Epstein showed Patrick and Christine what fuse to reconnect to re-enable the headlights on the SUVs, just in case. Rebecca told them to stay with the vehicles, keep them secure, and if the rest of them got captured, to go get help. They didn't like that plan much, but accepted they had the least combat experience, and that those roles needed covering.

Now Rebecca and Sam lay behind a small berm, lining the side of a field. They sheltered beneath a large tree while true darkness fell, Rebecca pivoting Felicia to examine points downrange.

"Barn door."

She heard a click and a pen scratching. "Two-seventy."

"Big house, porch."

"Three-ten."

"Front gate."

"Two-twenty. Hang on, movement, barn."

Rebecca snapped her aim to the front of the barn for the source of Sam's warning. A woman was walking to the right, escorted loosely by one of the nondescript jackasses. So help her, if that went unpleasantly... she really didn't want to kick things off before the boys were ready.

Several tense seconds of watching their movement passed, until she sighed with unburdening relief. The woman approached the restrained child and appeared to be spooning something into their mouth. She saw the hair shift repeatedly on its own and briefly lowered her eye away from the scope, taking a moment to square away her emotions.

Sam gave those thoughts voice beside her. "Oh thank god, they're alive."

"Yeah." Rebecca's grimness returned as the guard hauled the woman, probably the mother, away forcibly and dragged her by the arm back to the barn, which was shut and chained behind her. Then, he tromped off to the house.

"Back of his head's two-forty-two, if you're wondering."

Rebecca chuckled. "Stop reading my mind."

This went on for several more locations, Sam helping her range points of reference. Rebecca wouldn't remember all the figures, but didn't need them all to get a feel for the distances in front of her. Data points just helped her form better spatial awareness.

"Okay, thanks Rosie. That should be enough. The boys are probably getting close."

"'kay. Be careful."

"You too." Rebecca heard Sam move off in the dark, knowing she was headed for another tree a good dozen yards to her right. Of course she wanted her nearby, but she also didn't want stray rounds coming at one of them to have a chance to hit the other. God and anyone listening forbid. Maybe someone was, with the kid still moving and all.

She watched the darkness beyond the barn, thick in the trees, only barely pushed back by the lanterns and small bonfires lit by her foes. The guys would be skulking through there, Landry with her Tavor for its suppressor, Epstein backing him up with his M4 and an attached bayonet, both with night vision goggles.

One asshole disappeared from view on his loop around the back of the barn, and this time he didn't come back a minute or so later. Rebecca knew it was game time.

She panned far left, aiming at the shadowy bulk of one of the Humvees, and squeezed her trigger once. She couldn't hear it at this distance, but she was counting on the bullet making a satisfying cracking sound when it impacted one of the windows. Sweeping back, she checked on the guy sitting in a folding lawn chair by the barn door. Fucking idiot hadn't even noticed. She swept left again and put two rounds out this time, then back to check.

Finally. He got up off his ass and meandered over to inspect the noise like the amateur bully he was. A professional wouldn't have gone alone, or even fallen for the ol' tossed pebble gambit. But he wasn't a professional and wasn't going to become one in the remaining seconds of his life. She panned with him, matching his pace. She could almost hear Ronnie's voice in her head. Range two-fifty. Wind zero. Walking target, hold level, left one body width. Then... when he left the circle of light by the barn... and silhouetted himself in front of another distant brazier — Send it.

Felicia spat once, twice. He crumpled. Rebecca put one more round in the body on the ground for good measure, then swung to her next target. Two assholes, front gate, who she couldn't drop first because the guy at the barn would see.

Steady, Bex. Range two-twenty. Wind three to five from the right. Box drill just like I taught you. Hold level, left one-half. Send when ready.

One full respiration to get some oxygen in, then a controlled breath. One two, pivot, one two, back to first target. Confirmed down. Back to second target. Moving. Three. Not moving anymore.

Half mag gone, not counting the one bonus round she'd started with in the chamber. Pan right towards the crucifixes, houses. No signs of alarm. There, one guy walking around the houses... never mind. She actually saw the cigarette-lighter-sized puff of flame from her Tavor that made him fall down and zoomed out to cover Epstein as he dragged the body into the darkness. Landry was inevitably doing the same, but she wanted to be sure. No drama. Zoom back in, hunt. No targets. Disappointment. Eagerness — time to move up.

Rebecca pulled the mag from her thigh pocket — easier to grab prone — and swapped it for the half empty one. Three more on her torso. She moved to a low crouch, glancing right to see Sam's shadowy form rise a moment later. Rebecca moved in that direction, reaching out a hand to gently touch Sam's shoulder, then continued up the berm. Down into a drainage or irrigation gully where it exited a culvert, then carefully because of the rougher ground.

The heavens were literally on their side that night. Enough light to see by once their eyes adjusted, but dark enough to skulk about, hidden from anyone standing near illumination. And their black armor... maybe they could have found something to darken their faces with, but something appealed about thinking of herself appearing as a floating spectral head, coming to bring the damned their due.

The next part of the plan was... fluid, to put it politely. They weren't sure whether it was better to leave the prisoners in the barn locked up — out of the way, but vulnerable to reprisal, and maybe hard to get back to — or get them out ASAP, into the woods, out of harm's way. They'd agreed to play it by ear, see how things went.

That decision got made for them, though. It was inevitable someone would notice the dwindling population count at some point. It happened soon after she'd reached her second shooting position — past the livestock, a the corner of the shed a truck and open-topped Jeep were parked in, with Sam watching the other side.

A shift of light caught Rebecca's eye, and she saw a man in dirty jeans and a flannel shirt under a puffy vest stepping down from the porch with a lantern. He looked around for a moment, holding the lantern up high in front of him, then aimed a flashlight into the dark and swept it around. Good thing Epstein stashed that body.

As her latest target lowered his hand with the flashlight in it, she realized it was attached to a pistol. Handy to know where he was aiming at all times, she supposed.

He stalked over to the crucifixes, kicking the foot of latest man to be added. She couldn't make out his words, but the tone reached her — they were angry, interrogatory. His victim's posture was weak, but defiant, head rising, tilting to one side. Probably telling the guy exactly where he could go shove his flashlight. That earned the prisoner a blow the head, pistol whipped, then again.

If he lifted that arm into firing position, Rebecca sweared he'd drop the guy right there. Instead, he turned back towards the wide open ground in front of the house, leading down past the barn towards the front gate. He'd only need to walk another fifty, sixty feet before he'd probably spot the first guy Rebecca had dropped.

Fine. If their presence was to be discovered, she might as well announce it with style.

At this range, inside 200 yards, she could put a round within a three inch circle of where she wanted to. Usually less. She waited for him to slow his pace... come on, buddy. Pause a while, look around into the darkness. Don't you want to know what's out there? It wants you to know it's out there...

She got the opportunity she wanted. He slowed before he could see the body, because he saw the unoccupied lawn chair. She aimed, carefully...

... and put a round into the lantern, just below the painfully brilliant nucleus of light, around where she estimated the valve might be.

She'd recognized it wasn't a propane lantern, the base was too squat. Combined with the brightness of the lit mantle that set it apart from a "plain old" kerosene lamp, that meant it was like her uncle's old Coleman — fueled by "white gas", hand-pumped to be under pressure before you lit it, sustained after ignition by its own heat vaporizing fuel in the feed tube.

Rebecca was disappointed, the initial fireball blooming forth wasn't as all-encompassing as she'd hoped for. Stupid Hollywood, skewing her expectations unrealistically. It only enveloped his arm for a split second as the lantern was knocked from his hand and fell to the ground. That, however... formed a nice puddle of fire as the depressurized fuel met the hot lamp elements.

She could improvise with that.

The man's singed flailing terror provided her with ample opportunity to shoot him in the far leg somewhere around the knee, then twice in the vicinity of his shoulder as he fell, nudging his toppling arc right into the flames where he rolled about, screaming. She let him thrash for the span of two breaths before some shred of humanity pushed out from where it had been sequestered in back corners of her brain, and she euthanized him with a round through his head.

Hello, boys. Remember us?