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Dad didn’t look away from Wade. “Which one?”

“Doesn’t matter. Got one that runs.”

Good. Something. One thing.

Then another rifle cracked from the far edge of the property.

Riot’s head turned.

Rook’s voice came through almost immediately. “Third position.”

A few seconds.

Then: “Third one’s a rig.”

Dad’s jaw flexed.

Wade kept moving. The driveway was fifteen yards away. Maybe twenty.

It felt like a mile.

Ben came around the front of the car, pale and unarmed.

I had forgotten he was there.

Wade saw him.

So did Dad. “Ben,” Dad warned.

Wade changed direction before Ben could move.

He backed me around the rear of the car, keeping me tight against him until the vehicle itself slid between us and the house.

Dad disappeared from view. So did Marion. Riot was gone behind metal and glass.

Wade had found cover.

My stomach dropped.

Ben moved around the opposite end of the car. Fast.

He came around the front just as Wade was pulling me along the far side.

Their eyes met.

“You can’t take her,” Ben said. Then he lunged.

He caught my arm with both hands and hauled.

Wade stumbled with me. His arm loosened across my chest.

I twisted hard.

Ben pulled again. For one second I got almost all the way turned toward him.

“Run,” he said.

I tried. There was nowhere for anybody to shoot. The car blocked the house, and Ben and I were tangled together between Wade and every angle the others had been fighting for.