Carol Sherman sneaked into the pitch-dark, empty tent at four-forty-two a.m. She looked around for a moment, then decided to risk using her penlight. She’d overheard two of the men who carried rifles everywhere say some very disturbing things, some of which referred to people being dead. And she still shuddered when she thought of how Colonel Trask had abused poor Mr. Irig. She wanted no part of this paramilitary operation and she was on her way out the door.
She also needed to show some proof to her boss at the EPA main office that this operation was not what she’d been told it was.
She slid open a file drawer and leafed through the folders. It looked as if Trask’s system was “throw it in the drawer and forget about it.” Nothing was organized by date, by subject, by anything. It made finding the proof she wanted difficult if not impossible.
Of course, she mused, that might have been the reason for the lack of organization.
She heard a snapping noise behind her and she spun around with her light before thinking. The beam flashed past a man standing about ten feet from her.
She’d make a lousy cat burglar.
It was useless to pretend that he hadn’t seen her, so she opened the flashlight’s focus and looked at his face.
It was Colonel Trask.
He tilted his head. “Looking for something, Ms. Sherman?”
She nervously shifted the light to her left hand. “Oh – uh – yes, I was – I was looking for my – my assignment summary. Job description. You know. I – I wanted to make sure I was doing everything I was supposed to do.”
Trask nodded slowly. “I see. Have you found what you were looking for?”
“N-no. No, not yet. But I can come back later if you’re busy.”
His face seemed to harden and his eyes got darker. “I’m afraid you can’t come back later, Ms. Sherman. In fact, I want you to come with me.”
“Oh, but I – I need to call my daughter—”
“Now.”
That single word, delivered with such flat intensity, terrified Carol. She stuttered incoherently for a moment, then nearly fell when Trask stepped toward her and grabbed her right arm with his left hand. “Come with me, Ms. Sherman,” he growled. “We need to discuss – your severance pay. Since you’re leaving us.”
Her fluttery flashlight shifted and illuminated first his almost glowing eyes, then his predatory smile, and finally his right hand.
That hand held a huge knife.
She dropped her flashlight and Trask stomped it flat.
As Trask pulled her out of the tent, she realized that the man was insane. And that she was in real danger. Her panic froze her voice and robbed her of independent movement. She had no choice but to go where Trask guided her. She was sure he would kill her.
A few moments later, in an area of Irig’s field where they’d already completed their digging, he proved to her how right she was.
*****
The morning sun peeked over the treetops as Lois slipped almost noiselessly through the orchard with Clark behind her. “See anything?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer until she turned her head to see his mouth. “Just Cat,” he whispered back. “She’s about sixty meters from our position where she can see the front tent flap and the heavy machinery. Looks like she’s getting some good shots.”
She turned to look at the tent again. “I hope so. I’d hate to think—”
“Freeze, both of you!”
The sudden command from behind them startled Lois. She tensed and turned to attack the man with the rifle, but Clark put one hand on her upper arm and quickly squeezed out “no” in Morse code.
She was surprised to discover that he knew the code, but then she realized that there was no reason for him not to know it. And then four other men popped out of covered holes in the ground around them, all holding AR-15 rifles at the ready.
That’s why Clark hadn’t spotted them – he hadn’t looked underground. Lois had forgotten for a moment she was the only combat vet in their group, so none of them had mentioned the possibility of guards hiding under the sod. It also meant that the people in this operation were highly trained and very dangerous.
Well, so was she. She only hoped she’d get a chance to prove it.
*****
Cat had just replaced the film canister when she saw her friends being force-marched toward the big tent. She quickly got as many shots in as she could, then ducked down as two men walked toward her position with rifles at the ready. She was sure they were about to spot her when one of them suddenly stopped and touched the other’s arm and said, “Hold up a minute.”
The first man put his hand to his ear. “This is Cooper in Rover Two. Go ahead, base.” He stopped to listen. “We haven’t completed our first circuit. You sure we need to report back?” He listened again. “That’s a roger. Rover Two out.” He shouldered his weapon. “Come on, Tony, the brass wants everybody back at the main tent.”
“How come?”
“That information is available on a need-to-know basis, and apparently we don’t need to know. Let’s go before the great and powerful Oz goes nuts again.”
They turned and retraced their steps. “You need to quit saying stuff like that, Bo. Somebody’s gonna hear it and turn you in to the colonel.”
Bo’s reply was too soft for Cat to hear clearly. As soon as their footsteps faded from her hearing, she exhaled with relief and silently counted to ten for a margin of safety. Then she started moving closer to the tent.
The three-inch heels on her new boots gave her enough additional height to let her see her target. She unlimbered her camera and resumed photographing everything, including Lois and Clark being forced inside. Then she pulled out her WayneTech pocket recorder and quietly narrated what she’d seen, including the date and the time. It was a habit from the old days using physical tapes, even though the voice file would have date and time stamps.
Now all she had to do was wait for a chance to get help to Mr. Irig’s farm. There was no cell signal this far from the town, so she hoped they had a regular phone in the tent so one of them could call Sheriff Harris.
*****
One of the soldiers shoved Clark through the tent opening and growled, “Move it, four-eyes! The colonel wants to see you.”
“We want to see him, too,” Lois snarled back. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you guys are in?”
“Not as much as the alien is.”
Clark turned and looked at the speaker, then narrowed his eyes. “Trask. You crazy maniac. I should have known you were behind this.” Clark took a step closer to the man and ground out, “The ‘alien,’ as you call him, is trying to help people. You’re just—”
“Just trying to save the American way of life, Mr. Kent,” Trask replied. “The alien is softening us up for an invasion by his fellow creatures. And I believe it’s just about ready with phase two, the propaganda about him being the best person on the planet to run everything.”
Clark took another step forward. “You really are insane! All Superman wants to do—”
Lois’ touch on his elbow stopped him. “Don’t waste the oxygen, Clark. He’s not worth the effort.” She turned to the fanatic masquerading as a patriot. “But I’m interested to know how you’re going to take him down. Last time, he shrugged off the missile you fired at him.”
“I’ve got something better this time. Take a look.”
Clark could see lead inside the metal box Trask picked up off the floor and banged on the table. It was a scary moment for him, and judging from Lois’ sudden tension, she thought so too. She masked it by snapping out, “What, you’re going to throw your lunch at him?”
“No, Miss Lane.” Trask flipped the latch and opened the lid. “I’ve got this.”
The green crystal’s agonizing glow reached Clark immediately. He tensed and leaned forward, hoping that the soldiers on either side of him would grab him and hold him up. They did. At the same time, Lois lunged toward the table as soon as Trask lifted the top.
Two other guards blocked Lois’ path and kept her from their commander. Trask slammed the lid shut and relocked the box. “Whoa!” Trask barked. “No assaulting of the boss permitted today! You two behave yourselves.”
“Or what?” Lois snarled.
“Or this.”
Trask jumped past her and slammed a punch into Clark’s solar plexus. It hurt – it really hurt – but it also gave him a legitimate reason to collapse to the ground and fight for breath. “NO!” screamed Lois, just before Trask swung a backfist out and away from him and into the side of her head. Her eyes lost focus and the soldiers holding her let go. She dropped like a pile of wet laundry.
Trask glared at each of them in turn. “You two are real pests, you know that? I think it’s time to bait the hook and draw the alien to me.” He grabbed the box and said, “Corporal Delancey, you keep her here for—” he glanced at his watch “—thirty minutes, then secure the prisoner and rendezvous with us at the extraction point. Time hack – now.” He turned from the corporal and motioned to the other guards. “Sergeant McAllister, put the male prisoner in the back of the van. Corporal Baker, assist the sergeant. The rest of you head toward the extraction point and take cover. The V-22 should arrive in forty-five minutes.”
“Colonel, that doesn’t give me much time to get there,” Delancey complained.
“Then you’d best hustle when you head out, Corporal.” He grabbed the box, then turned and strode to the doorway. He pointed to Clark. “Let’s get moving, gentlemen. And bring this collaborator. Put a pair of cuffs on him. We have an appointment at the Kent farm.”
*****
Cat saw Clark being half-carried and half-dragged to a windowless van. His stumbles looked real to her – Trask must have exposed him to that green crystal again. She narrowed her eyes and looked closer. The crystal had to be in the box Trask was carrying. She replaced her film canister, dialed the lens to its furthest focal distance, and took half a dozen more shots of Clark being tossed into the van and handcuffed to a ceiling beam.
She waited until the van trundled down the dirt road toward the highway. Then she stowed her camera, hung the case over her shoulder, took one more good look around her, and crept to the tent flap.
She peeked in and saw Lois sitting on the ground. She looked dazed, and she touched her face as if someone had clobbered her hard. A single soldier stood guard over her.
The guard kept checking his watch as if he had an urgent appointment. When Lois lifted her head and looked at him, he said, “I’m sorry about that. The Colonel shouldn’t have hit you.”
She shook her head and blinked several times. “Thanks, I agree with you. You want to help me up?”
“No, ma’am, I better not. I’m here to guard you and secure you in—” he glanced at his watch again “—twenty-six minutes. I’m not getting close enough for you to try me. I really don’t want to hurt you.”
“Mmph. As much as I appreciate your consideration, on the whole I’d rather be in Philadelphia right now.”
He chuckled. “Can’t argue with that.”
Cat slipped back outside and put down her camera case, then slowly tugged the narrow cloth belt out of the waistband of her jeans. She listened but heard nothing, so she peeked around the tent flap again.
This time Lois saw her and reached up to tug on her earlobe. “Come on, Corporal, I can’t hurt you right now. I’m still loopy from that punch. Give a girl a hand, will ya?”
He shook his head again. “Sorry, ma’am. I know your record and hugghhh!”
Cat dropped her belt around his neck from behind like a garrote, jammed her knee into his spine, and hauled backward with all her strength and anger. She couldn’t have taken him by herself, but before the corporal could turn and fight her, he caught Lois’ front snap kick solidly in his crotch. He forgot about clearing his airway and headed toward the ground folded forward from the waist. Lois helped him finish his fall with a sharp blow to the side of his neck.
Cat rethreaded her belt through the loops on her jeans. “Jeez, Lois, did you have to use the knife hand on his carotid? At least he’s not the one who hit you.”
Lois straightened, only a little unsteady. “No, but he didn’t object, either. He’ll wake up in fifteen minutes or so. He’s just lucky I didn’t have my K-Bar with me.”
Cat refastened her belt and shuddered. “Yikes. As sharp as you keep that thing you could have cut his head off.” Lois paled and grabbed the back of the downed soldier’s folding chair. Cat rushed to help her. “Hey, hey, none of that! This is a no-fainting zone. Sit down while I call the sheriff.”
Lois dropped onto the chair, then waved her hand at a table across the tent. “Phone’s over there. Old rotary model. I think it works.”
Cat grabbed it and listened, then smiled. “Dial tone.” She dialed zero and waited a moment. “Hello, operator? My name is Catharine Grant and I’m with – yes, I’m one of the reporters from Metropolis. I need to talk to someone in the sheriff’s office. Yes, my hair is a little redder than Rachel’s. No, please, I have to talk to someone. Sheriff Harris, if you can connect me. Yes, I’ll hold.” She covered the mouthpiece. “Lois, did they say where they were going?”
“No, I didn’t hear – wait, yes I did. Where did he say – right, the, um, the Kent farm. Trask said he was going to bait the hook.”
“Oh, boy, that doesn’t sound at all like a good thing. I hope we – yes, this is Cat Grant. Sheriff? Yeah, sure, Rachel. Lois and I are at – yes, her. Test drive? Not that I know – never mind that! We’re at the Irig place in that big tent. The guy in charge of the fake EPA team is taking Clark to his parents’ farm and he’s got bad things on his mind. Come and get us – why not? It’s on the way! Besides, you’ll need to arrest one of the guys here. No, I distracted him and Lois put him down. We don’t have time! We’re on the clock here, so please hurry. Yes, we’re both ready. Thanks.” She hung up the phone. “Rachel and one of her deputies are on the way. She’ll pick us up and take us to Clark’s farm.”
Lois stood cautiously and tested her balance, then picked up her guard’s M-16 and checked it. “He’ll keep until they get here. I want to take a quick look around, see what Trask left behind.”
“Okay. I’ll stand by the front flap so I can hear the phone if it rings. And be sure to listen for me in case your backup boyfriend there on the ground starts to make trouble.”
*****
Lois knew her cheek wasn’t broken, just badly bruised, but Trask’s blow had come close to giving her a concussion. She knew her body might not obey her mind quite as quickly as usual, so she deliberately moved a little slower than she might have.
She peeked into the cab of one of the digging machines and saw the keys dangling from the ignition. It was one more thing the sheriff’s department would have to clean up, especially if some teenager stole a backhoe on a dare. The digging arm wasn’t even secured properly—
What was that?
She looked beyond the backhoe and saw something that wasn’t natural, maybe a pile of discarded clothing. She checked her surroundings and slowly walked toward whatever it was.
Then she realized what it really was.
It wasn’t just a pile of clothing. It was a dead body.
It was Carol Sherman’s body.
Fury began in Lois’ toes and spread upward to her hair. The woman had been defenseless against Trask’s insanity. She lay sprawled on her back in the knee-high grass, both arms straight out to her sides and one knee raised, her throat sliced open like a loaf of bread. The bones in her neck were visible and stained dark red. Her eyes were still open, staring at nothing. Her face showed how terrified she’d been during her last few moments of awareness. A column of ants crawled across her exposed skin and open neck wound, searching for food.
Lois’ teeth ground together and her breath came in short, hard bursts. There had been no reason to kill this woman. All she’d done was what she’d perceived was her job and Trask had murdered her without remorse. He didn’t deserve to live.
She didn’t realize how long she’d stood there, seething, until she heard tires crunch the gravel behind her. She spun, dropped to one knee, and brought the rifle into position to fire – then realized that two county sheriff’s cars were parking nearby. A short, stocky man popped out of the first car and ducked behind the engine compartment. Rachel Harris stepped out of the second car and yelled, “Burt! Hold up! She’s not a bad guy!”
Lois slowly stood and held the rifle vertically in her left hand by the barrel grip, her right hand up and away from the trigger. “There’s a dead woman over here. I just found her.”
Something in her voice made Burt take a step back. He looked at Rachel, who nodded to him, and he sprinted to Carol’s remains. After a moment, he called out, “Somebody cut her throat, Sheriff. I don’t see any bullet wounds. I think she’s been dead a while.” He turned and took two steps away from the body. “Man! I can see her neck bones! What did the killer use, a sword?”
Rachel looked at Lois. “Your bad guy do that?”
Lois nodded. “Yes. He’s headed for the Kent farm and he’s insane.”
Cat stepped out of the tent with her hands up. “He’s got Clark Kent with him.”
Rachel nodded. “Then let’s go. Burt, you call for an ambulance.”
“We got a guy in here, too.”
“He dead too?”
Cat almost smiled. “No, just very uncomfortable.”
“Anyone else?” asked Rachel.
“Just Lois and me.”
“Fine. Burt, take the rifle. Cuff the guy in the tent but be ready to shoot him if you have to. Ladies, we got to go now.”
Lois held the weapon in front of her and snapped, “You trained on this rifle, Officer?”
Burt nodded. “I know how to make it go bang.”
Lois smirked with one corner of her mouth. “Good enough for me. Here you go. Safety’s on, full thirty-round mag, one round chambered, set for single fire.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you. I got it now.”
“Good. Don’t let him get away.”
Burt held the rifle vertical, the butt resting on his hip and his forefinger alongside the trigger guard. “He’ll go to jail if he behaves himself, ma’am, don’t you worry.”
“And if he doesn’t behave?”
“No jail.”
Lois looked into the young man’s eyes and saw cold, unrelenting anger. Burt would not let that guard escape without dying first.
*****
Clark was feeling better, but his powers weren’t back yet. He’d have to hope that they returned in time for him to save everybody from the lunatic. Trask’s men still obeyed his orders, but some of them were exchanging worried looks, as if they were thinking about the wrongness of what they were doing. The unit’s discipline was starting to unravel.
It might not unravel soon enough to help him, though. The van was already on the gravel road that led to his parents’ farmhouse. He wondered what Trask had in mind.
He’d find out all too soon.
His hands were cuffed in front of him, which made him wonder if Trask expected him to try to get away. “Shot while attempting escape” would appear beside his name on the after-action report. Worse, even if he survived his wounds, he’d be unable to help his parents or Lois or Cat.
The van turned around and stopped between the barn and the oval duck pond. Clark heard muffled, inarticulate shouts from inside the barn. The van doors flew open and he was yanked out of the back, then all but dragged to the barn door.
“Take a good look, Kent,” snarled Trask. “You’ll be joining them in a moment.”
His parents were tied with a thin rope to each other and to Wayne Irig. All three of them sat in the middle of the floor with their hands bound, all with bandanas or handkerchiefs stuffed in their mouths. With their ankles wrapped and linked with shorter ropes, there was no way for them to stand or even roll out of the old wooden structure.
The stench of kerosene alarmed Clark. He glanced to one side and saw a bucket full of the flammable liquid. “What are you going to do, you maniac?”
“Simple,” Trask replied. “I’m going to use them – and you – as bait for the alien. When it comes to save all of you, I’ll open this box and kill it.” He turned to his men. “Jefferson, dump the rest of the kerosene on the floor between the hostages and the door. Benson, give me the keys to the car. The rest of you take the van and get to the extraction point. I’ll handle everything here.”
“Yessir!” Benson tossed a key ring to Trask, then herded the rest of the crew into the back of the van and closed the back doors. He opened the van’s side door and called out, “Come on, Jefferson, let’s go! We got a chopper to catch!”
Jefferson poured the kerosene in a half-circle around the bound captives, then sprinted to the van and secured the door from the inside. They sped down the gravel road, trailing a plume of dust. Trask took Clark’s arm and dragged him into the barn, forced Clark to his knees, then looped a rope around and through his handcuffs. “Time to cast the line into the water, Kent. You’d better hope the alien likes you.”
The kerosene stench was almost overpowering. Clark waited until Trask backed out of the barn to test his strength. He put his hands together and pivoted his wrists apart.
A link on the handcuff’s chain slowly pulled open.
Trask stood just outside the barn door and laughed at the bound quartet, then pulled a Zippo cigarette lighter out of a pocket. “There are stories of these things being found in the oddest places, buried in the ground for decades or pulled up from the bottom of a lake, still in working order.” He flipped the top open and thumbed the ignition wheel once. The lighter caught immediately. “I wonder if this one will survive the fire.”
He tossed the lighter onto a trail of fluid, then turned and marched toward the car. The kerosene “whooshed” from the doorway to the circle Trask’s men had poured on the dry wood. Clark felt the heat immediately, and he knew that the three older folks couldn’t take the heat and smoke for long. He kept pressing against the handcuff links.
The chain parted with a snap. He was back – hopefully back enough to save them.
He flexed his arms, and after a moment the ropes around his chest parted. He leaped to his feet and blew icy air at the burning kerosene and wood. It took him two breaths, but he quickly had the fire out.
He snapped the ropes holding his father and said, “I’ll be right back.” He made a super-quick check for more hot spots, then turned to look across the pond at Trask.
Trask stood beside the back of the car, a shocked expression on his face. “You!” he shouted. “You’re the alien! And all that time I had you!”
Clark yelled, “Now I’ve got you!” and sprinted around the corner of the pond, directly at Trask.
He was too late.
Trask unsnapped the top of the box he’d carried and opened it as Clark reached him. Clark stumbled but managed to slam into his enemy and knock him down. But that was all he could do – the crystal’s power sapped his own once again.
Trask snarled, “You just killed them!” and leaped to his feet. He ran around the pond toward the barn and drew his pistol. Clark heard him work the slide and almost panicked.
“Trask! NO!” he yelled. “Your fight’s with me, not them!”
Trask stopped and turned to face him. “You’ve polluted them, taken over their minds! You’re controlling them somehow! They’re no longer human! I’ll take you down as soon as I take care of them!”
He turned toward the barn again, but before he could bring his weapon to bear, Jonathan Kent swung a wooden axe handle over his head and down at the madman. Trask tried to dodge, and he almost did – except Jonathan’s aim was good enough to catch Trask’s pistol and tear it from his hand.
Before he could swing again, Trask hit Jonathan in the stomach with a left, then the side of his head with a right elbow. The axe handle went flying. Trask frantically searched for his pistol but couldn’t get to it before Clark screamed, picked up the Kryptonite, and smashed it against a boulder at the edge of the pond as he fell headlong in the long grass beside the water.
The crystal shattered into dust. The pain left Clark’s body immediately and he took a deep breath.
Before he could stand, Trask ran to him and kicked him in the ribs, then picked him up by his shirt collar and punched him in the jaw. Clark slumped and Trask drove a knee into his chest, then flipped him over his hip and slammed him to the ground.
As Trask stood over him, Clark heard his father grunt. He’d crawled to Trask’s weapon and picked it up. As Clark watched, he tossed into the far end of the pond. Trask heard the splash and turned to look, but by the time he realized what had happened, the ripples on the water had spread far enough to obscure the pistol’s location.
“Huh,” he grunted. “Your human slaves are still fighting for you. But it’s not enough.” He dragged Clark to his feet again and snarled at him face-to-face. “It will never be enough! We free humans will defeat you!”
Clark grabbed the loose cloth on Trask’s uniform jumper and held the man against his chest, too close for Trask to punch him again. “You’re still wrong and still a moron, Trask!” he growled. “I won’t let you hurt my family!”
He pulled Trask sideways with renewed strength and dropped both of them in the pond. Clark knew the water was only about four feet deep, so he slugged Trask in the midsection as hard and as often as he could while the other man scrambled for a foothold on the bottom and tried to block Clark’s blows at the same time. Clark grabbed Trask’s left hand and twisted it backward until the bones in the man’s wrist cracked and snapped. Trask let out a yell mixed with a muffled scream.
Clark knew the fight was as good as won. Even Trask couldn’t fight him with just one hand. A right cross and a left hook knocked Trask almost unconscious and off his feet under the water. Clark lifted him and slammed him against the same boulder where the Kryptonite had shattered. He pinned the crazy man against the rock with his left hand and cocked his right fist, knowing that a full human-strength blow that smashed Trask’s head against the boulder, even without his powers, might easily kill the man.
Kill the man—
Clark could kill Trask. The madman would never bedevil them again.
Clark hesitated. Trask’s eyes cleared a bit and he grunted, “Go ahead! Kill me! It’s what I’d do in your place!”
Clark heard a car speeding down the gravel road to the farmhouse and he slowly relaxed his fist. He glanced up at his dad, who was being attended to by his mom, and their eyes met.
Jonathan smiled through his pain and nodded to his son.
Clark’s loose fist lowered and he released Trask with his other hand. “I don’t work that way, Trask.”
Trask snarled, “I’ll expose you for the menace you really are!”
Clark stepped back. “You’ll try. If you get people to believe that Superman and Clark Kent are the same person, that’s the price I pay for not taking a life.” He turned and started moving through the water to the other side. “I won’t kill anyone, Trask. Not even an insane, out-of-touch-with-reality menace like you.”
The sheriff’s car slid into a partial bootlegger’s turn and stopped with the trunk just ten feet from the far end of the pond with the passenger side almost facing Clark. Rachel Harris popped out of the driver’s side, quickly moved to stand at the passenger side corner of the trunk and put her hand on her weapon. Lois shoved open the passenger door and jumped out, took two steps, and collapsed with her right leg pulled up against her chest and her hands wrapped around her bad knee.
Oh, no, thought Clark, her leg quit on her again. He started climbing out of the water to go to her, but he slipped in the mud and stumbled to his right, away from Lois’ position. He tried to change direction and go to her, but his foot slipped again and he stumbled away from the car, then fell to one knee.
Before he could stand, Cat Grant came out of the back seat right behind Lois and ran toward him. The bright smile on her face suddenly transformed to fear. Clark didn’t know why until Rachel yelled, “Drop the gun, mister!” and drew her service weapon.
Before Clark could move, Cat yelled, “Look out!” and hit him like a strong safety tackling an unsuspecting wide receiver. Just as she made contact, he heard Rachel fire her weapon from in front of him followed by what sounded like an almost instantaneous higher-pitched echo from behind. Cat knocked him down and fell across him and drove his breath from his lungs.
*****
Lois raised her head just before she heard the gunfire, just in time to see Cat tackle Clark to the grass beside the pond and fall prostrate across his upper body. She also saw Trask’s body jerk with the impact of Rachel’s bullet as his shirt puffed out and a bloody red hole appeared just to the left of center on his chest. He dropped the smoking small-caliber pistol from his right hand and his face went slack as he collapsed and slid down into the water. A corner of her mind tagged it as a Saturday Night Special, probably a short-barreled .380 semi-auto hideout pistol, not very powerful and not very accurate beyond twenty feet or so, but still lethal if the bullet hit a vital area.
Lois wondered where the bullet had gone.
She painfully pushed herself to her feet and began limping toward her best friend and the man she loved. Suddenly a look of horror appeared on Clark’s face. He stared wide-eyed at his left hand.
It was dripping blood.
