Was He going to let it end this way?
Vic would blow them away right here, then return home like nothing had happened, thinking he could resume his life as an upstanding citizen.
No, he couldn’t let that happen. If he couldn’t save his own life, he would die saving Deni’s.
With all his weight, Doug lunged forward and grabbed Vic’s injured hand. The pain knocked Vic back, and he screamed like a wounded dog. Doug went for the gun, but Vic pulled it away . . .
Deni stood frozen in the line of fire.
“Run, Deni!” Doug yelled, but she just stood there as Vic’s finger closed over the trigger.
The gun fired.
Deni dropped to the dirt.
Had he hit her? Was she dead?
Fury exploded in him with ballistic force, and Doug wrestled the gun over Vic’s head, and knocked him to his back. “Deni!”
She didn’t answer.
Dear God, he killed her!
Vic fought back, his teeth bared as he screamed in pain, but he lashed out with all the evil festering within him. Doug wrestled the gun over Vic’s head, fighting for his daughter, for his family, for the Abernathys and the Whitsons and that dead farm couple . . .
Doug closed his hand over the gun. He almost had it—
Suddenly Vic’s teeth clamped on Doug’s arm, sinking through the flesh. Doug lost his grip, and Vic got his bearings.
Before Doug knew what had happened, Vic was on top of him, pressing the gun between Doug’s eyes.
Please, God. One more miracle.
Doug squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself.
The gun fired. Doug’s body went rigid.
The fight was over.
sixty-eight
Vic’s body dropped on top of him.
Doug pushed him off, and saw the bullet hole in his temple.
“Daddy?”
He swung around. Deni stood next to the wagon, his rifle trembling in her hands. He almost collapsed with relief. She was all right!
“Did I kill him?”
He took the pistol from Vic’s limp hand and checked for a pulse. “Yes, honey. He’s dead.”
She lowered the rifle, her body quaking as the moment caught up to her. “Thank God. I thought he was gonna kill you.”
He jumped off the wagon and took the rifle, and pulled her into his arms. Moments ago, when Vic fired his gun, Deni had dropped. But she hadn’t been hit! God had given them that miracle. And he’d been certain the second shot had come from the revolver. But it was Deni who had fired. He crushed her against him, feeling her sob into his wet shirt.
She was okay. Thank You, God. The horses whinnied, and the chickens cackled. “It’s okay, baby. It’s all right now. He’s gone.”
“But, Daddy . . . ,” her voice wobbled with despair, “. . .I killed him!”
“You had to.”
She couldn’t stop trembling.
“Come on. We have to find the police. We have to tell them what happened here, and about the couple at the farmhouse.”
“What if they don’t believe us?”
“They will. We’ll convince them. God will vindicate us.” He tried to coax her into the wagon, but the sight of Vic kept her back.
“No, I can’t. Let’s just leave him here. We can walk to town.”
He looked at her bike lying on the ground, its tire flat. “Okay. You can ride my bike, and I’ll walk yours.”
He got his bike down, then covered Vic’s body with the sleeping bag.
Then together, he and his daughter made their way to Atlanta.
sixty-nine
Doug and Deni had been gone five days—an eternity in Kay’s mind. She’d floated through the week in a fog, reminding herself to eat, to sleep, to breathe . . .
Her thoughts ran in one long prayer, begging God for a miracle, despite the gnawing dread in her mind. If something happened to them, would she ever get word?
Her family did its daily duties the best it could. Logan hadn’t complained even once this week, and Beth hadn’t whined. Jeff had performed with little to no sleep, guarding their home with a vengeance. The neighbors brought them food and water, and Brad took care of some of the chores that needed to be done. Judith and Eloise comforted her like members of their own family, praying with her and reminding her that God was in control.
Why hadn’t He brought them home?
She tried to shove that question to the back of her mind, and forced herself to get on with her work. She had to sterilize the water so they’d have something to drink. She set the pot on the grill and waited for the water to boil. For the twentieth time that day, sorrow lodged itself in her throat. Once again, she turned it into a prayer . . .
And then she heard it. Logan’s voice, calling from the front yard. “Mom! Mom! They’re coming!”
Jeff, who’d been working in the compost pile at the back of the yard, dropped his shovel. Beth abandoned the water she’d been filtering.
“It’s Dad and Deni!” Logan shouted, and Beth launched out across the lawn. Kay sucked in a breath and took off running. Jeff followed as they rounded the house.
It was true. Doug and Deni were riding up the street, their bicycles side by side.
They didn’t make it to the driveway before Kay and the kids ran to embrace them, almost knocking them off their bikes.
Deni and Doug were both in tears as they hugged their family, all laughing and talking at once.
After a few moments, Kay pulled Deni into her arms and wept as she kissed her face. “I was so afraid Vic had killed you! I thought I’d never see you again!”
“He’s dead,” Doug said. “We left him with the police in Atlanta, with his wagon and all the evidence.”
Relief flooded through her as she turned back to Deni. But her weary, sunburned daughter had a hollow, distant look in her eyes. And then she knew. Deni had been the one who killed Vic Green.
Seeing the pain in her face, Kay pulled her into a crushing embrace, as her daughter dissolved into tears.
seventy
Deni lay on her bed, knees to her chest, thinking about the kick of the gun as she’d pulled that trigger. I killed a man. God, can You ever forgive me?
“Honey?”
She looked toward her doorway and saw her dad standing there. “Yeah?”
“There’s somebody here to see you.”
Deni sat up. “I don’t want to see anybody, Dad.”
He stepped inside. “It’s Vic’s son, Mark.”
“No! Especially not him.”
Her father came and sat down beside her. “I know it looks bad for him but I have to tell you, I don’t think he was involved. He’s the one who let me into Vic’s house, took me around, and helped me discover all the stuff he had there. He was as surprised and shaken as any of us.”
Tears came to her eyes. “It might have been an act. He learned from the best.”
“I don’t think so, sweetheart. He helped me look around the house for any sign of where Vic might have gone with you. He could have kept me out of certain rooms if he’d known about the stuff that was stashed there, but he didn’t.”
Deni got up and went to the window, looked out into the neighborhood. “Does he know I killed his father?”
“I’m not sure.” He slid off the bed and came to stand behind her. “Honey, stop beating yourself up. You saved my life. You had no choice but to pull that trigger.”
She wiped a tear rolling down her cheek. “I know. But it feels awful. Less than a month ago, I was joking with Jeff over the things I would kill for. A bike, a glass of water . . . But I didn’t mean it. Even in self-defense, it’s hard to live with. Why did it have to come to this? So many people dead.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Seems like the world is a little more evil than it was a month ago. But there’s still a lot of good in it. And we can do our best to represent that good.”
She gazed up at him for a long moment. “God dealt with me, when I was on the road. He
showed me what a wretch I’d been. He made me new.”
Doug nodded. “I know. I can see that.”
She was glad it was evident. “Dad, I’m so thankful you came for me.”
He wiped a tear off her cheek. “Me, too.”
“That first day, when the power went out, and we got our bike stolen . . . I treated you like you were a coward.”
He smiled. “You sort of did, didn’t you?”
She breathed a laugh. “I was an idiot. You’re not a coward. You’re my hero. When I think of God’s love for me, your face always comes to my mind.”
Tears glistened in his eyes as he leaned over and hugged her. “I love you, sweetheart.” He pulled back and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “Now go talk to Mark. He’s not having the same kind of warm fuzzies about his dad. Go easy on him, okay?”
What would she say? He was the son of her tormenter. But her father was right. Hadn’t Mark tried to talk her out of going with him? And she’d known him for years. Mark had always had character and integrity, despite his father. In many ways, Mark was as much a victim as she. Maybe even more, since he hadn’t brought any of this upon himself. “All right, I’ll talk to him.”
She went down the stairs and out the front door. Mark sat on the porch, waiting for her. His eyes were red, and his face held myriad emotions—anger, grief, shame, guilt.
She stepped toward him. “Hey.”
He got up and tried to speak, but stopped, and only shook his head. Finally, he whispered, “I’m so sorry, Deni. So, so sorry.”
She swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, me, too.”
“You’ve got to believe me,” he said. “I didn’t know he was a killer. I suspected his business wasn’t legal, but I never in my wildest dreams imagined—” His face twisted as he struggled with the words. “I had no idea my dad was capable of murder.”
Deni’s heart swelled with compassion. She reached up and hugged him, felt his body quaking with his sobs.
“He might have killed you,” he whispered against her hair.
She let him go. “God protected me.”
“I know He did. I was constantly praying for you. Praying that my dad would be stopped before he . . . hurt anyone else.”
Deni looked down at her feet. “Mark, did you know that I’m the one who shot him?”
He nodded. “I heard the story from the Caldwells. What else could you do? It was the two of you, or him.”
She saw no anger in his eyes, not at her. “Your brothers . . .”
“Half-brothers,” he said bitterly. “I don’t even know where they are. I haven’t seen them since right after Dad left.”
“Do you think they’re involved?”
“Probably. Over the last few years, they’ve all made a lot of money, and nobody knew exactly how. One of their wives told the sheriff she knew they were dealing in pornography. The police are looking for them, but I have a feeling they might not be coming back. Once they heard Dad was wanted for murder, they probably hit the road.”
“I hope the police find them.”
“Me, too.” He studied her face for a long moment. She felt as though he could see straight to her heart, and read her deepest thoughts. “Do you believe me, Deni? That I wasn’t involved?”
She realized that she did. “Yeah, I believe you.”
“Good,” he said, “because a lot of people around here don’t.”
“I’ll tell them.”
“I’d appreciate that.” He looked down at his feet, then shrugged. “Guess I’ll go now.”
She watched as he started down the steps. “Wait.”
He turned back. His eyes were soft, fragile.
“You really prayed for me?” she asked.
“The whole time.”
She stepped down, and looked up into his face. “Your prayers worked, Mark. God sent so many miracles. A babbling brook when I was dying of thirst. A church when I desperately needed to feel His presence. A couple to take me in at the right moment. Even a flat tire to slow me down, so Dad could find me. Things changed in my heart. He’s gonna make me different from now on.”
Mark smiled. “It’s good when God does that before a person gets married. That way you can put Him at the center of your home.”
Her smile faded, and she looked out into the breeze. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine marriage to Craig having anything but politics at its center.
“So,” Mark asked softly, “any thoughts of hitting the road again to get back east?”
“No. I need to stay here until the outage is over. I don’t have the fortitude or the courage to take off like that again. I don’t know how they did it in the old west.” She smiled up at him. “We have a lot, you know? Even if we don’t have air-conditioning and running water and electricity. We have nice homes, comfortable beds, people who love us.”
“That’s what I’ve been thinking, too,” he said. “So what if we have to work a little harder? It won’t kill any of us.”
“We might even become better people.”
He smiled, but it was short-lived. Grief shadowed his face again. “Just so you know . . . I did love my dad. I prayed for him, too . . . for years. But ultimately, the choice of giving his life to Christ was his. The choice to die in darkness . . .”
His words choked off again. She wished she knew how to comfort him.
“Well, anyway . . . I’m really glad you’re okay. You get a good night’s sleep tonight. Rest easy.”
“Thanks,” she whispered.
She watched as he made his way down the sidewalk back toward his own home, and said a silent prayer that the neighbors would go easy on him and not paint him with the same stripes with which they painted his father. Mark didn’t deserve it, but it would take time for him to prove that to everyone. Such was the legacy his father had left him.
She went back upstairs and sat on her bed, and lit the candle on her writing desk. She got out her notebook, and started a letter.
Dear Craig,
I tried to get to you, but I almost got killed doing it. I ran away from everything I knew, bent on getting to the new life that waited for me. Tonight I feel like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, who finally realized there’s no place like home. I didn’t make my way to you, and I didn’t find a place where the lights were still on. Instead, I found good, giving people of simple means, rich in love beyond their own imaginings. And I found Christ where I least expected Him. I guess in a way, I found myself, too. I know more of who I am now than I did when I set out.
I’m a woman who, for most of my life, has been spoiled and vain and selfish. I’m a woman who knows now what it’s like to do without. To not have a home, or a family to lean on, or food or water. And it changed something inside me.
I’m also a woman who has fought great evil and lived to tell about it. I’ve seen good people killed for no good reason. I’ve looked a man in the face and pulled the trigger. I’ve watched a man drop to his death, of my own doing.
That changes a person.
I don’t know if you’d like the changes in me. I hope you will. I miss you more than I ever dreamed possible, but I think I can live without you for a while now. I think I’m going to have to. The thought of getting far from my family during these hard times is more than I can bear. I need them. Now I know why families used to live so close together. When times are hard, you need people you can count on.
I think I can depend on you to be there, waiting for me when this is over. But if I can’t, then it’s good that I found out before the wedding. I hope you’ll try to come to me. But if you don’t, that will tell me things, too. I’m not sure what, quite yet.
For now, I’m just so thankful to be at home in my beautiful, dark house, on my soft, comfortable bed, with food and water—all things people who love me have worked so hard to provide. It’s time I pitched in and contributed something more to this family.
My heart breaks for you . . . but as I said, I’ll wait until the lights come on again.
love,
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Deni
Afterword
You might say I’m delusional. I have that American virus, the one that says that all the trappings of this world, from prosperity to technology, from entertainment to security, from excess to extreme, will never pass away. I have that infection that makes me think that all this somehow has something to do with me, and that as long as I don’t mess up really bad, things will keep going along just as they are.