Page 208 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

Mason climbed onto the running board.

"Location confirmed."

Every head turned.

"Abandoned timber storage facility. Blackridge boundary."

He unfolded the satellite print over the bonnet.

"There."

A finger tapped the building.

"Private access road."

Another tap.

"Loading dock."

Another.

"Secondary warehouse."

He looked at every man gathered around him.

"I've brought in fifteen from my private unit."

His eyes hardened.

"I don't trust the county."

Nobody argued. Nobody even blinked. He folded the map.

"This stays between us."

Then he looked at me.

"We bring her home."

Nobody spoke as the crates opened. Kevlar plates slid into carriers with dull, heavy thuds. Velcro ripped through the silence. Magazines clicked home. Slides were racked. Suppressors threaded into place. Gloves pulled tight. Helmet straps adjusted. Someone crossed themselves. Someone checked family photos tucked inside their vest. Someone quietly chambered a round. The smell of CLP gun oil mixed with damp earth and diesel until the whole clearing smelled like war.

I tightened my vest until it bit into my ribs. Checked my Glock. I checked it again. Rifle. Safety. Magazine. Chamber.

Mason slowly lowered the binoculars.

"They're organised. Thirty-five visible."

Another pause.

"Rotating patrol every ten minutes."

He kept watching.

"Loading dock. East tree line...Creek."

His jaw tightened.

"I still can't see Walker."