Based on what he’d seen of this side and the other, Ben figured the barn was home to at least a half dozen people, maybe more. But there was still no sign of Martin, and Ben was beginning to think the man was already dead.

  He reached the end of the row of stables. Joel emerged from the opposite side, shaking his head to indicate he’d found the same as his dad. There was no one here. Ben stood quietly for a minute, contemplating their next move. They could hide out here and set up an ambush for the thieves. The others were well-hidden in the shade and could be their eyes and ears while he and Joel waited. But that meant wasting more precious time, not that they had a choice in the matter if he was going to do something about this band of roving outlaws.

  He started to pull the radio from his belt to let Sandy know his thoughts and update her on what they’d found when he heard someone coughing. Ben let go of the two-way and brought his weapon up to the ready position. Joel took a couple of steps toward the center of the barn and pointed up at the loft area.

  Ben held a finger over his lips and approached the ladder that led to the second floor. He hadn’t even considered that area, mostly because of the heat. He couldn’t imagine anyone would be up there by choice. Maybe he and Joel had been spotted on their approach to the barn and one of the thieves was hiding up there.

  Ben swung the AR-15 around to his back and pulled out his Glock, using his free hand to slowly ascend the wooden ladder. Joel stood in position behind a half wall, gun at the ready and trained on the second floor. When Ben reached the top, he peeked over the edge of the floorboards, leading with the pistol.

  There was a man on his knees, tied to a timber post with badly frayed rope. He looked up at Ben. His bloodied and swollen face was barely recognizable, but his clothes gave him away.

  “Oh, thank God.” Martin started sobbing and breathing heavily when he realized it was Ben, almost choking himself. Tears streamed from his left eye, the right one purple and swollen shut.

  All the animosity and resentment Ben felt for Martin faded away in an instant when he saw the man’s physical condition. The thieves had beaten him well, and in addition, Martin had taken a bullet to his left thigh. Someone had fastened a makeshift tourniquet above the wound using the same frayed rope they’d bound him to the pillar with.

  Ben scurried up the remaining rungs and went to Martin’s side. He already had his Spyderco in hand, blade out, and cut the man loose without wasting any time. No longer supported by the rope around his body, Martin fell. Ben caught him just as Joel cleared the loft floor with his head.

  “Is that…? Oh, man, he’s in bad shape.” Joel winced.

  Ben slid Martin over to a hay bale and propped him up in a position he hoped was comfortable, although he doubted Martin could experience comfort at this point. After Martin bolted out of camp last night, Ben figured their chances of crossing paths again would be slim. But just in case they did, he’d rehearsed a few choice words to say to Martin. Looking at the pathetic wreck of a man lying on the ground and bleeding in front of him, Ben couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but pity for the guy.

  Martin coughed up a mass of mucus and blood as he wheezed and struggled to keep himself from doubling over. “I’m sorry, Ben.” His head tilted, and he put his good eye on Joel. “I’m sor… sorry, Joel.”

  “Forget about last night. We need to get you out of here. We can get you patched up with the med kit Doc gave us,” Ben reasoned.

  Martin grimaced as he drew in another raspy breath. “No, not that. I told them everything. Showed them.” Martin abruptly stopped talking and was overcome with another bout of gurgling coughs.

  “Showed them what, Martin?” Ben felt his compassion fading, mostly because he knew what Martin was going to say.

  “The map.” Martin let his chin drop and started crying. Ben ignored the man. He was already pondering the ramifications of what Martin had done to them. The atlas had their route plotted out in detail, including the places they’d stopped and where they planned on stopping as they drove west.

  The spiral-bound road atlas was practically a logbook of their journey to date and a playbook for the remaining miles ahead. Ben had intentionally marked spots and added notes just in case they needed the information later or wanted to avoid something in the future. But the most damming piece of information on the atlas was their destination. These people not only knew where Ben lived but how he planned on getting there.

  “Where are they now? Tell me.” Ben put his hand on Martin’s forehead and made the man look at him.

  Martin tried to sit up a little but couldn’t manage it. “They left a while ago to look for you at the river, where we camped last night.”

  “How long ago?” Ben pressed Martin for more information. He was surprised they hadn’t passed the bandits on the way here.

  “I don’t know. It was early morning.” Martin paused to spit out a small blood clot. “They took the map with them.”

  Ben thought about the distance to last night’s campsite. The trip here had taken them about two and a half hours, which meant the thieves could be back any minute.

  He tucked the 9mm away and rested his hands on his knees while he tried to decide on their next move, although as far as he could figure, Martin had done it for them. It was obvious what needed to happen. They needed to get the atlas back and eliminate the bad guys. He just needed to figure out how.

  While Ben decided on a plan of action, another thought crossed his mind. Ed and Julia’s place was indicated on the map as well. The road atlas falling into the wrong hands had implications beyond them. The couple’s property was only a day’s drive away. Ben couldn’t let the ripple Martin caused reach out any further.

  He was angry, but there was no time for that now. Besides, Martin looked like he’d suffered enough already. And the more Ben studied his wounds, the more he doubted anything in the first aid kit Julia had given them would make much of a difference. At best, maybe they could make him more comfortable.

  Martin had lost a lot of blood, and that assumption was based on what Ben saw in the hay around the timber support he’d been bound to. The left leg of his pants was stained a dark crimson with a mixture of dry and fresh blood. Every time the man moved, a small amount leaked from the neatly punched hole in his leg. He must have taken the bullet when the Scout was shot up. Ben also noticed the wound’s location; it was dangerously close to the femoral artery. Martin was lucky to still be alive.

  “What are we gonna do? Should we carry him back?” Joel stood at the edge of the loft, looking down over the edge. Ben could tell he was trying not to look at Martin.

  “We can’t stay here, that’s for sure. Come on, Martin. Hang in there. We’ll get you something for the pain.” Ben handed Joel his weapons and prepared to hoist Martin up off the floor. “Go ahead down. I’m right behind you.” He got Martin to his feet, doing most of the work himself. The man was little more than dead weight in his arms. He placed his right leg between Martin’s legs and shifted his weight, pulling him over his back into a traditional fireman’s carry. This would leave a hand free for the ladder and a weapon once he was on the ground.

  Joel helped guide his feet down the last few rungs and handed him his AR-15 once he had his footing.

  “So back to the trucks, then?” Joel ran to the front door of the barn and looked out toward the dirt road that led in from the highway. The last thing Ben wanted to do was run a mile in this heat with Martin on his back. The guy wasn’t light, and Ben was already dying of thirst. But he didn’t want to put the others in danger by having them drive to the barn. Not yet, anyway.

  Eventually, they’d get the trucks here to load the supplies, but they needed to deal with Martin’s captors first.

  “How many of them are there?” Ben laid Martin on a toppled pile of hay bales and helped him sit semi-upright. They’d head for the trucks right away, but Ben needed a drink first or else he wouldn’t make it. The dry, dusty air inside the barn was getting to him and causing his throat to burn.

  “Five or six, I think.” Martin didn’t move when he spoke, and it looked like he hardly had enough energy to breathe. His wound was bleeding again, more than it had been, thanks to the move downstairs. Ben wasn’t sure the man would survive the trip back over the rough, desolate wasteland of a soybean field between them and the trucks. He began to rethink the effort it would take to get him back to the others and questioned if it was a wise move.

  Ben noticed a big orange Igloo water container sitting against the wall, the kind commonly found on the back of a highway crew’s truck. Maybe a drink would help cut through the mental fog he was experiencing while they figured out what to do. He pulled the lid off the top to inspect the contents before putting his mouth up to the built-in spigot.

  “Ugh.” Ben jerked his head back. The musty stench of the off-colored water almost made him gag. He wouldn’t have let the dogs drink it. Ben took a deep breath and reminded himself again how it wasn’t completely Joel’s fault for forgetting to pack them a couple Nalgenes. Ben should have double-checked, but they were in a hurry. Either way, there’d be no relief for them or Martin until they reunited with the others.

  In spite of what Martin had done to them, undermining their efforts to get home and the trouble he’d caused, Ben didn’t want to see him suffer. Most of the man’s shortcomings were due to ignorance. Until recently, anyway, when he’d seemed hell-bent on screwing things up. Last night, Ben wouldn’t have cared if Martin drove off a cliff. But after he saw him lying there in his own blood, it was hard to feel anything but pity. And whether Martin deserved it or not, they had to do whatever they could for him without putting anyone else at risk in the process.

  “Dad!” Joel put his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun and stepped closer to the small window at the top of the front door.

  Ben knew something was wrong right away, but before he could answer, his radio crackled to life.

  “Ben, come in. Two trucks headed your way. Over.” Sandy’s voice was frantic.

  “Copy that. What do you see? Over,” Ben asked.

  “There’s four people in a suburban, followed by a flatbed truck with three more. The flatbed is carrying the Lincoln we passed this morning. They’re heading for the barn. Over.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up. Stay put for now. I’ll get back to you. Over.” Ben didn’t mention the fact that he and Joel had found Martin or their gear, but that wasn’t important right now. He hurried to the door and stood alongside Joel to look out the window. Sure enough, there were two dust clouds moving toward the barn across the barren landscape. Ben tried the scope on his M24, but between the drifting sand kicked up by the trucks and the heat distortion rising from the sunbaked earth, he couldn’t confirm Sandy’s headcount. But that didn’t matter, because regardless of how many were coming, they were in for a fight.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “We need to hide before they get here.” Ben put his hand on Joel’s shoulder and pulled him away from the door.

  “Where should I go?” Joel glanced around the barn before making eye contact with his dad. Ben could see the fear mixed with excitement in his eyes.

  He put his hand on Joel’s shoulder and made him hold still for a second. “We’ve got the upper hand. We’re gonna be all right. Cool heads prevail.”

  Joel nodded. “Yeah, got it.”

  “Give me a hand with Martin first, will you?” Ben set his weapon down on the hay and grabbed Martin under his arms. Joel followed along and took his feet. The two of them moved Martin into one of the nearby horse stalls and propped him up as best they could.

  “I want to help.” Martin somehow found the strength to pull himself up against the stall door. Ben thought about sending Joel to retrieve the SKS for Martin but thought the thieves might notice it missing when they entered. On top of that, he suspected Martin might have trouble holding the heavy rifle, let alone shooting it with any accuracy.

  “Please. Let me do something,” Martin pleaded while struggling to get into a better position. The man wanted a shot at redemption; Ben could see it in his eyes. Against his better judgment, he pulled the Glock from his holster and handed it to Martin. The man was dying—there was no mistaking that—and in some way, Ben felt he owed him what might very well be his last request.

  “Don’t do anything until after Joel and I make our move. Understand?” Ben waited for Martin to answer.

  “I won’t.” Martin nodded as best he could, then winced as he situated himself for a better view out toward the barn entrance.

  What harm could the man do? They’d placed him in the farthest stall from the front door. The thieves would most likely be focused on the loft when they first entered the barn. And if Martin chose not to listen to Ben’s instructions and tried to get revenge for the beating his captors had given him, the worst-case scenario would be a diversion that drew fire away from him and Joel.

  “Come on, over here.” Ben pointed to the other side of the barn and pushed Joel in that direction.

  “Do you think Martin’s gonna make it?” Joel asked quietly.

  “No. I don’t think he’s got much longer, to be honest,” Ben replied bluntly. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much we can do for him here. I’m not even sure the med kit has anything that would really help him much. He’s lost too much blood.” He made a point to keep his voice down, but he was pretty sure Martin knew his time was running out, too.

  He had a look in his eye that Ben recognized. One of unmistakable calmness and lucidity that came over a man when he knew the fight was lost. He’d seen it before. Martin had that hundred-yard stare and the sudden clarity of mind to realize his best course of action was to go down swinging, regardless of the pain he was in. It was the only reason Ben gave him the Glock.

  Ben slapped Joel on the shoulder and took the horse stall next to him. “When I give the signal, let ’em have it. You start on your left and I’ll start right. Got it?”

  Joel nodded and swallowed hard. “Got it.”

  “Take your time. Pick your targets,” Ben added. Joel looked nervous but also like he was thinking about Martin, his eyes darting from the front door to the stall Martin was hiding in, then back again.

  Ben didn’t mean to sound so callous about Martin, but there was no time for anything but the facts at the moment. And judging by the shape Martin was in, Joel didn’t need Ben to tell him the man was on his way out.

  Ben didn’t think he had the capacity to feel sorry for Martin after what he did last night, but he did. Bullet wound aside, Martin had taken a beating and a half. There weren’t many men who could tolerate that kind of torture before giving up information, and Ben was proud of Martin for lasting as long as he had. It was obvious he’d held out as long as he could before revealing the atlas to the thieves.

  “Come in, Sandy. We’ll take care of things on our end. Sit tight and maintain radio silence until you hear back from me. Over and out.” Ben turned his volume all the way down and put the speaker to his ear. He hated to be that vague, but there was no time for more. She’d have to trust him.

  The radio clicked but there was a pause that lasted a couple of seconds. “Copy that. Over.” He could tell Sandy had more to say but held her tongue. She wasn’t happy about sitting this out. Allie either, for that matter, he imagined.

  But he felt better knowing Brad and Emma were in good hands and being watched over. Just because the bandits were headed their way didn’t mean there weren’t more of them. The gang could be bigger than Martin had thought. And they could be out there patrolling the highways and areas around the barn for new victims. Ben would rather the others stay hidden until he and Joel resolved the current situation. One crisis at a time was always best.

  Ben heard the squeal of brakes, followed by doors slamming shut. He looked over at Joel and noticed that his son had frozen.

  “Breathe, Joel. Slow and steady.” Ben tried to get his son to relax. This wasn’t the hairiest situation they’d been in by far, but it was life and death nonetheless.

  Ben was determined to make quick work of these subhuman dirt balls. How else could they be described? Murdering innocent travelers as they tried their best to reach family or loved ones, these highway killers were preying on people like Ben and his crew. He’d seen plenty of depravity in their travels, but it never ceased to amaze him how low some people would sink to save themselves at the expense of others.

  He figured the gang of thieves would all come inside before unloading the worthless Lincoln, eager to get out of the midday sun and take a break. He was counting on it. Of course, there was always the chance that a couple of the gang would linger outside the barn. But he wasn’t overly concerned about that.

  The dry, barren landscape that surrounded the barn provided little cover. And if there were any runners after they sprang the ambush, he was confident in his ability to find them quickly and pick them off with his M24. Whatever it took, he was determined to put an end to this gang’s reign of terror.

  Ben glanced over at Joel and gave him a reassuring nod as the two of them listened to the muffled voices outside. They were getting closer. The entry door flew open without warning, launching a cloud of dust and hay particles into the rays of sunlight penetrating the barn’s interior. One after another, the thieves poured inside, but after the fifth man entered, he closed the door behind him.

  “I wonder if he’s still alive.” A middle-aged man in a camouflage shirt unslung his rifle and leaned it against the wall.

  Another man approached the cooler Ben had checked for water just a little while ago. “Well, if he’s not, I’m not getting rid of the body. I took care of the last one. It’s Jimmy’s turn this time.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” a younger, thinner man answered. “I guess I better go check on him, but first, I need a drink.”

  Another man walked over to the bales of hay on the floor where Ben and Joel had set Martin down to rest after bringing him down from the loft. He pulled his dirty red ball cap from his head and wiped his brow with a rag from his pocket before leaning his AR-15 near the other man’s wooden-stocked rifle.