Map of Sanguine Springs

  Sanguine Springs

  Allison stared out through a narrow tunnel of shadow and smoke. Voices echoed, distant and indistinct, as if from miles away. She sat in a ring of people, gathered round the giant tree stump in the town's center. Her chest pounded in tandem with the throbbing of her head, ears still ringing from the roar as her uncle's house slid into the thirsty sinkhole's mouth.

  "He used to lead our team." The man's voice bounced inside her head, an echo of words just spoken. Whose team? she mused foggily, as a nearby figure froze. Jael, she recognized. The older woman stood ramrod straight, pursed lips, eyes blazing. She held a rifle at her hip, its barrel swinging. The gun's business end swept away from the kneeling figure of the restrained stranger, coming to rest pointing at a new target—aimed at the prone shape of Matthias.

  "What's going on?" a voice asked, weak and confused. It took her a moment to realize it was her own.

  "Used to lead them?" Jael repeated, her tone as flat as her facial expression. "Talk," she demanded.

  "Woah, hold up." Tony scrambled from his knees to stand, hands raised, but without leaving Matthias's side. "I don't know what's goin' on, but Matt ain't one of them. He coulda killed me three times over tonight, but didn't."

  "Incompetence is not the same as innocence, Tony." Jael jabbed the rifle in Matthias's direction again. "Who are you? Who sent your... team"—she spat the word—"to kill me?"

  "Kill you?" Matthias tried and failed to rise. He lay wincing, a trembling hand rubbing his temple. His fingertips came back slick with blood. "Jael, I didn't—"

  "Answer the question." She gestured with the rifle.

  "Jael, please." Brad had risen without Allison's knowledge. He limped forward, med kit in hand, steps awkward with one missing boot. "He needs medical attention."

  "He needs to die," she shot back through gritted teeth. "They both do. They would have killed us all."

  "No," Brad said. "Tony is right. You know how he got wounded? Going after Allison. Because I asked him to."

  "He's one of them!" she shouted.

  "Not anymore." Matthias's voice was barely audible over the rushing torrent and still-burning house fire. "I left Horus Overwatch last year. I'm not—I didn't bring them here."

  "Then who sent them?" Jael's finger moved from the trigger guard to the trigger. "Why tonight? How did they find me?"

  "Not you," Matthias said. "They came for her." He raised his right hand, index finger extended, bloody digit pointed like a gun at Allison.

  The words landed like a slap. Allison blinked, the fog in her head clearing just enough to process what he'd said. "What?"

  "No," Brad said. His voice cut through the tension, rough and commanding despite his injuries. He knelt beside Matthias, fixing his face with an ice-cold stare as he popped open the trauma kit. "They came for me."

  Jael's eyes didn't leave Matthias, but her expression shifted. "You?"

  "Former SEAL. Black ops in Iraq, Afghanistan. Places I can't mention. I bet there's a whole football stadium of sons, brothers, and widows who'd pay to see me die." Brad's jaw tightened. "And that's before you factor in the still. I've been running whiskey in five counties without a license. You think the ATF doesn't have my name flagged? You think the Albany Mafia hasn't noticed their competition?"

  "Brad—" Allison started.

  "No." Brad shook his head. "Professional hit team? Military-grade weapons? This is not random. That's someone with resources. Someone who knows what I was, what I did."

  "You're wrong," Tony said. All eyes turned to him. He stood over Matthias, bathrobe hanging open, belly rising and falling with each breath. He looked exhausted. Old. "They came for me."

  "Tony," Jael said, her voice softened with disbelief.

  "C'mon!" Tony's voice cracked. "I'm Sweet Tony D." He looked from face to face, expecting some spark of recognition. He got none. "C'mon, Brad, not even you? I was a made man, rising in the Albany Mafia. Engaged to the daughter of the Don. I coulda been a governor."

  "What'd you do?" Allison asked. She stared at Tony in confusion.

  "I got scared," he said, head hung low. "Scared of commitment, getting in too deep... disappointing her. So I ran. Matilda has been hunting me for years."

  "You think your ex sent a hit squad after you because you left her at the altar?" Jael pursed her lips skeptically.

  "Well, not just that," Tony admitted. His left hand rose to his chest, fingers running along the links of his necklace. "I took some insurance when I split. Some jewelry that was laying around. Turns out, it was the Don's signet ring." He brushed the gold ring on his chain before dropping it beneath his A-shirt. "They took it personal."

  "This wasn't the mob," Brad said.

  "How do you know?" Tony shot back. "You think they don't hire out? You think they don't got the money for professional hitters? I've been hidin' in this no-horse town, living off of cannoli and ragu, hopin' they'd forget, hopin' Matilda would let it go. But she don't forget. She don't forgive."

  Silence fell over the group. The ground trembled again, followed by the sound of gravel collapsing into watery depths below. Brad's house groaned—or what was left of it. The sinkhole's edge now reached to the driveway, swallowing gravel and pine needles.

  Jael broke the silence. "Not you, Tony. Not Brad either," she said quietly. She lowered the rifle, just slightly. "They came for me."

  Matthias shook his head. "Jael, no I said—"

  "Can it, Sauerkraut," she snapped. "You think that's funny, pinning this on an innocent civilian? Well, I don't. You're not funny and you're not fooling anyone. Tony's not the only one with a past. You think I sleep well at night? You think I don't check my mirrors?" She paused. "I have a price on my head in five countries. My bosses were willing to let me retire. But the people I put down? Their allies? Their family?" Jael's voice was ice. "They remember. I've got kill orders from Hamas, Hezbollah, the PLO, and two flavors of ISIS."

  "You're hiding out here from terrorists?" Tony asked, eyes big as half dollars, and mouth hanging open like a fish.

  "No. I left to get away from the work. The killing." She looked down at her feet. "I was good at it. Too good. I took out a target, then found out he was misidentified. I still see his face at night—when I can sleep."

  "Jael, I'm sorry." Brad met his neighbor's eyes, voice low. "I really am. But how can you be sure they were after you? Remember, I killed a few assets in the sandbox myself."

  "How many operations did I run in Syria? In Lebanon? How many targets?" Jael's grip tightened on the rifle. "I know how this works. Professional team, coordinated assault, multiple entry points—that's how you take down a hard target. That's how you kill someone who knows it's coming."

  "But you're all wrong." Matthias said it louder this time. He pushed himself up to sitting, swaying slightly. "It was Allison. It's always been Allison."

  "That's insane." Allison heard herself say. The fog was lifting now, replaced by a cold, creeping dread. "I'm nobody. I'm a token hire for a software company. I'm only here because I need someplace to put my life together. Why would—"

  "Ask him." Matthias jerked his head toward the prisoner. "Johansen. Tell them."

  Throughout their confessions, the bound man hadn't moved. He knelt in the gravel, head bowed, hands zip-tied behind his back. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

  "The contract was for a domestic terrorist named Allison Myles."

  The night went silent. Even the sinkhole seemed to pause, the rumbling ceasing as if the earth itself were listening.

  "You're just a grunt who let himself get captured," Jael said. "How can you know?"

  "I accepted the godforsaken mission package." Johansen lifted his head, meeting her gaze. His face was pale, lips set—somewhere between defeated and defiant. "Target package came through two days ago. Female, mid-twenties, prosthetic right hand, residing in Sanguine Springs, New York. Allison Myles and a handful of retired neighbors." He scoffed at the word retired.

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  Allison felt the blood drain from her face. "Terrorist?"

  "Cut the crap, kid." Johansen's tone hardened. "You're young, but I read your file. Gun running, bomb making, weaponized drone sales. You're the highest value target we've had on American soil. We were supposed to take you out."

  "That's ridiculous," Brad sputtered. "She's my niece. The most innocent person in this county." He paused. "The internet. It died right before the attack. That was you. Your team cut communications to isolate us, then planned to wipe us all out."

  "Collateral happens." Johansen's voice was flat. "The target package said retirees. We cut comms to keep you from calling the police. If you hadn't resisted, none of this would have happened." He shrugged, the zip-ties cutting into his wrists. "Guess I should have gone with my gut."

  "But why?" Allison's voice cracked. "Why me? I'm not a killer. I'm nobody. I don't—"

  "We don't get reasons," Johansen said. "Just contracts. Payment. Logistics."

  "But someone paid," Matthias said. He was watching Allison now, his expression unreadable. "That's how this works. Someone with money. Someone with connections. Someone who knew where to find Horus Overwatch, how to hire us, and how to authorize a full tactical team for a redaction operation."

  "Geez, kid." Tony whistled. "Piss off any millionaires lately?"

  "Millionaires couldn't afford Horus. Not for as long as we—as they've been around." Matthias stared at Allison, at the blinking red light on her prosthesis. "Who did you say you worked for?"

  "Tetherly," Allison whispered. She looked at the brushed metal image of Scruff, the company's canine mascot—an homage to Thomas Newton's childhood pet. But Allison wasn't thinking of Scruff. Or of Thomas Newton. Instead, she remembered a calm, handsome man sitting perfectly still, with wine dripping down his face like blood.

  Hadley? No, he was a predator and a sleazeball, but he didn't have that kind of power at his disposal. Did he?

  Matthias was quiet for a moment, then placed a hand on Johansen's shoulder. The gesture was oddly gentle. "I'm sorry you got caught up in this. Lukas always was a bastard."

  "The worst kind," Johansen agreed. "Takes contracts he shouldn't. Doesn't ask questions anymore."

  Behind them, the sinkhole let out another groan. A section of Brad's driveway crumbled and fell, the sound of cascading gravel and snapping timber echoing through the night. The fire had died down to embers now, casting everything in a dim orange glow.

  Jael shifted her MCX, eyes scanning the hill from which Lukas had departed. "We need to move inside. We're exposed here, and most of you are flirting with hypothermia." She looked around at the ragged survivors, then added, "My place. I'll put on a kettle."

  No one complained. Brad helped Matthias to his feet again, while Tony and Jael prodded Johansen to a standing position. Allison shivered, ready for some warmth and a change of clothes, yet knowing they would not dispel the true chill that had settled deep in her bones. She and her uncle took up the rear, Brad limping with each step on his one remaining boot.

  "At least it's over," Allison said quietly. The words felt hollow even as she spoke them.

  Johansen paused, nearly earning a rifle barrel to the spine. He turned back, glancing down at Allison. "But it's not. The contract is still open."

  The silence that followed was heavy. Even the sinkhole remained quiet, as if the pond were content with the house it had swallowed.

  "What do you mean, open?" Brad asked, his voice betraying a deadly wariness.

  "Someone paid for your niece to die. That doesn't just go away because we failed." Johansen's tone was matter-of-fact, almost apologetic. "Horus Overwatch might be out of the picture, but it's only a matter of time until they send someone else."

  "How much time do we have?" Matthias asked.

  "A day. Maybe two." Johansen shifted his weight, the zip-ties digging deeper into his wrists. "Contracts like this have contingencies. Failsafes. When we miss our check-in window, the system auto-escalates."

  "Escalates to who?" Matthias surveyed the woods, as if the next round could occur any moment.

  "I don't know," Johansen replied. "None of us did, you know that. The orders just arrived, along with the paychecks. For all I know, they could have unactivated sleeper cells already embedded in the area. Maybe a paramilitary unit like Wagner, or one of the stateside commercial contractors." He paused, something darker crossing his face. "There's even whispers of more... experimental teams. Drone-augmented strike forces. Robotics integration. You think the girl is a Terminator? They make her look like Captain Kangaroo."

  "Gesù Bambino," Tony muttered.

  "And when Lukas reports back, they'll have fresh intel," Johansen continued. "Your location. Your capabilities. Your vulnerabilities. And they'll come harder. Smarter."

  Allison felt her legs go weak. She sat down hard on the gravel, not caring about the sharp stones digging into her. "One day?"

  "Maybe two if we're lucky. If there's confusion about what happened here." Johansen looked tired now, the adrenaline wearing off. Blood had dried on his temple where Jael had struck him earlier. "But I wouldn't count on luck. Not in this life, anyway."

  Allison's voice was small. "When we call 911—what happens to him?"

  No one answered. She looked at Johansen, then at the others. "I mean, we have to call them, right? The fire department, the police? That sinkhole alone—"

  Tony looked at his feet. Brad studied the tree line. Even Matthias wouldn't meet her eyes.

  "Honey," Jael said finally, her voice surprisingly gentle. "We aren't going to call them."

  "What?"

  "Think about it." Jael lowered her MCX, suddenly looking worn out. "We've got dead bodies scattered across two properties. Military-grade weapons. A prisoner we've restrained and interrogated, and his former commander. Brad's running an illegal distillery. Tony's got stolen mob property. I'm wanted by half the terror organizations in the Middle East. And you—" She gestured at Allison. "You're apparently some kind of walking weapons platform that someone paid a fortune to eliminate."

  "We're all culpable in some pretty heavy stuff here," Brad added quietly. "The second we call this in, we're all going to jail. Best case scenario, we spend the next decade fighting charges. Worst case..." He didn't finish the sentence.

  "No one is coming to save us," Jael said flatly. "We're on our own."

  Allison felt the last of her naive hope crumble. She looked around at the group. Uncle Brad, and his neighbors. She knew they were strangers, but didn;t know how strange this collection of damaged, dangerous people really was.

  But they were the reason she was still alive. She swallowed, then nodded. "So what do we do?"

  Brad was quiet for a long moment, staring at the smoldering remains of his house. The firelight caught the hard angles of his face, catching every wrinkle and crag. A man of granite, dangerous and resolved. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of command. "We leave. Tomorrow morning, first light. Get out of Sanguine Springs before the next team arrives."

  "And go where?" Allison asked.

  Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant crackle of dying embers and the occasional groan of settling earth.

  "I know a place," Brad said finally. "Friend from the teams. Guy named Randy Webb—got big into tech after he got out. Cloud storage, data security, the whole nine yards. Built himself a private data facility in the middle of nowhere, Kansas." He looked at Allison. "If anyone can figure out what that arm of yours really is, it's him. And if we need to disappear for a while, there's no better place to do it."

  "Kansas?" Tony's voice cracked. "That's like... a thousand miles away."

  "Fourteen hundred," Brad said. "Give or take."

  "And you think this guy will just take us in?" Jael asked. "All of us? With a prisoner and half the underworld on our tails?"

  "Randy owes me his life. Twice." Brad's jaw tightened. "He'll help. No questions asked."

  Allison's mind was racing. "What about my mom? My brother? If another team comes—"

  "The safest thing you can do for your family is put distance between you and them," Brad said. "These people targeted you specifically. As long as you're gone, they're not in danger."

  "But—"

  "Allison." Brad gripped her shoulder. "I promise you, the best way to keep them safe is to lead this away from them. Far away."

  She wanted to argue, wanted to insist there had to be another way. But the logic was sound, even if it made her feel like she was abandoning them—again.

  "So that's the plan?" Johansen asked. He turned to and squinted into the faces of his captors. "You'll just leave me chained up here while you drive halfway across the country and hope no one notices?"

  "It's the best shot we have," Brad said. "Pack light, move fast. We take back roads, avoid cameras where we can."

  "Driving what?" Tony gestured at the ruined properties around them. "Your truck's underwater, and the girl's rental looks like a scrap yard art project."

  "We can take my van," Matthias said quietly. Everyone turned to look at him. He shrugged. "What? I bought it for comfortably transporting old folk. It's roomy. Seats seven, if we're friendly."

  "You're coming?" Jael's eyebrow raised.

  "You think I'm staying here when my brother is out there? Or worse, if a second strike team arrives?" Matthias shook his head. "I'm in no shape to fight back now. Besides, someone needs to keep Johansen in line."

  "Wait, who's going?" Allison asked, looking around at the assembled group.

  "Everyone," Brad said simply.

  "Everyone?" Tony sputtered. "I'm not gonna pal around with a bunch of commandos; I'm trying to keep a low profile."

  "Your house just became a crime scene," Brad interrupted. "Even without calling it in, it’s only a matter of hours before the mailman swings by, and then? Three fire departments, state troopers, and county sheriff, at least. The one you stole from the Don? You really think the Albany Mafia won't hear about this? And that signet ring around your neck?" He shook his head. "You stay here, you're a sitting duck for Matilda and whoever's coming for Allison next."

  Tony opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. His hand moved unconsciously to his chest, fingers finding the chain beneath his bathrobe.

  "Jael?" Brad looked at his neighbor.

  She was quiet for a long moment, studying the rifle in her hands. "I came here to get away from the killing," she said softly. "Looks like the killing found me anyway." She looked up, meeting Brad's eyes. "If I'm going to run, might as well run with people who know how to fight."

  "Does anyone have a better idea?" Brad asked, looking around the circle. No one spoke. Even Johansen remained silent, head bowed.

  "Then it's settled," Brad said. "We get a few hours of sleep at Jael's. Pack what we can carry. In the morning,we hit the road." He looked at Allison, and for the first time that night, something like hope flickered in his expression. "We figure out who's trying to kill you, what you've got inside that arm, and we'll know how to make it stop."

  Allison looked down at her prosthetic hand. The light blinked, matching her pulse. Only now, it glowed amber—a new color. As she watched, its pulse switched to the usual red, then went dark. What other secrets does this thing have?

  "Alright, crazy as it sounds, we have a plan. Let's go," Jael said, already moving toward her house. "I'll put on the kettle."