Chapter 1

Jake Benson felt the cold sweat on his body as he watched them tie up his 18-year-old brother Billy. The old barn smelled of rotting hay and motor oil, shadows dancing in the weak light filtering through broken boards. They'd been forced to drive here in Jake's own truck, following the kidnappers' pickup down a dirt road that seemed to lead nowhere.

He knew they were going to tie him up next, so he watched carefully: Billy's wrists were crossed behind his back, thick ropes circled eight times around them, then five times between, tightening into a vice lock. They knotted it twice.

Billy's eyes were wide with terror as they rolled up a bandanna and shoved it down his throat, then triple-layered duct tape across his mouth. One of them came with a syringe and pumped something into his left shoulder as Billy moaned "NOOOOOO" through the gag, then slumped unconscious.

"When my brother and I are free from this, we will find you and kill—"

The gag cut Jake's threat short. He struggled, but the syringe bit into his shoulder and darkness took him as he collapsed beside Billy.

Chapter 2

The flash exploded in Jake's face like lightning, jerking him back to consciousness. His vision swam, spots dancing behind his eyelids as he tried to focus. Something was wrong—terribly wrong.

His arms screamed with pain, pulled up behind him at an impossible angle. Rope bit deep into his elbows and forearms, binding them together so tightly his fingers had gone completely numb. His shoulders felt like they were being torn from their sockets.

The cold air hit his bare chest. They'd stripped off his shirt. Through blurred vision, he could make out thick black marker lines drawn across his skin—circles, targets painted on him like he was nothing more than a practice dummy.

Another flash. The camera again.

"Billy," he tried to say, but only a croak emerged from his dry throat. He turned his head, and his heart nearly stopped.

His younger brother hung beside him, unconscious, arms bound in the same brutal position. Billy's chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, and across his pale skin, the same black targets stared back like dead eyes. Blood had already begun to seep from where the ropes cut into his wrists.

"Wake up, boys." A voice from the shadows. "Time for your close-up."

Jake's eyes burned with rage as the camera flashed again, capturing their helplessness for whatever sick purpose these animals had planned.

Chapter 3

Sarah Benson found the thick manila envelope on the kitchen table when she came down to start breakfast at 5 AM. "BENSONS" was scrawled across the front in black marker. No return address, but there was a postage-paid return envelope inside addressed to a UPS mailbox in Dallas.

She was already worried. Jake and Billy hadn't come home last night, and their beds were still made. The boys were responsible—they always called if they were staying out late.

"Tom!" she called up the stairs, her voice tight with anxiety.

By the time the whole family gathered around the kitchen table, Sarah's hands were shaking as she opened the envelope. Legal documents spilled out—dozens of pages of mineral rights transfers, all requiring signatures from Tom, herself, and Pops.

Then she saw the photos.

The first one showed Jake and Billy strung up in some barn, arms bound behind them, black target circles drawn across their bare chests. Their eyes were wide with terror above makeshift gags.

Sarah's scream brought everyone running.

"Jesus Christ," Tom whispered, grabbing the photos before Billy Jr. could see them.

Pops took one look and his face went granite hard. "How much they want?"

Tom rifled through the papers. "They don't want money. They want us to sign over the mineral rights. All of it. The whole ranch."

"Never," Pops said quietly. "We don't negotiate with terrorists."

"They have our boys!" Sarah sobbed.

"And if we give them what they want, they'll take every ranch in this county," Pops replied. "This is bigger than Jake and Billy."

Tom stared at his father. "You're willing to let them die?"

"I'm willing to fight for them. There's a difference." Pops stood up. "Call Wade Nelson. Tell him to get over here. Now."

Within an hour, Sheriff Wade Nelson sat at their kitchen table, still in his uniform but with his badge in his hand. His deputies Ryan and Wilson flanked him, both looking grim.

"Show me everything," Wade said.

Deputy Ryan pulled out his laptop and started analyzing the envelope and papers. "No fingerprints. Professional job."

As they spread out the photos, young Billy Jr. squeezed between the adults to get a look.

"Billy Jr., go play outside," his father Josh said gently.

"Wait," the boy said, pointing at one of the photos. "I know that tractor."

The adults froze.

"What tractor, son?" Pops asked quietly.

Billy Jr. pointed to the background of one photo where an ancient red tractor was barely visible through the barn door. "That's one of them old Farmalls. Like the one at the Murphy place, or maybe the abandoned Stevens ranch..."

Pops nodded slowly. "Could be eight, maybe ten places in the county with one of those old rigs still sitting around."

Wade picked up his badge from the table, then set it back down. "Then we check them all. But not as law enforcement."

"What are you saying?" Tom asked.

"I'm saying," Wade replied, "that sometimes you have to take off the badge to do what's right."

Tom's phone buzzed with a text message. The number showed all zeros.

The photos that came through showed six darts embedded in Billy's chest and stomach, blood running down his pale skin while Jake hung beside him, helpless and screaming behind his gag.

Sarah collapsed. Tom threw up in the sink.

Deputy Wilson grabbed the phone. "VPN routing through China. These guys know what they're doing."

Pops just stared at the pictures, then looked up at Wade.

"How fast can you get a militia together?"

Chapter 4

Jesus Christ, Billy's bleeding bad.

Jake's shoulders screamed as he twisted to get a better look at his brother. Six dart holes leaked crimson trails down Billy's pale chest and stomach. The kid's head hung forward, barely conscious from blood loss and shock.

Stay with me, little brother. Stay with me.

Billy's eyes fluttered open, finding Jake's face. Even through the pain, Jake could read everything in those familiar eyes—the same look Billy had given him when they were kids and Billy had fallen off his horse, trying not to cry but needing Jake to tell him it would be okay.

It's not okay this time.

The rage hit Jake like a physical thing, burning up from his gut. These bastards had turned his baby brother into a human dartboard. Had filmed it. Were probably sending those pictures to Mom and Dad right now.

Billy's lips moved behind the gag, trying to say something. Jake knew what it was—the same thing Billy always said when they got in trouble as kids.

We're gonna be okay, right Jake?

I don't know, buddy. I really don't know.

Jake tested the ropes again. His wrists were raw and bleeding, but maybe if he could work his shoulders enough... The pain was incredible, but the rage was stronger. Every time he looked at Billy's wounds, the fury gave him strength.

Billy's eyes were clearer now, focused on Jake with that stubborn determination their whole family was famous for. Even strung up like meat in a slaughterhouse, even with holes punched through his chest, Billy Benson wasn't giving up.

That's my brother.

Jake could see Billy working his own ropes, tiny movements that probably cost him everything but showed he wasn't broken. Not yet.

We're gonna get out of this, Jake thought, catching Billy's eye. And when we do, these sons of bitches are gonna pay for every drop of blood they spilled.

Billy nodded almost imperceptibly. Same page, like always.

Just like when we were kids planning to get back at Ray for putting that snake in our room. Except this time, we're not planning a prank.

This time, they were planning war.

Chapter 5

By sundown, the Benson barn buzzed with quiet fury. Five families had answered Pops' call—the Bensons, Nelsons, Murphys, Stevens, and Crawfords—but word had spread through the county like wildfire. Twenty-six men and teenage boys stood around hay bales that had been pushed aside to make room for folding tables covered in military-grade equipment.

"Ladies are in the house with Sarah," Wade announced, checking his sidearm. "This is men's work now."

Nine-year-old Billy Jr. stood between his father Josh and grandfather Pops, a .22 rifle slung across his small shoulder like he belonged there.

"Boy's earned his place," Pops said when Tom started to object. "He spotted that tractor. He stays."

Deputy Ryan held up an iPad, satellite images glowing on the screen. "Each family gets two iPads with GPS coordinates loaded, aerial photos from county assessor plus Google Earth imagery. Real-time tracking for all teams."

Deputy Wilson started distributing gear from military-style cases. "Bluetooth earbuds sync directly to your iPads for communications. No more crackling radios that give away your position."

Pops held up the tiny earbuds like they were alien technology. "How the hell do these work?"

"Just stick 'em in your ears, Pops," Billy Jr. said, demonstrating. "Like this."

Wilson continued pulling equipment from cases. "Thermal imaging devices for each team leader—shows body heat signatures through walls. Night vision scopes if we're still hunting after dark."

Old-timer Kowalski, the Marine, squinted at a thermal device. "In Vietnam, we had our eyes and our gut instincts."

"Well, this ain't Vietnam," Wilson replied, handing him the device. "Point and scan. Red blobs are people."

"And these," Deputy Ryan said, unveiling laser-scoped rifles, "are for the marksmen. Infrared lasers, invisible to naked eye but show up clear in night vision. Range out to 800 yards."

Murphy whistled low. "Damn kids, you come prepared for war."

"This is war," Wade said quietly. "They took our boys."

Ryan slung a rifle over his shoulder and headed for the barn door. "I'll be outside with the drones. Two in the air at all times—thermal and standard cameras, live feed to your iPads. You'll see what I see."

Pops poked at his iPad screen tentatively, jabbing at it in frustration. "I can't figure this fucking thing out. In my day, we tracked by horse and used iron sights."

"Here, Great Grandpa Pops," Billy Jr. said, sliding over to help. "You tap here for the map, here for the heat camera thing, and here to talk to everyone." The boy's small fingers moved confidently across the screen.

"See, Great Grandpa Pops? Like this." Billy Jr. was already navigating between GPS coordinates and thermal overlays like he'd been born to it.

Josh watched his nine-year-old son expertly handling the military technology, then his eyes fell on the rifle slung across Billy Jr.'s shoulder.

"Whoa there, son," Josh said firmly, reaching for the rifle. "No gun. You're not bringing that tonight."

Billy Jr.'s face flushed red. "But Dad, I can shoot better than half these guys! And I'm the one who spotted the tractor!"

"Billy Jr.—" Josh started.

"No!" the boy protested, clutching his rifle tighter. "Uncle Billy taught me to shoot! I should be the one to help save him!"

The barn fell silent as father and son stared each other down.

Pops looked up from his iPad, then at Billy Jr., then at Josh. "Boy, you'll be with me. I need someone who understands this damn computer thing."

Billy Jr. looked up at his great-grandfather, then at his father, then back to Pops. "I'll get the fuckin' thing working for you, Great Grandpa."

The barn exploded in laughter—deep, belly laughs from twenty-six tense men who desperately needed the release. Even Josh cracked a smile despite himself.

"That's my great-grandson," Pops chuckled, ruffling Billy Jr.'s hair. "Kid's the only tech support we got."

Josh sighed, looking around at the other men still nodding with amusement. "You stay right next to Pops, you hear me?"

"Yes sir," Billy Jr. said solemnly, then grinned. "And I'll teach him all the iPad stuff too."

Wade looked around the barn at the mix of old cowboys trying to figure out earbuds and teenage boys who had everything synced within minutes.

"Hell of a thing," Wade muttered to Deputy Wilson. "Watching these old-timers get a crash course in modern warfare."

"They'll figure it out," Wilson replied. "Desperation's a hell of a teacher."

Outside, they could hear Ryan's drone engines starting up, high-pitched whines cutting through the Texas evening air.

"What about communications?" asked Jim Crawford, finally getting his earbuds positioned.

"All through the iPads now," Wilson explained. "Encrypted channels, secure frequency. You talk, everyone hears you crystal clear."

"Hell no," growled Murphy, still struggling with his thermal device. "We go in shooting. These bastards hurt those boys."

"Murphy's right," said young Stevens, effortlessly switching between thermal and night vision modes. "Time for talking's over."

Wade stepped forward, his own iPad showing live drone footage. "We do this smart or we don't do it at all. Jake and Billy are still alive—that second photo proved it. We go in guns blazing, we might get them killed."

"Or we might save them," Pops said quietly, finally managing to zoom the thermal display with Billy Jr.'s help. "But Wade's right. This is a rescue mission first, revenge second."

Billy Jr. piped up, his voice coming through everyone's earbuds clearly. "Uncle Jake would want us to get Uncle Billy out safe before anything else."

The twenty-six men nodded. Kid had a point—and he was already better with the technology than all of them combined.

In the house, the atmosphere was different but just as tense. The women sat around Sarah's kitchen table, coffee growing cold in their cups.

"How are you holding up, honey?" Mary Nelson asked, reaching across to squeeze Sarah's hand.

"I keep thinking about when they were little," Sarah whispered. "Jake was always protecting Billy. Even as toddlers, if Billy got hurt, Jake would cry harder than Billy did."

Rebecca, Josh's wife, dabbed at her eyes. "Billy Jr. hasn't said much about it, but I can tell he's scared. He keeps asking when his uncles are coming home."

Eighteen-year-old Edna Nelson sat apart from the older women, her face pale and drawn. "Billy was supposed to take me to the county fair next weekend," she said softly. "We had it all planned out."

"You'll still go," Mary told her daughter firmly. "Billy's going to be fine. They both are."

"What if they're not?" Edna's voice broke. "What if those monsters—"

"Stop," Sarah said, her voice stronger than it had been all day. "We don't talk like that. We don't even think like that. Those boys are fighters. They'll come home."

Through the kitchen window, they could see the glow of screens in the barn and hear the drone engines overhead.

"Look at them," Rebecca observed. "Half those men have never used anything more complicated than a cell phone, and now they're running military operations."

Sarah nodded. "That's what happens when you mess with one of our own."

Back in the barn, the teams were forming up with their high-tech gear.

"Each team takes two properties," Deputy Ryan's voice came through their earbuds from outside. "GPS coordinates automatically update. Thermal shows up as red on your screens. You find anything—anything at all—you hit the emergency beacon. No heroics."

Wade stepped forward. "We keep families together. That way everyone watches each other's backs."

Team One: All the Bensons - Pops, Tom, Ray, Josh, and Billy Jr.
Team Two: The Nelsons in an unmarked sheriff's truck - Wade, Wilson, Ryan, and two Nelson cousins
Team Three: The Murphys - Old man Murphy, his three sons, and two nephews
Team Four: The Stevens family - Young Stevens, his father, and their ranch hands
Team Five: The Crawfords and volunteers - Jim Crawford, his boys, and old Marine Kowalski

"What about the truck?" young Crawford asked, his thermal scope already scanning the darkness. "Jake's truck has to be somewhere."

"Good point," Pops said, squinting at his screen. "We're looking for that red Chevy as much as we're looking for that barn. Billy Jr., show me that heat thing again."

"See the red spots, Great Grandpa? Those are warm things. Like people or engines that been running."

Wade checked his watch, drone footage streaming live to his iPad. "Sun's down. Drones are airborne. We move in fifteen minutes."

Billy Jr. raised his small hand, earbuds perfectly positioned, thermal device handled like a toy. "What if we find them?"

The barn went quiet. Twenty-six men, half still figuring out their equipment, all thinking the same thing.

"Then we get them out," Pops said simply. "Whatever it takes."

"Whatever it takes," the others echoed through their synchronized earbuds.

Murphy checked his rifle one more time. "And if we find the bastards who did this?"

"No prisoners," Wade said quietly, his badge still sitting on the table where he'd left it hours ago.

The men began filing out to their trucks, engines starting up in the darkness. The Bensons climbed into Pops' big pickup - five generations of the same family going to war together. The Nelsons loaded into Wade's unmarked sheriff's vehicle, bristling with communication equipment.

iPads glowed in cab windows as drivers programmed coordinates. Overhead, Ryan's drones hummed like mechanical vultures.

"Stay on channel," Wilson's voice crackled through their earbuds. "Check in every thirty minutes. And remember—we're not law enforcement tonight. We're just neighbors looking out for neighbors."

As the convoy pulled out of the barnyard, little Billy Jr. looked up at his great-grandfather Pops from the passenger seat.

"Great Grandpa? Are Uncle Jake and Uncle Billy really going to be okay?"

Pops reached over and squeezed the boy's shoulder. "Billy Jr., your uncles are Bensons. And Bensons don't give up. Ever."

The boy nodded solemnly, adjusted his earbuds, and focused on the thermal display, ready to help bring his heroes home with technology his great-grandfather could never have imagined.

Behind them, the Benson ranch house glowed warm in the darkness, where the women waited and prayed for their men to come home safe.

All of them.

Chapter 6

The drone engines were faint at first, just a high-pitched whine cutting through the Texas night air. But in the old barn, sound carried, and the kidnappers heard it.

"Shit," one of them hissed, peering through a crack in the barn door. "They got drones up."

"Time to go," the leader said, grabbing keys from a hook on the wall. "Leave them. We're done here anyway."

Jake watched through swollen eyes as the kidnappers gathered their equipment and headed for the door. One of them looked back at the brothers hanging helplessly.

"What about them?"

"They'll be dead in a few hours anyway. Let's move."

The barn door slammed shut. Jake heard the red Chevy's engine start up outside, then fade as they drove away.

Jesus Christ, Billy's bleeding bad.

Stay with me, little brother. Stay with me.

It's not okay this time.

Billy's lips moved behind the gag, trying to say something. Jake knew what it was—the same thing Billy always said when they got in trouble as kids.

We're gonna be okay, right Jake?

I don't know, buddy. I really don't know.

That's my brother.

Jake could see Billy working his own ropes, tiny movements that probably cost him everything but showed he wasn't broken. Not yet.

We're gonna get out of this, Jake thought, catching Billy's eye. And when we do, these sons of bitches are gonna pay for every drop of blood they spilled.

Billy nodded almost imperceptibly. Same page, like always.

Just like when we were kids planning to get back at Ray for putting that snake in our room. Except this time, we're not planning a prank.

This time, they were planning war.

Jake caught Billy's eye and jerked his head upward toward the old wooden rafter they were both hanging from. The wood looked weathered, rotted in places.

Billy understood immediately. The brothers began swinging in unison, building momentum together. Back and forth, their combined weight straining the ancient beam.

The rafter creaked ominously.

"More," Jake grunted through his gag.

They swung harder, synchronized like they'd been their whole lives. The rope groaned, the wood protested, and suddenly—

CRACK.

The rafter splintered and gave way. Both brothers crashed to the barn floor in a tangle of rope and splintered wood, the impact driving the air from their lungs.

For a moment, neither moved. Then Jake rolled onto his side, spitting out his loosened gag.

"Billy! You okay?"

Billy worked his mouth free of the bandanna. "Jesus, Jake. I think... I think I'm okay."

They were both on the ground now, feet still tied, arms still lashed cruelly behind their backs. But they could move.

Jake scooted over to Billy, looking at the six darts still embedded in his brother's chest and stomach, blood seeping steadily around each one.

"I gotta get these out," Jake said. "You're bleeding too much."

"With what?" Billy gasped.

Jake turned his back to Billy, his bound hands reaching blindly for the darts. His fingers were mostly numb, but he could feel the plastic shafts sticking out of his brother's skin.

"This is gonna hurt," Jake warned.

"Just do it."

One by one, Jake worked the darts free with his numb fingers, pulling them straight out. Billy bit down hard to keep from screaming as each one came loose, fresh blood flowing from the puncture wounds.

"That's all of them," Jake said finally, his hands slick with his brother's blood.

"Back to back now," Jake said. "Work my feet, I'll work yours."

Billy scooted around so they were sitting back to back. With his bound hands, he fumbled for the ropes around Jake's ankles while Jake did the same for him.

"Can't feel my fingers," Billy gasped.

"Just keep trying. We did this when we were kids, remember? That time Ray tied us up in the hay loft."

"This is a little different than Ray's pranks," Billy said, but there was almost a smile in his voice.

After what felt like hours but was probably minutes, Jake's feet came free. He immediately turned to work on Billy's bonds.

"Arms are impossible," Jake said, testing his own wrist restraints. The circulation was completely cut off. "But we can run."

Billy struggled to his feet, swaying from blood loss. The dart wounds were still bleeding, but slower now.

"Let's get the hell out of here."

They stumbled out of the barn into the night, arms still lashed behind their backs, Billy bleeding from his chest wounds.

Three miles away, Deputy Ryan's voice crackled through every earbud in the county: "I got visual on the red Chevy. Jake's truck, heading north on County Road 47, moving fast."

In Wade's unmarked sheriff's vehicle, the Nelsons were already turning.

"We're closest," Wade said into his iPad. "Team Three, you're with us. Everyone else, converge on our position."

"Copy that," came Murphy's voice through the earbuds. "Team Three moving."

The Nelsons' vehicle screamed down the dark country road, Wilson driving while Wade coordinated. Ryan, monitoring from his drone, called out coordinates.

"They're coming up on the intersection with Farm Road 12. You can cut them off there."

Behind them, Murphy's team was closing fast, their headlights cutting through the darkness.

"There!" Wilson pointed ahead. Jake's red Chevy came roaring toward the intersection, traveling way too fast for the curves.

Wade grabbed the radio. "All teams, we have visual. Taking them down now."

The sheriff's vehicle slammed into the intersection just as the red truck tried to make the turn. The collision sent Jake's Chevy spinning off the road, rolling twice before slamming into an oak tree.

Murphy's team screeched to a halt, men pouring out with weapons drawn.

Automatic gunfire erupted from the wreckage, muzzle flashes lighting up the night.

"Take cover!" Wade shouted.

The firefight lasted less than two minutes. The ranchers had military-grade weapons and thermal scopes, and they were fighting for family. When the shooting stopped, both kidnappers were dead, and Jake's red truck was a twisted, smoking wreck.

Wade's voice came through all the earbuds: "All teams, this is Wade. Targets are down. Repeat, targets are down."

Cheers erupted through the earbuds from teams scattered across the county.

But then reality hit.

"All teams," Wade continued, his voice urgent, "the boys weren't in the truck. Jake and Billy are still out there. Everyone converge on the barn location. Now."

Pops' voice came through the earbuds, steady and determined: "We're coming, boys. Hold on."

In the woods near the abandoned barn, Jake and Billy stumbled through the underbrush, arms still bound behind their backs. Billy was losing strength, but Jake stayed right beside him.

"Keep going, buddy. I can hear the drones getting closer."

"Jake," Billy gasped, "I think... I think I hear engines."

Above them, the mechanical whine of search drones was getting louder, and through the trees they could see headlights converging.

"That's family," Jake said. "That's our people coming for us."

Billy stumbled and went down. Jake immediately knelt beside him.

"Can't... can't keep going," Billy whispered.

"Yes, you can," Jake said fiercely. "We made it this far. We're Bensons, remember? We don't quit."

Through the woods, they could hear voices calling their names.

"Jake! Billy!"

"That's Dad," Jake said. "Come on, buddy. Let's go home."

The Celebration

Saturday afternoon, the Benson ranch buzzed with the sounds of celebration. Jake and Billy had come home from the hospital just yesterday, both brothers still showing the marks of their ordeal but alive and smiling. The five families who had formed the militia were gathered—Bensons, Nelsons, Murphys, Stevens, and Crawfords—along with their wives and children.

Tables groaned under the weight of barbecue, casseroles, and every kind of dessert imaginable. Wade Nelson had brought his guitar and was playing country songs near the barn. Kids ran between the adults, and the beer was flowing freely among the men who had searched through the night.

Jake sat in a lawn chair, his left arm still in a sling, watching Billy work the crowd. His younger brother looked good—the dart wounds had healed clean, and the doctors said there wouldn't be any permanent damage. But Jake could see the change in Billy's eyes, the same thing he saw in his own reflection. They'd been through something together that no one else could understand.

"How you doing, son?" Pops settled into the chair beside him.

"Good, Pops. Real good." Jake nodded toward Billy, who was laughing at something one of the Murphy boys had said. "He's handling it better than I thought he would."

"Bensons are tough," Pops said simply. "Both of you proved that."

Tom appeared beside them, holding a manila envelope. "Billy! Come here for a minute."

Billy jogged over, still favoring his left side slightly. "Yeah, Dad?"

"We've been talking," Tom said, including Pops with a glance. "Your truck... well, it's totaled. Insurance will cover some of it, but not much."

Billy's face fell. He'd loved that old Chevy.

"So we went to the Ford dealer in town," Tom continued, pulling out papers from the envelope. "Thought we'd show you what a replacement might look like."

He handed Billy a window sticker, and Billy's eyes went wide as he read:

2025 FORD SUPER DUTY F-450 CREW CAB PICKUP
RAPID RED METALLIC TINTED CLEARCOAT

BASE MSRP: $67,050.00

ENGINE:
6.7L Power Stroke V8 Turbo Diesel - $11,495.00

PREMIUM OPTIONS:
Platinum Plus Package - $8,995.00

Smoked Truffle Venetian Leather Seats
Premium B&O Sound System
Power Twin-Panel Moonroof
20" Polished Aluminum Wheels

Ultimate Trailer Tow Package - $2,495.00
Technology Package - $3,850.00
Pro Power Onboard 2.0kW - $995.00
Rapid Red Premium Paint - $495.00

SUBTOTAL: $95,375.00
**DESTINATION CHARGE:** $1,895.00
TOTAL MSRP: $97,270.00

FINANCING AVAILABLE:
4.99% APR for 60 months
Monthly Payment: $1,833.00**
**Total Cost: $109,980.00

Billy stared at the sticker, his face pale. "Dad, I can't afford this."

Tom smiled and put his arm around his youngest son. "I know, son. But maybe—"

The sound of a horn honking cut him off. Everyone turned to see Josh's pickup coming around the barn, but it wasn't Josh's truck making the noise. Behind it, a gleaming red Ford F-450 was being driven slowly into the yard, horn blaring.

Billy Jr. was hanging out the passenger window of the new truck, waving frantically. "Uncle Billy! Uncle Billy! Look!"

Josh parked and jumped out, grinning from ear to ear. Billy Jr. practically fell out of the truck in his excitement, running to his uncle with a key fob in his small hands.

"It's yours!" Billy Jr. shouted, pressing the keys into his uncle's hands. "It's really yours!"

Billy stared at the keys, then at the truck, then at his family. "I... I don't understand."

"We all chipped in," Wade Nelson called out from near his guitar. "All five families. Set up a fund the day after we brought you boys home."

Murphy nodded, wiping barbecue sauce from his hands. "Figured it was the least we could do."

"Every family put in what they could," Jim Crawford added. "And there she is."

Billy Jr. was bouncing on his toes. "Uncle Billy, you gotta see inside! It's got heated seats and this huge screen and the sound system is incredible and—"

"Slow down, kiddo," Billy laughed, but his eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"Go look at it," Jake said, standing up despite his sling. "I want to see this thing too."

The gathered families all crowded around as Billy approached the truck like it might disappear if he moved too fast. The Rapid Red paint gleamed in the afternoon sun, and the chrome sparkled.

Billy Jr. was already in the driver's seat, hands on the wheel. "Look, Uncle Billy! Everything's electronic! The mirrors, the seats, even the pedals adjust themselves!"

Billy climbed into the passenger seat, running his hands over the leather interior. "Billy Jr., how did you learn about all this stuff?"

"Josh took me to the dealership when we picked it up," the boy said proudly. "I made them show me everything!"

Billy turned the key, and the big diesel rumbled to life. The sound system came on automatically, and Billy Jr. immediately started scrolling through the satellite radio.

"Oh! Oh! Uncle Billy, you got Apple Music on this thing!" Billy Jr. found what he was looking for and cranked up the volume.

The opening riffs of Deep Purple's "Highway Star" thundered from the premium speakers, and Billy threw back his head and laughed—the first real, unburdened laugh Jake had heard from his brother since before the kidnapping.

"Highway Star!" Billy shouted over the music. "Hell yeah!"

The whole Benson family piled into the truck—Tom and Sarah in the back seat, Pops riding shotgun, Jake squeezing in beside his parents, and Billy Jr. appointed as official DJ from his spot between Billy and Pops.

Billy put the truck in gear and drove slowly around the ranch yard, Ian Gillan's voice wailing from the speakers while the five families cheered and applauded. Through the windshield, Jake could see his brother's face—the biggest smile he'd worn in weeks, maybe months.

When they finally parked back where they'd started, Billy turned off the engine but left the music playing. He looked around at his family crowded into the cab of his new truck.

"I don't know how to thank y'all," he said quietly.

"You don't need to thank us," Tom said. "You're family. That's what family does."

"All of us are family now," Wade Nelson called from outside the truck. "After what we went through together."

Billy Jr. piped up from his spot between his uncles: "Uncle Billy, can you teach me to drive this thing?"

"In about seven years," Josh called from outside the truck, making everyone laugh.

As they climbed out, Billy caught Jake's arm. "Jake... this is too much. I mean, I love it, but—"

"Billy," Jake interrupted. "We almost lost each other in that barn. You think any of us give a damn about money right now?"

Billy nodded, understanding. Then he grinned and hit the key fob. The horn honked twice, the lights flashed, and "Highway Star" kept thundering from the speakers.

The celebration went on until well past sunset, but the new red Ford F-450 remained the center of attention, with Billy Jr. giving tours to anyone who'd listen and Billy himself looking like he'd just been handed the keys to the kingdom.

Which, in a way, he had.

Tuesday, September 16, 2025

Deep Purple: Highway Star