Shirlee McCoy - Exit Strategy

He needed to get them away from the threat before then.

That wasn’t going to be easy. No car. No phone. No means of communication with civilization. The closest highway was a few miles away, the rural road that led to it too obvious a means of escape. There’d be security guards there in minutes, blocking any chance of using that route.

He clambered over the fence, grabbed his coat as he climbed down the other side.

Lark was just ahead of him, moving at a fast jog, heading straight for the road.

“Wrong way.” He snagged the back of her sweater, headed in the opposite direction, towing her along with him.

“We need to get to the road,” she protested. “We might be able to get a ride from someone.”

“How many cars use that road, Lark?”

“Not many.”

“None. Unless they’re heading here,” he corrected. He needed her completely committed to his plan, absolutely determined to do things his way.

“You never know,” she replied. “Sometimes people get lost. Sometimes they turn onto the road and make it all the way to the compound before they realize they’re heading the wrong way.”

“And sometimes it snows in April, but not often enough to count on. The woods are a better choice.”

“The road is the quicker, straighter route out.”

She was persistent, he’d give her that, but he was calling the shots from now until they made it to safety. “If we want to die. I don’t.”

She was silent after that, stumbling along beside him as he ran toward edge of the woods that spread out from the border of the compound. He’d studied maps before he’d arrived. He knew how deep the woods were, how secluded Amos Way was. Built on land that had once housed a logging business, the compound was surrounded by thousands of acres of deep forest. To the north, fifty miles of wilderness fed into federal land. To the east, more woods and an abandoned ski lodge. From there, they could access the highway. They just had to make it across twenty miles of forest.

The siren shut off abruptly, and Lark grabbed his arm, her fingers cold through his shirt. She was shaking, and he dropped his coat around her shoulders, knowing it wasn’t the cold that was getting to her.

“It’s okay,” he tried to reassure her, but she had to know it wasn’t okay. They were in trouble, and if he’d had a cell phone, he’d have called the team, brought in the cavalry.

He didn’t have a cell phone, didn’t have any hope of backup.

He had nothing but himself, enough years and experience to get them through, and the kind of tired worn-out faith that probably should have been buried years ago.

He’d held on to it, though. It was the one thing he had left from the time he’d had with his parents. They’d believed with everything they were that God had a plan, that He’d lead them in the right direction. That direction had led them to the Congo and mission work that had gotten them killed and his sister kidnapped. Cyrus had been twelve, left with the pastor of their church because his parents had thought he was too young to travel to the Congo.

When they’d died, he’d been angry, but he didn’t blame God. They’d put themselves in a dangerous situation for the sake of people they didn’t know.

He couldn’t fault them for it either.

He knew what it was like to willingly go in where others wouldn’t, to risk everything for a stranger. Like his parents, he’d committed his life to saving others. Only he wasn’t saving souls. He was saving lives. And, he wasn’t pulling a family into it, wasn’t going to leave anyone behind if he was killed.

A dog howled. A second joined it.

Lark’s grip tightened and she glanced over her shoulder, her hair flying out in a mass of tangled curls. He should have made her tie it back, because it was bound to get caught on branches and limbs as they moved through the dense forest. There wasn’t time now.

“Looking back isn’t going to change anything,” he said quietly.

“It’s going to keep me from being surprised when the dogs lunge.”

“They’re still in the compound.”

“They won’t be for long.”

“Which is the best reason for moving forward instead of looking back.”

“Stop being reasonable and smart, Cyrus. It’s annoying when I’m working up to full-out panic.” She slid her arms through his coat sleeves, her hands trembling as she tried to zip it. He brushed her fingers away, had the zipper up in seconds.

“If you panic, we’re both sunk, so you’re going to have to hold things together until we get somewhere safe.”

“I don’t know how safe River Fork is. The town has ties with Amos Way.”

“Do they?” That was something he hadn’t known, and it wasn’t something he was happy to hear.

“Elijah grew up there. His half brother is the town sheriff.”

“You think he’s dirty?” He shoved through thick foliage, holding back a heavy pine bough as Lark stepped past.

“I don’t know. He ran the investigation into my husband’s death.”

“And ruled it accidental?”

“Yes.”

“You think he was covering up for someone?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know. He presented his findings to me and my in-laws. It all sounded good.”

“But?”

“Maybe I just don’t want to think my husband could have been careless enough to clean a loaded rifle.”

“Or maybe Elijah’s brother helped him get away with murder?”

She didn’t respond.

He wasn’t sure if she was thinking about her answer or if she was too tired to speak. Her breath panted out, hoarse and raspy and a little too ragged for his liking. They had a long way to go. All of it on foot. If she couldn’t make it, he’d have no choice but to stay and fight. He didn’t have enough firepower to have any hope of success against Elijah’s security team.

He’d try, though.

If he had to.

He prayed he wouldn’t, the words forming and taking flight before he’d even realized the depth of his desperation. He wanted out of the woods and away from Amos Way, he wanted a safe place to hunker down and come up with a plan. He might not know what was going on in Elijah Clayton’s religious utopia, but he planned to find out. When he did, he’d take the man and his followers down without a second thought or a moment of regret.

There were too many wounded people in the world searching for places to belong. Amos Way wasn’t the kind of place they should end up, because it was the kind of place people never returned from. In his estimation, that was the kind of place that should be shut down for good, and he was just the kind of guy to do it.

Behind them, a dog howled, the sound too close for comfort.

A man shouted something, and Cyrus grabbed Lark’s hand, dragging her into a full-out run.

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