Blake Crouch - Grab

The four men had the trailer loaded inside of thirty seconds.

# # #

They hit U.S. 95 at 3:00 a.m.

Blasted north.

Isaiah driving.

By 3:15, the suburban sprawl had begun to relent.

Patches of lightless, unsettled desert scrolling past with greater frequency.

The glow of the Strip dwindled in the rearview mirror.

The sky trading the absurdity of the Vegas skyline for honest-to-God stars.

# # #

Even forty miles out of town, no one spoke.

As if their success up to this moment hinged upon a collective silence.

# # #

By four o'clock in the morning they were tearing through a landscape that looked ready-made for missile testing.

Scorched earth.

Joyless mountains.

No trees.

Snakeskin country.

It was Isaiah who finally broke the silence.

Said, "Christian. I'd roll with you again. You absolutely badass."

Letty looked back, saw Christian smirking.

"And you, Letty," Isaiah said. She could hear the celebration beginning to build in his voice. "Wasn't for you, we wouldn't be here."

She said, "I told Christian he'd make at least a million."

"Nope," Isaiah said. "My man stepped up on a moment's notice. Saved the day. Let's call it one point five. How you guys know each other back wherever you from?"

"He's my therapist."

"No, seriously."

# # #

They rode toward Death Valley under a star-blown sky.

Letty's adrenaline charge had tapped out.

She hadn't been this dog-tired since the birth of her son.

Ize turned off the highway.

For several miles, they bumped along a one-lane road that snaked through the creosote.

The stars had just begun to fade and the sky to draw color when Letty spotted structures in the distance.

The road curved toward a collection of buildings. At first, she mistook them for a town, but on approach, she saw they were nothing but skeletons. Broken framework profiled against the sky.

Isaiah eased to a stop in front of the remnants of a three-story building.

The only part still standing was its facade.

The rest had been reduced to crumbling mortar.

Ize killed the ignition.

The silence that flooded in was graveyard quiet.

Through the dusty windshield, Letty spotted four cars parked a little ways down the road.

"Whose are those?" she asked.

"Ours," Isaiah said. "They're just rentals. I figured we'd split the dough here. Go our separate ways."

Christian was sitting in the back between Stu and Jerrod.

He cleared his throat, said, "You're absolutely sure we're safe here?"

Isaiah glanced back between the front seats.

"U.S. 95 South. U.S. 93 South. I-15 South. I-15 North. U.S. 93 North. U.S. 95 North. Six main arteries out of Vegas. They're looking for a vehicle that matches your white Suburban. They will check every motel and hotel within three or four hours, which is why we aren't taking that chance. Why don't you let the professionals do the thinking, my man. You're in good hands."

They climbed out.

It was almost cold in the desert ghost town.

No wind.

Letty glanced back the way they'd come. The dust trail of their passage beginning to settle.

Everywhere she looked—emptiness.

Isaiah walked out into the middle of the road. He stared off at the distant hills.

Then laughed—long and low.

Jerrod and Stu moved toward him, and as he turned, the trio embraced.

A fierce, sudden, emotional huddle.

"I'm so proud. We did it, boys. We did it. They're gonna make movies about us."

"Yeah," Christian said. "And with a big surprise ending."

Letty looked across the hood of Ize's Tundra.

It took her a second to process Christian standing in the road with an AR-15 pulled snug against his shoulder, sighting down the Marines.

"Gentlemen," he said. "Raise your hands and get down on your knees."

Isaiah's head tilted. "What the fuck—"

The gunshot exploded across the desert, the round punching through the windshield of one of the rentals.

"Next shot goes through your eye. Ize ."

Isaiah, Stu, and Jerrod exchanged glances.

They slowly lifted their arms, got down on their knees.

"Join them, Letty."

"What are you doing, Christian?"

"You're going to make me kill somebody, aren't you?"

She moved around the front of the car.

"Christian," Isaiah said. "You want more money? An even split? We can do that. This hard-bargaining shit ain't necessary. We're reasonable men."

Letty eased down into the dirt.

"Your offer of one point five million was generous, but I think I'll have to settle for everything. Where are the keys to the Tundra, Isaiah?"

"Ignition."

"Where are the keys to the rentals?"

"Center console."

Christian fired eight shots in rapid succession.

Letty heard the air hissing out of the tires of the cars behind them.

"Everyone, flat on your stomach, spread out your hands."

"I'll find you," Isaiah said.

Christian backed away, keeping the gun on them as he approached the driver side door of the Tundra.

"I could kill you all right here, leave you in the desert. Perhaps you should be thanking me for allowing you to live instead of making empty threats."

"Nothing empty about them, my man."

"Christian, please," Letty said.

"Thank me, Ize," Christian said.

"Fuck you."

"Thank me or you die right now."

"Thank you," Isaiah said through gritted teeth.

"You're welcome."

Letty watched as Christian opened the door.

Isaiah said under his breath, "Anybody packing?"

"No."

"No."

Jerrod said, "I can get there. I can stop this."

"He can shoot," Isaiah said. "In case you missed the part where he went eight for eight on those tires."

Christian reached into the car.

He cranked the engine.

Isaiah said, "I ain't believing this shit."

Christian jumped in, slammed the door, the engine revving.

The Tundra lurched toward them.

Letty didn't even have time to get to her feet.

Just rolled out of the way as the tires slung rocks and dirt, the rubber tread passing inches from her head.

She sat up, coughing, wiping dust out of her eyes.

Isaiah's Tundra sped off down the dirt road, taillights shrinking into the dawn.

Isaiah jumped to his feet, sprinted twenty yards.

He planted his feet and screamed at the sky, his voice racing across the wasted landscape, ricocheting between the buildings in the ghost town.

He turned and started back toward the group, toward Letty.

When he was ten feet away, she noticed the knife in his hand.

"Isaiah, please."

She scrambled onto her feet, backpedaling.

"You," he said. "You did this."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You brought Christian in."

"I had no idea."

He rushed her, swept her off her feet.

She struck the ground hard enough to drive the air out of her lungs.

Isaiah—all two hundred and twenty pounds of him—perched on her chest, his knees pinning her arms to the hardpan.

He dug the knifepoint into her face.

"I ought to carve you up right here. Leave you for the buzzards."

"I didn't—"

"Where did you find him?"

"I told you. He was my therapist. I ran into him at the Palazzo. He was suicidal. Had lost his family several months ago. He told me he'd come to Vegas to kill himself."

Isaiah leaned in close.

"What else do you know about him?"

"Nothing. I only saw him in sessions."

"You think he shoots like a shrink? Think he drives getaway like a shrink?"

"I'm more stunned than you are, Ize. I swear to you. I told that man my darkest secrets for six months."

"Something ain't right here." He drew the blade softly across her throat. "I'll find him," Isaiah said. "And when I do, me and Christian will have a talk. He will tell me all of his secrets. If I find out—"