She saw him look down, aware that the two terrified kids still stood there, looking up.
Jack turned around and picked up the two .44s. He gave one to Christie, whose hand seemed to close over it reluctantly.
His wife let the gun rest in her lap.
Then he took Kate’s hand and closed it over the other gun.
He had taken her to the range one day. She had shot a gun before. “This is the safety. You leave it on until we leave here. And you hold it pointed down. Unless … unless you have to—”
“Shoot something,” she said.
Her eyes glistened as she fought back the fear and tears. He smiled. A nod.
Then, heartbreaking, unexpected …
“Dad.” He turned back to Simon. “Dad, do I get a gun, too?”
He leaned close and gave Simon a hug. Both Christie and Kate looking at Jack, seeing that his eyes had turned watery. He blinked, the cabin living room suddenly blurry.
“Simon. Son. You have to do something really important, you hear me?”
He felt the boy nod. “You hold your mom’s free hand tight. Got that? Tight as you can. Don’t let her go. And the other one, you hold your sister’s hand. You hold onto them, Simon. Can you do that for me?”
Another nod.
Then, as if it was the hardest thing he ever did, Jack finally pulled away.
They walked out. He leaned close to Christie.
“I have a plan.”
She watched him force a smile.
His eyes, still glistening, told her something more than his words.
There was no time for him to explain things to her privately, what would happen, what they would do.
She’d have to hear his words even as the kids followed and they, too, listened. And she’d have to somehow understand what he was really saying.
“Okay,” she said, letting him know that she understood.
His eyes wet, tearing up with gratitude that she understood things.
She couldn’t imagine what he had been through.
Her heart felt like it could explode at the thoughts of the agony, the madness that he’d had to face. That he still had yet to face.
He told her what would happen, pulling the kids alongside him through the brush even as the branches tried to trip them and rip at their bare arms.
The camp filled with the sound of alarms and gunfire.
“Did you—did you do that?”
“Yeah. Keeps them busy.”
His pace relentless, even though his one good leg was doing the work of two he marched them through the woods.
Telling her the details of the plan, all said within earshot of the kids.
So they heard, too.
But did they understand?
God, did they understand?
Jack stopped them.
A quick finger to his lips, barely visible in the dark.
Something moved through the woods ahead. Jack trying to see what was there. Some movement. Maybe this was a bad way to go.
Then a scream from behind. He wheeled around just in time to see a Can Head grab Christie and yank her away from the two kids. Then another Can Head picked up Simon, like a sack of food, tucking the boy under his arm and turning away.
Like a feral creature racing away with its prize.
Not even seconds to think about what to do, no time to weigh options.
Jack had already raised his gun, but a shot could go wrong so easily. And there was movement to the left, where Kate was, coming from behind her even as his terrified girl raised her gun, wobbling.
Such a stupid idea, that she could shoot, could protect herself.
No time to think.
Jack leaped forward as fast as he could, giant steps, his free hand reaching out, grasping—
Closing on the Can Head’s maggoty hair. Tightening, and yanking the thing back like a caught fish.
Pulling the head close to his other hand, the gun barrel pressed right against the head. One clear blast, and the thing dropped Simon, screaming.
Not able to tell the boy he needed to be quiet. The noise would only bring more.
Turning, Kate being dragged away as she kicked at the thing holding her, its blood-smeared face and teeth inches away from hers.
No other option here, and he raised his gun and fired at the thing.
For a stunned second, the Can Head froze as if not sure what was wrong.
There was no way to prevent the blood from dripping onto his beautiful daughter.
But in that second of blood-spattered madness, he saw her raise her gun, turning left and right. She was ready now.
Another Can Head leaped out of the bushes, right at Kate.
Kate held her gun steady.
He had trained her. Took her to the range. God, had he trained her enough?
All Jack could do was watch as she fired.
The thing fell at her feet.
Jack, thinking:
Then—to Christie.
She had fired a shot. Wounding the thing holding her. And again, with so much kicking and movement, Jack didn’t have a shot.
But he was the last one. Christie fighting against the Can Head had slowed down its attempt to pull her away.
Jack went to it and whipped the gun at its head just as it was about to bite down on Christie’s shoulder.
Then again, and again.
Then a hard smack to the elbow of the thing, a crack at just the right spot, and the arm holding Christie became useless.
