Page 114 of The Final Cut

Her eyes narrow, then flick to the rifle in my hand. “You’re going outside?”

“For a minute.”

“That sounds like the kind of lie men tell before doing something stupid.”

“It’s only stupid if I miss.”

Deacon’s mouth twitches once. Shiloh does not smile at all.

Delia stands half behind Reva, wearing borrowed sweatpants, her bandaged hands loose at her sides. Her face has gone pale in a way I dislike. Recognition is carved into every hollow.

“She likes her drones?” I ask her.

“Her contractors do. They use them mostly for surveillance. Sometimes delivery. Sometimes worse.”

“Worse how?”

Her gaze moves to the window.

That is answer enough.

I open the back door and step onto the covered deck before anyone can decide to use concern as an obstacle.

Rain hits my face, thin and cold. The marsh stretches out in a flat gray sweep, cypress knees sticking through the water like broken bones, the sky low enough to press down on the roof. One drone hovers near the far window, no more than fifteen yards out. Another hangs above the dock light. The third is over the reeds. The fourth stays higher, probably relaying signal.

I shoulder the rifle. Breathe once.

Fire.

The first drone snaps sideways, sparks, and drops into the marsh with a small splash. The second jerks upward, trying to climb. I track, squeeze, and catch it through the central housing. It comes down hard on the dock, skidding across wet boards in pieces.

The third darts left.

Fast little bastard.

I lead it, fire twice, miss once, hit on the second shot. It spins into a cypress trunk and breaks apart against the bark.

One left high.

The fourth backs off.

I lower the rifle enough to scan for more movement. The wind shifts. Rain taps against the barrel. In the distance, something small rises from behind the tree line.

Fifth.

Sixth.

“Ever,” Deacon says through the comm. “You have two more coming east.”

“I see them.”

The fifth drone drops low and fast, closer than the others dared. I swing the rifle toward it.

A tiny flash appears beneath its body.

The round cracks past my shoulder and slams into the siding behind me.

“Shit.”