Lori Armstrong - Mercy Kill

Clouds covered the moon. I relished the solitude and the stillness. Night air feels different after midnight. Colder. Fresher. Sweeter. It was exhilarating, traversing the great outdoors while the world around me slept.

My machine scared a raccoon family from the underbrush. The glowing eyes were accusatory and then gone. The back end of the ATV bogged down on a sharp rise. I revved the engine to max power. Anyone who heard the distinctive whining noise would assume the members of the LifeLite Church group were sending out ATV patrols, which they did all hours of the night.

I studied the ground, bumping over chunks of shale and whole yuccas. I became so mesmerized by the variances in the vegetation that I nearly smacked into a squat pine tree. I swerved at the last nanosecond and almost pitched myself ass over teakettle.

Pay attention.

I slowed when the shelterbelt came into view. This section veered off the path and the terrain was trickier. Standing gave me a better view of the sinkholes and big rocks randomly scattered about. I traversed nature’s obstacle course and reached the fence. From there, I’d be on foot.

Since the ATV redefined piece of junk, I couldn’t chance it not starting, so I kept it running. I jammed rocks beneath all four tires.

I cracked open the rifle case. Assembly, even under the cover of darkness, was quick. Once I snapped on the scope, I held the rifle by my side and jogged up to the hole in the fence line.

As I dashed across the field, my internal focus was absolute. I was one with the night-my breathing, my gun, my mission. This was my own personal nirvana.

I crouched by the flat rock with a bird’s-eye view of the front of the house. I loaded the blue-tipped bullet, a.338 Lapua incendiary round I’d been saving for a special occasion. I dinked with the night-vision scope, gauging the target with my left eye. I tweaked the viewfinder again until I had the perfect angle for the front window.

Aim.

Breathe.

Fire.

Mental prep done, I was ready for the real deal.

One shot. Four hundred yards out. Piece of cake. I could do this with one arm tied behind my back. I could do this even with my left eye.

Finger on the trigger.

Eye on the target.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

I fired.

Click.

The whomp, whomp, whomp as the fiery gas expanded from room to room echoed back to me was followed by… BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

A blast of heat rushed across me as the house disgorged a ball of fire. Beautiful and grotesque. A red-orange orb, laced with roiling black clouds. I hadn’t heard glass breaking, although I could see jagged pieces littering the ground like dirty ice. The windows were gaping holes, eerie open mouths, screaming in shock. The entire front of the house had blown outward. Pieces of lumber scattered the yard like a giant’s game of pickup sticks. Chunks of plaster smoked, and tufts of insulation fell.

I grinned. “Thar she blows, matey.”

Flames licked the walls with hungry red tongues.

The roof? Poof.

This house was completely uninhabitable.

No guilt or pride surfaced as I ejected the spent shell casing and shoved it in my pocket. Time to retreat, not gloat. I ran low to the ground, to the break in the fence. I ducked through the barbed wire and heard the sputtering engine of the ATV beneath the cacophony of crackling wood. After breaking my rifle down and fitting the pieces back in the case, I checked my watch.

Mission accomplished in under thirty-four minutes.

Now the real race began.

Nervous sweat plastered my hair to my face, my neck, and coated my scalp. In my room I shoved the gun case back in the closet. I ditched the ninja clothes at the bottom of the laundry basket and slipped back into my pajamas. I brought the covers under my chin, too wired to sleep.

I was half surprised I’d made it back to the house before the phone rang. Best-case scenario? No one reported the fire until it’d burned the house to the ground. The neighboring property belonged to the LifeLite religious group, and they hadn’t volunteered to help when we’d had a fire on our ranch last summer, so I expected they’d turn a blind eye now.

My main concern was the volunteer firemen called to the scene to risk life and limb to save the structure I’d torched.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Twenty. Just when I believed the fire would burn unattended, a knock sounded on my bedroom door.

Talk about jumping like a scalded cat. I didn’t answer, just waited for the next knock.

“Mercy?” Jake said, a little louder. “Phone.”

I opened the door. “Who is it?”

“Wouldn’t say.”

Snatching the cordless from his hand, I entered the living room. “This is Mercy Gunderson. Who’s calling me at three o’clock in the goddamn morning?”

“Clayton Black with the Eagle River Volunteer Fire Department. There’s been an explosion at the old Newsome house.”

“An explosion?” I repeated.

“Where? What’s going on?” Hope demanded behind me.

“Something at the Newsome house,” I said, turning my back on her. “What happened?”

“We’re not sure. Looks like a gas leak. We wanted to let you know we’re doing all we can to save the house-”

“Forget about saving the house. There’s nothing in it. Keep the firefighters safe.”

“But the structure-”

“Might as well collapse, if it’s as bad as you say.” I looked at Hope; her face was as pasty white as her frilly nightgown. “Can you hold off on doing anything for the next ten minutes until my sister and I get there?”

“I guess.”

I hung up and said to Hope, “Go throw on some clothes, and I’ll meet you out front.”

“But I can’t leave Joy-”

“With her father? Come on. You’ll have your cell if Jake needs something.” I put my hand on the wall. “I might need you to drive since I’ve been sick.”

“Then Jake can drive you. I’ll stay here.”

“Jake is a manager, not an owner. You will be a full participant in whatever decision we make, Hope. So get changed and meet me by my truck.”

She raced upstairs, Jake behind her. I threw on sweatpants, slipped my feet into a pair of flip-flops, and grabbed my keys.

We reached the truck at the same time, and Hope climbed in the passenger’s side. “What do you think happened?”

“They said some kind of gas explosion.”

She was quiet, not the good kind of quiet. I felt her studying me, but I kept my eyes firmly on the road.

“Don’t you think it’s… convenient that after I tell you I want to move into the Newsome place, something like this happens?”

I looked at her. Hard. “Don’t you think it’s a goddamn good thing something convenient like this happened before you moved in with Joy and Jake?”

A comprehending look of horror crossed her face, and she shut up.

We saw the flames from a half mile away. They’d died down since the initial blast. I dodged parked vehicles lining the drive and rolled down my window upon reaching the Eagle River County Sheriff’s Department blazer blocking access.

Shit. I hoped it wasn’t Dawson. I so did not want to deal with him right now.

Deputy Jazinski leaned in the window. “Gonna have to leave it parked here, Miz Gunderson. Clayton’s waiting for you around the left side of the pumper truck.”

“Thanks.” I was sorry I’d worn flip-flops as Hope and I picked our way through smoking piles of debris.

Once we had a clear view of the burned-out shell, Hope reached for my hand and gasped. “Oh my God.”

From far away, I’d experienced the detachment I’d honed after taking out a target. Aim. Fire. Verify. Move on. Even now, faced with the destruction I’d set in motion and my sister’s emotional reaction to it, I didn’t feel a single ounce of remorse.