Lizzie slipped from tree to tree as quiet as she could be. She winced as a twig snapped under foot. Everything was surreal, like she was in a first-person-shooter, but there were no saves or resets. Despite the cold, her fingers were sweaty on the trigger. She wasn’t sure she would be able to squeeze the trigger again, even if she had to. CJ’s face bloomed, ashen and blood-spattered in her mind. It’s a game. Double points for shooting Independents.
Lizzie stepped forward and angled toward the road. She couldn’t see anything but trees. Everybody was here because of her. Why hadn’t she let her father come up to Bellingham? But would he and Jess have ever have made it? At least this way she had seen him and told him she loved him. The others hadn’t needed to come though. They could be kicking it back with the Hippies right now if it wasn’t for her. She had to help them.
She picked her steps carefully, certain that she couldn’t sneak up on an animal, but maybe on some redneck hunters. She leaned her back against a tree. The bark on the tree was thick and rough as she rested against it. Slowly she stuck her head around, staring at the ground ahead, planning her next step.
“Pssstt.”
Lizzie spun. The shotgun rose. Her pulse raced.
It was Carter. A smirk graced his rugged face. His gun pointed skyward. He wasn’t her enemy, right now.
She pointed her shotgun at his kneecaps.
“Nice. Where’s your dad?” He stepped toward her and leaned his back against her tree.
Lizzie shrugged.
“You got a plan?” Carter asked softly.
“You got one?”
Carter shook his head. “Travis and Jim are trying to get behind ‘em, so we can get them to surrender. Near as I can figure there are seven of them. We should be able to take ‘em. That’s about the extent of it.”
“Okay.” Lizzie motioned him forward with her shotgun. “My dad’s behind me. If I stay between you and him, he probably won’t shoot you.”
“Good plan.” Carter gave her an exhausted sigh. “Good luck, Lizzie.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
Carter walked ahead. No twigs cracked under his feet.
Lizzie slid around the tree, trying hard to see a sign of her father. Voices came from the road. She slipped forward and stopped with her back to another tree. She breathed, trying to be silent. When her heart stopped sounding like it would come out her ears she repeated the procedure on the next tree. Then the next.
As the voices got louder she heard arguing. No voices she recognized, but they were arguing about leaving with the people they had, her friends. She sped up the pace, until she was close enough to see the vehicles and the people.
She stopped and waited.
The waiting is the hardest part. She listened, intent for anything other than the wind. Mama, if you can help me, now would be good.
She glanced right. No sign of her dad. Then left. None of Carter either. What should she do now?
A single gunshot echoed. Lizzie gripped the rifle tight.
“We’ve got you surrounded,” Travis yelled. “Two of you are hostages now.”
Lizzie looked out from behind the tree. She could see the van, and the Independents with her friends, but no one else was visible.
“Carter,” he hollered. “Demonstrate.”
Lizzie heard a burst of gunfire to her left. Carter. Then more shots across the way and some to her right. Dad? She aimed her shotgun at the sky and fired. That she could do.
“We’re coming in with your people as shields,” Travis yelled. “Stand up, drop your weapons and raise your hands in the air. If you do not, we will shoot you immediately.”
Lizzie saw people standing, their hands in the air. She walked toward the vehicles, her rifle out in front of her. By the time she got there, the Independents were disarmed.
Carter glanced smugly at Lizzie. “Nice work, Travis.” He had his gun pointed at the circle of Independents.
“Thanks.” Travis held two guns, a rifle jabbing one Independent in the side and the other, a pistol held at another’s ear. Jim had two covered by his shotgun.
Lizzie breathed a sigh of relief. It was over.
A single shot rang out. Carter fell. Lizzie dropped her shotgun and dove toward him. His gun fell; blood, pouring from a ragged hole in his side, turned the white snow red. Lizzie stared helplessly. There was too much blood. She spun. Who had shot him?