The Children and the Blood

The Children and the Blood

by Megan Joel Peterson

Copyright 2013 Megan Joel Peterson

Published by Wildflower Isle

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this text and any portions thereof in any manner whatsoever.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and incidents appearing in this work are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover design by Karri Klawiter

www.artbykarri.com

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For Eugene

Blood dripped from his hands to stain the carpet, handcuffs clinked on his wrists as the car swerved, and Howard Bartlow knew he was going to die.

Other than that, nothing was certain.

“You’ll let them go, right?” he asked again, hating how tentative his voice sounded in the darkness. “They’ll be safe after this?”

“We’ve given you our word, Mr. Bartlow,” said the suit-clad giant next to him, his voice calm as he flipped through the contents of Howard’s wallet. Though his weight shifted slightly as the car whipped around another turn on the gravel road, the man’s eyes didn’t leave the wrinkled family photograph he pulled from between the credit cards. “Our goal is simply to end this. We have no interest in murder.”

Howard looked away, unable to stand the sight of the man holding the picture of his wife and child. And as for the rest, that wasn’t really true, was it? The monsters around him might not consider what they were about to do as murder, but Howard knew otherwise.

So many would be killed. If they were lucky, a few in hiding might survive. But everything he and the others had worked and bled and died for these past eight years would mean absolutely nothing. Rage swelled at the thought, building till he was sure it would explode from his body and swallow everyone in the car in flame.

And then it drained, just as it had every other time in these past six hours of hell. The monsters had Missy. They had his beloved Tanya. They had the only reasons Howard had suffered through these eight horrific years, and they would kill them both if he didn’t do exactly as they said. Everything was pointless without his wife and little girl. The hiding. The running. The living in buildings abandoned so long ago that even the rats had gone to find other places to stay. He’d left his home. He’d left his career. This whole mess was the fault of those now holding his wife and daughter captive, and with his help, they were going to destroy everything.

But Missy and Tanya wouldn’t die.

He squeezed his eyes shut, furious tears trying to break past his resolve. They hadn’t known it, none of them. These bastards had been killing people off one by one, secretly and without the slightest chance of detection. They were invisible, seemingly invincible, and so much stronger than he’d ever believed anyone could be. It hurt to think of how many of his friends had fought and died, never knowing these monsters existed, and never knowing how pointless their own battles would be in the end.

The car slammed to a stop, jerking him forward into the driver’s headrest and then back against his seat.

“Is that it?” asked the giant, glancing out the smoked window.

Howard couldn’t look. A last, irrational urge to lie swept over him. He could tell them the house was elsewhere. He could tell them the family had moved. He could say anything, and somehow, everything would still be alright.

His eyes fell to the photograph in the man’s hand and the impulse withered away. Guiltily, his gaze climbed to the pastoral tableau beyond the darkened glass.

Moonlight silvered the rolling hills surrounding the old, three-story farmhouse, while radiant security lights illuminated the yard. Near the attic, a single lamp spilled golden light out into the darkness, though every other window was black. From Howard’s perch on the gravel road emerging from the mountains, he could see dense forests cresting the hills behind the farmhouse and the barn, shielding the buildings from the horizon. A sleepy little ranch house nestled in the shadow of the mountains to the west, and hillocks ran along the edge of the whole property, blocking the farmland from view of the road. Beyond the next rise and farther down the gravel lane, he could just make out the porch light of a cottage – the only other neighbor for miles, and too far away to wake at the sound of anything to come.

“Yes,” he whispered.

The car raced down into the valley.

“Out,” the giant ordered as the sedan came to a stop. The men in front left the vehicle immediately. A heartbeat later, the rear door was thrown open, and they hauled Howard into the darkness and threw him to the ground. In the wake of the sedan, other cars pulled up, swiftly discharging their black-clad occupants.

“You know what to do,” the giant said.

The men disappeared over the embankment.

Minutes passed in silence.

One of the men appeared atop the rise. He nodded. The giant nodded once in return.

Howard closed his eyes.

“Will you let them go now?” he asked, barely noticing how tenuous his voice sounded in the night.

The giant sighed. “Honestly, Mr. Bartlow, that won’t be necessary. I would assume your family remains safely ensconced in whatever hole they’re currently hiding in, same as they were when we intercepted you.”

Howard stared at him.

“Arranging a girl to pretend to be your daughter wasn’t difficult. A static-filled phone call is simple enough to reproduce, and the little actress screaming on the other end just thought she was auditioning for a movie. Your fears did the rest.”

The giant gave him a mildly ironic look. “I told you we had no interest in murder.”

His feet pulled him toward the farmhouse before Howard realized he was running. His bound hands hit the dirt, scrabbling at the roots and weeds to drag him over the rise. He gathered his strength for a desperate attempt at a warning, and then choked as pain exploded in his back.

The bullets tore through his spine and chest, throwing him to the ground, while only making faint popping sounds as they left the silenced gun.

A heartbeat passed. The giant bent down next to him, regarding him with the same dispassionate gaze to which he treated everything else. “No interest,” he repeated. “Unless we have no choice.”

He gave Howard a last glance, and then rose. His footsteps disappeared over the embankment, leaving Howard alone.

A wet gurgle of breath escaped him. His hands clawed uselessly at the grass, and all around him, the silver night was fading. Tears slid down his cheek, wetting the dirt pressed against his face.

“God forgive me,” he whispered as he died.

*****

Mason Brogan tucked the gun beneath his jacket and regarded the farmhouse. Light from a security lamp spread a circle on the grass, ending only inches from his black Italian shoes. The farmland was silent around him, his men making no sound as they secured the grounds.

But he would have expected nothing less.

He drew a slim satellite phone from a pocket and flipped it open, hitting the first speed dial. Eyes still on the house, he raised the phone to his ear, unsurprised when the recipient picked up before the end of the initial ring.

“We found them,” he said.

The phone flipped closed.

Fire lit the sky.

Beyond the circle of the security light, Brogan’s lips pulled back in the closest he ever came to a genuine smile.

Ten Hours Ago

“How’s that?” Ashley called, twisting carefully atop the rickety porch railing to see her little sister on the lawn below.

Lily glanced away from the pile of crafts by her knees and squinted into the late afternoon sunlight. Tightening her hold on the porch column, Ashley waited as the petite eight-year-old considered the position of the wind chimes dangling from the eaves.

Biting her lip, Lily turned, scrutinizing the other decorations of her own creation dotting the large yard. Bird feeders made of empty milk cartons shared space with pinwheels and streamers fashioned from every scrap of fabric the girl could get her hands on. Painted flower pots lined the weathered steps in multihued splendor, framed by equally brilliant painted rocks. The world around the old gray farmhouse was a cacophony of color, into which the wind chimes had to be placed just right.

“A little to the left,” Lily replied.

Adjusting her grip, Ashley unhooked the chimes, stretched a few inches more and then attached them to the eaves again.

“Perfect,” Lily announced, satisfied.

Exhaling in silent relief, Ashley climbed down from the railing and jumped to the lawn.

“Okay,” she said, brushing her hands on her jeans as she checked the remaining crafts. “Looks like we’ve just got the pinwheels for the vegetable garden, and then we’ll be–”

“We forgot the birdhouses!” Lily exclaimed. Shoving away from the grass, she raced across the yard and up the steps, letting the screen door slam as she dashed inside.

Ashley smiled, shaking her head. Ever since she was four years old, Lily had insisted on placing birdhouses in the yard, regardless of how they both knew it would turn out. Acres of forest surrounded their farm, with miles of western Montana’s hills and mountain ranges beyond. Given such plentiful places to nest, birds were a rare sight on their property. But Lily was nothing if not stubborn, and prior disappointment did nothing to dissuade her from putting out fresh houses each spring.

Bending down, Ashley collected the multicolored pinwheels from the grass. It was an annual tradition, replacing the older decorations with new ones. Every year called for different color schemes and arrangements, according to Lily, who worked through the winter creating her latest designs for spring. And despite the occasional danger of tripping over a painted rock or fallen streamer, all the farmhands swore to the little girl that the place just wouldn’t seem right without her hard work.

In the distance, Ashley heard a door close and she looked up to see her dad coming out of the farmhands’ house with Jonathan, the head caretaker of her father’s property. Spotting her at the heart of the new decorations, Patrick waved and then bid a quick goodbye to the old farmer before heading her way.

“Wow,” he said, running a hand through his gray-flecked brown hair as he surveyed the yard. “You two really outdid yourselves.”

Ashley shrugged. “It’s Lily’s work. I’m just the slave labor. You wouldn’t believe how upset she gets if I don’t help put everything in place.”

He chuckled as he took a pinwheel from her and spun it, watching the bright colors blur. His humor faded. “I’d forgotten you girls did this.”

She scoffed. “It’s not a big deal, Dad.”

For a moment, Patrick regarded the pinwheel and then drew a breath. “So…”

Ashley braced herself, reading his tone. She’d expected this. She always expected it from the moment he arrived. “You’ve got to go.”

“A job called.”

“Where this time?” she asked, burying her disappointment so he wouldn’t see. It wasn’t his fault he’d miss her birthday. Again. As a freelance researcher, he had to take what jobs he could get in order to keep their family afloat.

No matter how badly timed those jobs always seemed to be.

“Here, there, back again,” he replied dryly. “You know, the usual.”

She grinned. “Ah, frequent flyer miles.”

A laugh escaped him, and then his gaze went to the farmhouse.

“Lily’ll be fine, Dad,” Ashley said, trying to preempt the worry she saw rising in his eyes. “When are you heading out?”

“Tomorrow afternoon, I think.” His brow furrowed, and then he looked back at her, pushing the expression away. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer. You know I hate being away from the two of you.”

She shrugged. “It’s okay. Pays the bills, right?”

He gave her a wry smile.

“When are you going to tell Lily?”

Patrick took a breath, his eyebrows shrugging expressively.

The screen door slammed as the little girl came outside, her arms loaded with precariously balanced birdhouses. Leaving the question unanswered, Patrick hurried to help, catching one of the houses before it fell.

Watching him go, Ashley sighed. Lily would be upset when he left, of course, but the girl was growing up. Almost a year had gone by since his last visit, with nearly six months between the one before that. While the three weeks he’d spent with them this spring had been wonderful, both she and Lily had known it would end. And like Ashley before her, the little girl was learning to accept their father’s sudden departures, and the long absences that followed.

Arms full of birdhouses, Patrick called for her to come help, and Ashley pushed a smile back onto her face as she jogged toward them. When she was a child, he’d often said that once he’d saved enough money, he’d leave research and come here to stay. She’d clung to those words when she was nine. Now, at nearly seventeen, she held a soft place in her heart for that hope, but knew that even if the money had been there, the love her father had for his work was too deeply ingrained for him to ever walk away.