Warning Shot. Jenna Kernan

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      The roar in her ears nearly deafened her.

      He wasn’t taking her. That much she knew, because she was not creating a hostage situation on her first assignment. As she came upright, she swept her leg behind his and knocked him from his feet. As his arms jerked outward in reflex, she seized the barrel of the rifle and yanked. By the time Daniel recovered enough to scramble backward, she had his rifle pointed at him.

      “It ain’t loaded,” he said.

      She felt the weight of the firearm and gave him a look of disappointment.

      “Daniel, have you had any visitors, other than me, recently?”

      “What kind of visitors?”

      “Smugglers.”

      “Anyone crosses our land we know it. Got cameras everywhere. How we spotted you.”

      “Your family likes their privacy?”

      “We don’t assist illegals if that’s what you mean.”

      “Why is that?”

      “They’re carriers. Part of the scourge to come.”

      She knew the dogma.

      “You know your nephew is in court this morning?” she asked.

      Daniel curled his fingers around his beard and tugged.

      “I knew he run off again. He get arrested?”

      “Shoplifting.”

      “Comics again?”

      She shrugged.

      “Stan is gonna tan his hide.”

      “Not if he’s in prison. Second offense.”

      Daniel seemed to forget she was pointing his rifle at him as he turned to go.

      “I gotta go tell Judy.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You best git. Leave my rifle on the road by your vehicle. That is if Stan don’t already got your car.”

      “Stop.” She had her weapon out and it was loaded.

      He stopped and glanced back at her.

      “You threatened a federal agent,” she said to her retreating would-be opponent.

      “I threatened a trespasser who’s also an agent. We got constitutional rights. Illegal search. Illegal surveillance. Just cause. Illegal seizure.” He continued speaking about rights and threats as he wound through the trees and out of sight.

      She watched him go.

      As it happened, when she reached her vehicle, she found Stanley Coopersmith waiting with his wife, Judy. Coopersmith was a man in his sixties, silver-haired, slim and muscular with a mustache that would have made any rodeo cowboy proud. His wife’s hair was short and streaked with silver. She had the body of a woman accustomed to physical work and the lined face of a smoker.

      Coopersmith did not move the rifle he held resting over his shoulder at her approach. She kept her personal weapon drawn but lowered.

      “You holding my boy?”

      “Sir, I’m Homeland Security—”

      “We know who you are,” said Judy Coopersmith, her chin now aimed at Rylee like a knife. “You holding my boy?”

      “No, ma’am. Morris was arrested for shoplifting by local law enforcement. He has a hearing scheduled for this morning.”

      “You come here to tell us this?” said Coopersmith.

      “No. I’m here investigating a case.”

      “You here to shut us down?”

      Visions of Waco, Texas, flared like a dumpster fire in her mind.

      “I am not. My job is to secure our borders.”

      “Well, we can assure you that this border is secure. Nobody sneaks through this patch of ground without us knowing. Yourself included.”

      “That’s reassuring,” said Rylee. “Has anyone tried recently?”

      The two exchanged a look but did not reply. No answer is still an answer, she thought.

      She took a leap of faith that their mutual threat made her, if not an ally, at least not an enemy. “We have intelligence that indicates something dangerous might be coming over from Canada. I’d ask you to be extra vigilant and hope that you will alert me if there is anything that threatens our national security.”

      Another long look blazed between the two.

      “Why do you think we’re up here?” asked Coopersmith. “Just a bunch of crazies playing war games in the woods? We know what’s coming.”

      “And you do not think the federal government is capable of stopping threats from foreigners.”

      “If I did, why would I build a bunker?”

      Rylee glanced toward her vehicle. “I’d best get back.”

      It was a long, long walk...to her vehicle. She did not draw an easy breath until she was safely behind the wheel. However, when she pressed the starter, her vehicle gave only an impotent click. The engine did not turn over on any of her next three attempts. There was no motor sound. In fact, the only sound was the thumping drumbeat of her heart.

      THE FOG HAD settled into a steady drizzle by midday. Axel reached the stretch of old timber bordering Coopersmith land. He’d received a tip from Hal Mondello, who knew how to spot a fed’s car if anyone alive did, that Rylee had headed past his place. Beyond Mondello land was the cult that called itself the Congregation of Eternal Wisdom. Beyond that was Hal Coopersmith’s spread and his survivalist family. He didn’t know which was a worse place for Rylee. For personal reasons, he decided to try Coopersmith’s first and backtrack if necessary.

      Hal Mondello was not a friend, but he protected his self-interest. Having the sheriff rein in a fed nosing around would be to his benefit. Hence, the call.

      Mondello called himself a farmer, but everything he raised went into his cash crop, moonshine. Hal supplied most of the entire region with hard liquor. His brew was popular for its potency and the fact that it was cheap, due to Hal’s complete avoidance of paying any federal tax. That made his moonshine a working man’s favorite. Thankfully, that sort of violation fell under the auspices of the ATF, who had found his operation too small to be bothered with.

      Axel raced out to the Coopersmiths’ main gate, running silent, but exceeding the speed limit the entire way. He understood the Coopersmiths’ desire to live off the grid, be largely self-sufficient, but he didn’t understand living in a constant state of fear of some upcoming disaster from which СКАЧАТЬ