“We just want to live,” Mike breathed.
“You helped me in the past, marshal. Now, I’m helping you. After this, we’re square. We’re done. And I don’t ever want to see you again.” Willy stood, staring down at Mike like he was trash that needed to be burned. “We’re moving out.”
“What about them?” One of the men shoved his knife in their direction.
Mike reached behind his back and squeezed Tom’s hand.
“We’re dropping ‘em at the highway.”
“What?”
“I said we’re dropping ‘em at the highway! You deaf?”
Willy’s men sulked, cursing under their breath as they shied away from the man, like a pack of hyenas falling away from their leader. One man turned to Barnes. “They don’t need ‘im, do they?”
“We do.” Tom spoke up, helping Mike stand. Villegas put his shoulder under Mike’s other arm. “We need to bring him back with us. He’s a traitor.”
“You don’t need all of him.” The same man spun his knife in his hands and dropped to one knee. He grabbed Barnes’s hand and pulled back his middle finger. Three hard saws were all it took, and Barnes’s finger was gone. He rose and pocketed the finger. “My eff you to the feds.”
“Get moving!” Willy waved them all back to the trees. Tom and Villegas helped Mike limp along, even though they both were bleeding from their own bullet wounds. Mike, by far, was worse than both of them combined. His breath rattled in his chest with every inhale, and blood dripped out of the corner of his mouth, slipped down his chin. Tom stumbled more than walked, and braced Mike with a hand on his belly.
