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And then, May pointed. Triumphantly.
Owen looked. There, ahead of them, was a maple tree with low, spreading branches.
This was the perfect climbing tree, and with any luck, once they were up in those branches, they would be camouflaged by the thick leaves, but able to see through into the fenced compound beyond. Best of all, they were now at the back of the militia’s grounds, which was surely the area that they would use to stash away things they didn’t want found.
Like, for instance, five captive, terrified women.
Feeling resolute, Owen swung into the tree behind May, moving carefully from branch to branch, keeping his movements quiet and subtle so as not to cause any sudden rustling of leaves.
Now, about ten feet above the ground, they finally had a view over the walls and into the yard beyond.
Owen watched intently, looking for signs of hurried guilt, of people rushing to move. Maybe of a vehicle being commandeered.
But there didn't seem to be any prisoners or hostages there. Not yet. They seemed to be moving small sacks. Were they provisions, he wondered, hardly daring to breathe as he crept out along the limb of the tree. They looked like sacks of grain, flour, and sugar.
Laying in supplies would tie in with the survivalist mindset they were looking for, a man who thought a deadly catastrophe was imminent. Unfortunately, it also tied in with the general mindset of the militia. Owen guessed that any militia worth its salt had supplies for a year’s siege in place. That was just the way they were.
Were the hostages there at all?
"I don't see anyone," he breathed to May.
But his heart accelerated as he saw, without a doubt, a dark entrance that led to a lower level. Men were going into the wooden building, and they were going downstairs. There might not be a bunker, but there was an underground room, and Owen wondered whether there was something illegal being done or stored in that room.
And then his heart jumped all the way into his throat as, from behind them, he heard the distinctive metallicclick-clackof a shotgun being primed.
"Turn around. And get down here. Slowly, or I'll shoot." a voice said from below the tree.
The words were full of menace and cold adrenaline flooded Owen.
They'd been seen. He didn't doubt the intent in those words.
He and May turned slowly around.
Staring down from his branch lookout, Owen saw the lean, intelligent, hard-faced second-in-command. He was pointing a shotgun at them, looking furious.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Racing back into the town, the doomsday survivalist felt excited, motivated, and ready for the next step. To grab up the woman who would be the most important asset of them all.
This was a step he’d never thought he would make, but now he saw it was not just logical but necessary.
And the survivalist could do it. Luckily, he was now surer of his skills. At first, he had been nervous and unsure. But with so many successful captured assets locked away, he had confidence in his techniques. And he knew his strength.
Fast, vicious, and sudden, in broad daylight, would be the time for him to strike, to grab the one he needed to set an example.
He had an idea in his mind about what he was looking for. This asset didn't need to be tough or strong. Didn't need to have any of the skills and talents he could use in the future. Her purpose was simple.
Her role would be to die, and to ensure that the rest of his captives remained in terrified obedience, with no further insurgence.
Scenes of violence flickered in his mind. He felt a dreadful glee, a cold expectation, because he knew that what was about to play out was the epitome of something he'd longed for, and dreamed of, ever since he had begun heeding the warning signs that humanity's days were numbered.
"I'm going to choose you well and kill you with pleasure," he muttered. He gripped the wheel tightly. He grinned as he remembered the terrified faces of his captives. They were waiting for him. This kill would be exactly what he needed to subdue them permanently. He was now wishing he'd thought ofit earlier. If he’d thought of it earlier, he didn’t think that asset would have dared to try and break out again.
"Kill or be killed," the survivalist said, his voice rising to a harsh, strident tone. "That's what it's all about. The law of the jungle. Only the strong survive."
He shivered with anticipation.
He was the strong, and those below him needed to know they were weaker. He couldn’t wait to illustrate that fact to them in a way that they would never forget.
