Chapter 13 - Echoes in the Dark
The deafening roar of the hunting rifle echoed across the hills, fading slowly into the vast emptiness of the countryside. A sharp plume of gray smoke drifted up from the barrel of Miller’s gun as he worked the bolt, ejecting the smoking shell casing into the dry grass.
Deputy Vance returned fire instantly, squeezing his trigger twice in rapid succession. The bullets slammed into the trunk of a large pine tree just inches from where Miller stood, sending a shower of sharp bark flying into the air. Miller cursed loudly, diving sideways behind the thick trunk of the tree for cover.
“Get down, Leo! Get inside the shed!” Vance shouted over the din, keeping his weapon trained on the tree trunk while backing slowly toward the open doorway.
Arthur stood paralyzed in the middle of the yard, staring blankly at the smoking shell casing at his feet. His carefully constructed world—the lies, the isolation, the hidden prisoner—had completely collapsed in less than an hour. He looked at Clara crying in the dirt, then toward Sarah looking out at him with an expression of pure, unadulterated hatred.
“You did this,” Arthur whispered, his voice trembling as he pointed a shaking finger at Sarah. “If you had just stayed quiet, none of this would have happened.”
“You destroyed our family, Arthur,” Sarah replied, her voice steady and chillingly calm despite the bruises covering her face. “And now the bill has finally come due.”
From behind the pine tree, Miller’s voice rang out, sharp and venomous. “You’re wasting your time, Vance! You think the sheriff is going to back you up on this? Half the county council is tied into the land deals Arthur and I pushed through last year! You arrest us, and you’ll find yourself out of a badge by morning!”
“The council doesn’t cover murder and kidnapping, Miller!” Vance yelled back, keeping his eyes locked on the tree line while reaching down with one hand to grab the heavy hunting knife from his belt. He tossed the blade across the dirt directly toward the open door of the shed. “Sarah! Catch the handle!”
Sarah lunged forward as far as the hemp ropes allowed, her bruised fingers scraping against the dirt until her palm closed around the wooden handle of the knife. Without a moment’s hesitation, she began sawing furiously at the thick ropes binding her right wrist to the wooden armrest of the chair.
Miller realized what was happening. He stepped out from behind the pine tree, raising his rifle directly toward the open doorway of the shed where Sarah was cutting herself free.
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“Not today,” Miller snarled, his finger pressing down hard on the trigger.
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