The Rednecks

Chapter 1

Josh Benson pulled his ATV to a stop beside Billy's abandoned mule, its engine still idling in neutral. The four-wheeler sat tilted at an awkward angle, its back wheels buried deep in the muddy creek bed.

"Billy!" Josh called out, his voice echoing across the empty pasture. No answer.

He climbed off and examined the scene. The engine was still running, puttering away in idle, but something felt wrong. Billy's shirt lay crumpled on the seat, his phone and radio beside it. And there, scattered in the mud around the quad, were cut pieces of rope - short lengths like someone had trimmed off the ends after tying knots.

Josh's blood ran cold. He pulled out his GPS unit and marked the location, then grabbed his satellite phone.

"Dad, it's Josh. You need to get out to grid reference 4-7-Charlie, south pasture by Miller Creek. Now."

"What's going on?"

"Billy's mule is here, but he's not. His shirt's on the seat, and Dad... there's cut rope pieces. Lots of them."

"We're on our way."

Josh's next call was to Old Pops. "Pops, I found Billy's ATV abandoned in the creek. Dad's coming, but we're gonna need everybody."

"Rope?" the old man's voice was grim.

"Yeah. Cut pieces. Someone took him, Pops."

Twenty minutes later, the sound of multiple engines filled the air. Tom arrived first, his face tight with worry, followed by Old Pops on the back of another ATV.

"Show me," Tom said, jumping off before his engine fully stopped.

Josh pointed to Billy's shirt on the seat, the phone and radio, the scattered rope pieces in the churned mud, the clear tire tracks leading away from the scene. "Just got bogged down in the creek," he said. "Left it running. And look at this ground - there was a hell of a fight."

Old Pops picked up one of the rope pieces, examining the clean cut. "Hemp. Good quality. These are trim pieces - they tied him up right here and cut off the excess."

"We need Rob out here," Tom said, already reaching for his phone.

"Sarah, it's Tom. I need you to call Rob Walsh. Tell him to get out to the south pasture immediately... No, Billy's missing. Someone took him... Just call Rob, and keep the kid close to the house."

Josh was on his own phone. "Rebecca, is your dad there? We need him out here right now... Billy's been taken."

More engines approached. Rob Walsh arrived with his sons Brian and Barker, their ATVs kicking up dust as they raced across the pasture. Behind them came Sarah and Rebecca, despite the men's instructions to stay home.

Rob surveyed the scene with a lawman's eye. "Multiple attackers," he said, studying the boot prints. "They were following him, got lucky when he bogged down."

Brian was photographing the tire tracks. "Dad, these lead north toward the old logging roads."

"Barker, call dispatch," Rob ordered. "I want roadblocks on every north route out of the county. And get forensics out here."

Sarah climbed off her ATV, her face pale. She saw Billy's shirt on the seat and her hand went to her mouth. "Have they called? Made any demands?"

"Not yet," Tom said. "But they will."

"The dogs," Old Pops said. "Six hounds between our families. They could track from here."

Rob shook his head. "Too risky right now. If Billy's still alive, and they see us coming with tracking dogs..." He didn't finish the sentence.

"So we wait?" Sarah asked, her voice breaking slightly.

"We prepare," Rob said. "When they call, we'll be ready."

The group stood around Billy's abandoned mule, still idling in the mud, his shirt and communication devices left behind like a taunt. The cut rope pieces scattered in the dirt told the story of a violent struggle that Billy had lost. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the pasture, and somewhere out there, Billy was running out of time.

Chapter 2

Billy's arms were screaming in agony as the pickup truck bounced along the dirt road. They'd tied his elbows together behind his back, forcing his biceps only four inches apart, then wrapped rope around his bare chest and abs, cinching his forearms tight against his spine. His hands were already going numb from the lack of circulation.

His mouth was stuffed with a greasy rag that tasted like motor oil, duct tape wrapped tight around his head to keep it in place. Every pothole sent fresh waves of pain through his ribs where they'd kicked him during the struggle, and his bare chest was starting to itch like crazy from the rough hemp rope.

Through the rear window of the truck cab, he could see the back of two heads - one wearing a dirty baseball cap, the other with long, stringy hair. Their voices carried back to him over the engine noise.

"Told you followin' him would pay off," the one with the cap said, spitting tobacco juice out the window. "Rich boy gets stuck, we get payday."

"Shut up, Dale. You don't know they got money," the stringy-haired one replied. His voice was higher, nervous. "What if they can't pay?"

"Course they can pay, Lenny. You seen that spread? All them cattle? Bensons got more money than God."

A third voice came from the passenger seat - deeper, meaner. "Both of you shut your mouths. We do this right, we get our money and disappear. You keep flappin' your gums, we all end up in county lockup."

Billy tried to work his arms free, but the rope only cut deeper into his flesh. The hemp fibers were rough against his skin, and every movement made his bare chest itch worse. His fingers were starting to tingle, going numb from the tight binding around his elbows.

The truck turned off the dirt road onto something even rougher. Pine branches scraped against the sides as they climbed higher into the hills. Billy's stomach lurched with each sharp turn, and the rope around his chest made it hard to breathe deeply.

"There it is," Dale said. "Told you nobody'd find us up here."

The cabin came into view - a ramshackle structure with a rusted tin roof and boarded-up windows. It looked like it had been abandoned for decades. The perfect place to disappear someone.

The truck stopped with a jolt. Billy heard the doors slam, then the tailgate dropped with a metallic screech.

"Jesus, he's bigger than he looked," Lenny said, staring down at Billy. "How we gonna carry him?"

"Same way we got him in here, genius," the third man said. Billy got his first good look at him - thick-set with a scraggly beard and eyes that looked like they'd seen too much whiskey and not enough sleep. This was the leader, the one calling the shots.

"Grab his legs, Dale. Lenny, get his shoulders. And try not to drop him - we need him in one piece for the pictures."

They hauled Billy out of the truck bed like a sack of grain. His shoulder hit the ground hard, sending shooting pain down his arm. The leader - Billy figured he must be the one in charge - kicked open the cabin door.

Inside, the place smelled like mildew and rotting wood. A few pieces of broken furniture were scattered around, along with empty beer cans and whiskey bottles. They dropped Billy against the far wall, his back against rough wooden planks.

"Get the camera," the leader told Lenny. "Time to let his family know we mean business."

Lenny fumbled with an old digital camera, nearly dropping it twice. "How's this work again, Mack?"

"Just point and shoot, you idiot." Mack grabbed the camera and aimed it at Billy. "Look alive, rich boy. You're about to be famous."

The flash went off, temporarily blinding Billy. Then again, and again. Mack was thorough, getting shots from different angles.

"That ought to do it," Mack said, checking the camera's screen. "Now we wait for Daddy to get our message."

Dale was pacing near the window, his nervousness showing. "How long we gonna keep him here?"

"Long as it takes," Mack said, settling into a broken chair and pulling out a bottle of whiskey. "Could be hours, could be days. Rich folks like to think things over before they part with their money."

"Days?" Lenny's voice cracked. "What if someone finds us?"

"Nobody's gonna find us. This place has been dead for twenty years." Mack took a long swig from the bottle. "Just keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking when I call his daddy."

Chapter 3

The house felt too quiet when they returned from the pasture. Sarah paced the kitchen while Rebecca tried to keep the Kid occupied with his toys in the living room. Tom and Josh sat at the kitchen table with Rob, going over maps of the area where Billy had been taken.

"Forensics will process the scene tomorrow morning," Rob said, spreading out a topographical map. "But those tire tracks head straight into logging country. Hundreds of places to hide up there."

Old Pops was cleaning his rifle at the kitchen counter. "Six hours now. Why haven't they called?"

"They will," Tom said, but his voice was tight with worry.

Brian and Barker had set up a command station in the den, their laptops connected to dispatch, coordinating with roadblocks throughout the county. Eileen moved between the kitchen and living room, trying to keep everyone fed and calm.

The computer in the den chimed with an incoming email.

"Dad!" Brian called out. "We've got something."

Everyone rushed into the den. Brian's face was pale as he stared at his laptop screen. "Email just came in. No return address, but..." He hesitated, glancing at Sarah and Rebecca.

"What is it?" Tom demanded.

Brian turned the laptop around. The photos hit them like a physical blow. Billy, bare-chested, bound with rope, his arms twisted behind him in an impossible position. His face was bruised, duct tape across his mouth. He was slumped against a rough wooden wall, looking directly into the camera with eyes that showed both pain and defiance.

Sarah gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh God, Billy."

The Kid had wandered over from his toys. He took one look at the screen and let out a frightened cry. "Uncle Billy! Why is Uncle Billy hurt?"

Rebecca quickly scooped him up, turning him away from the laptop. "It's okay, sweetie. Come on, let's go to your room."

"But Uncle Billy—"

"Shh, baby. The grown-ups are going to help Uncle Billy." Rebecca's voice was shaking as she carried him out of the room.

Tom stared at the photos, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles stood out. "How many pictures?"

"Five," Brian said quietly. "Different angles. They want us to see... everything."

Old Pops had stopped cleaning his rifle. His weathered hands were trembling slightly. "Those bastards."

Rob was studying the photos with a lawman's eye. "Look at the background. Wooden walls, looks like an old cabin or shack. And those windows are boarded up."

Before anyone could respond, Tom's satellite phone rang. The room fell dead silent.

Tom looked at the caller ID - unknown number again. His hand was steady as he answered, putting it on speaker.

"Tom Benson."

"You see the pictures yet?" The voice was rough, slurred with alcohol. "Your boy's real pretty all tied up like that."

Sarah made a strangled sound. Tom's knuckles went white gripping the phone.

"What do you want?"

"Two million dollars. Cash. Small bills. You got forty-eight hours."

"Two million—"

"Shut up and listen. You call the cops, you try to track this call, you send anyone looking for us, and we're gonna cut your boy into little pieces and feed him to the vermin in these woods. You understand me?"

Rob was frantically signaling Brian to start a trace, but Tom shook his head slightly.

"I understand."

"Good. We'll call tomorrow with instructions on where to drop the money. And Benson? Don't test us. Your boy's already learned what happens when he don't cooperate. You want him back in one piece, you do exactly what we say."

The line went dead.

The silence stretched for long seconds before Sarah broke down completely, sobbing into her hands. Josh was staring at the laptop screen, his face white with rage.

"Two million," Tom said quietly.

"We can raise it," Old Pops said immediately. "The ranch, the cattle, the land—"

"That's not the problem," Rob said grimly. "The problem is they just declared war on the wrong family."

Chapter 4

Billy had been working on the rope around his ankles for what felt like hours. His arms were still pinned behind his back in agony, but his fingers had found just enough feeling to pick at the knots binding his legs. The hemp was rough and tight, but whoever had tied him wasn't as careful with his feet as they'd been with his arms.

Mack was passed out in the broken chair, the whiskey bottle empty at his feet. Dale sat by the window, occasionally peering through the boards, while Lenny had wandered outside to take a piss. Billy could hear him stumbling around in the dark.

The rope around his ankles finally gave way. Billy bit down on the greasy rag in his mouth to keep from crying out in relief. His legs were cramped and numb, but he could move them. Slowly, carefully, he worked the rope off his ankles, then started on the bonds around his knees.

His bare chest was itching something fierce from the hemp rope, and every small movement sent fresh pain through his twisted arms. But freedom was only feet away. The cabin door was still slightly ajar from when Lenny had gone outside.

The knee rope loosened. Billy tested his legs - they were weak and shaky, but they'd hold him. He took a deep breath through his nose and rolled to his side, then pushed himself up against the wall until he was standing.

Dale was still staring out the window, his back to Billy. Mack's snoring filled the cabin. This was his chance.

Billy moved as quietly as he could toward the door, his bare feet silent on the rotting floorboards. Three steps. Four. Five. The door was right there.

He shouldered it open and burst outside into the cool night air. His legs nearly gave out, but adrenaline kept him moving. The truck was parked twenty yards away, but there were keys to find, and three men who would wake up any second.

Instead, Billy ran for the tree line. If he could get into the woods, maybe he could lose them in the dark.

"What the hell—" Dale's voice exploded behind him. "Mack! MACK! He's running!"

Billy's legs were screaming, his bare feet tearing on rocks and pine needles, but he pushed deeper into the woods. Behind him, he could hear shouting, the slam of the cabin door, heavy boots crashing through the underbrush.

"There! I see him!" Lenny's voice, high and panicked.

A flashlight beam swept across the trees, catching Billy in its glare. He changed direction, stumbling over a fallen log, his bound arms throwing off his balance.

"Got you now, you son of a bitch!" Dale's voice was right behind him.

The tackle sent Billy face-first into the ground. His shoulder hit a rock, and stars exploded behind his eyes. Before he could roll away, boots were kicking him in the ribs, the stomach, anywhere they could find purchase.

"Thought you were smart, didn't you?" Mack's voice was thick with rage and alcohol. "Thought you could just walk away?"

Billy curled up as much as he could with his arms pinned, trying to protect his face and chest from the kicks. But there were three of them, and they were furious.

"Hold him down," Mack ordered.

Dale and Lenny grabbed Billy's shoulders, pressing him face-down in the dirt. Mack's boot caught him in the ribs twice more, then his kidney. Billy's vision went white with pain.

"That's what happens when you don't cooperate," Mack panted. "Now we're gonna make sure you can't try that shit again."

They dragged Billy back to the cabin like a piece of meat. His face was streaming blood from where it had hit the rock, and his chest and ribs felt like they were on fire. Every breath was agony.

Inside, Mack pulled out more rope. "Lenny, hold his legs. Dale, grab that rope. We're gonna truss him up proper this time."

Billy tried to fight, but he was too weak, too beaten down. They forced his ankles up toward his bound hands, connecting them with a short piece of rope. The hogtie pulled his already-screaming shoulders back even further, and his legs cramped immediately.

"There," Mack said, breathing hard. "Let's see you run now, tough guy."

Lenny was fumbling with the camera again, his hands shaking. "Should we... should we take more pictures?"

"Hell yes. His daddy needs to see what happens when his boy gets cute." Mack grabbed the camera and started shooting. Billy's bloody, battered face. His bruised chest. The way the hogtie bent his body into an impossible arch.

"This ought to get their attention," Mack said, checking the photos. "Time for another phone call."

Twenty minutes later, Tom's satellite phone rang again. This time, when Tom answered, Mack's voice was cold with satisfaction.

"Hope you're enjoying the new pictures, Benson. Your tough boy thought he could take a little walk in the woods tonight."

Tom's voice was deadly quiet. "What did you do to him?"

"Just taught him some manners. Amazing how cooperative a man gets after a good ass-kicking. Look at those pictures real close - see that blood on his face? Those bruises on his chest? That's what happens when people don't follow the rules."

"You bastards—"

"Two million dollars, Benson. You got thirty-six hours now. And remember - one wrong move from you, and we'll cut your boy into little pieces and feed him to the vermin in these woods. Only now he might not be in such good shape when the rats find him."

The line went dead, leaving Tom staring at the photos of his son's battered body on the laptop screen.Chapter 6

The hogtie was killing Billy. Every muscle in his body screamed as the rope connecting his ankles to his bound arms kept his spine arched at an impossible angle. His shoulders felt like they were pulled from their sockets, and his legs were cramping so badly he had to bite down on the gag to keep from crying out.

But he couldn't stop trying to escape. Even with his face bloody and his ribs on fire from the beating, some stubborn part of him refused to give up. He worked his wrists against the rope, trying to find any give, any looseness he could exploit.

"Will you quit that?" Dale snapped, looking up from his beer. "You're making me nervous with all that squirming."

Billy ignored him, continuing to test his bonds. The rope around his chest was cutting into his bare skin, but maybe if he could work it down...

"I said quit it!" Dale kicked Billy in the ribs, sending fresh waves of pain through his battered torso.

Billy glared at him over the duct tape, his eyes blazing with defiance.

"You got something to say, tough guy?" Mack stood up from his chair, swaying slightly. The whiskey had made him mean. "Maybe you didn't learn your lesson the first time."

He grabbed Billy by the hair and jerked his head back, then drove his fist into Billy's face. Billy's head snapped to the side, blood spattering the wooden wall.

"How's that feel?" Mack hit him again, this time catching him in the eye. "Still think you're gonna walk out of here?"

Billy's vision blurred, but he kept staring at Mack with hatred.

"Defiant little shit," Mack muttered. He grabbed more rope from his bag. "Let's see how tough you are when you can't breathe."

"What are you doing?" Lenny asked nervously.

"Teaching him some respect." Mack looped the rope around Billy's neck, then tied it to the rope connecting his ankles and wrists. Now any movement would pull the noose tighter around his throat.

Billy's eyes went wide as the rope bit into his neck. He had to arch his back even further to keep from strangling himself, but the position was agony. His vision started to gray at the edges.

"There," Mack said with satisfaction. "Let's see you struggle now."

Billy forced himself to stay perfectly still, fighting the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. The slightest movement would tighten the noose. His breathing was reduced to shallow gasps through his nose.

Outside, a faint buzzing sound grew louder.

"What the hell is that?" Dale asked, moving to the boarded window.

The sound was getting closer - a mechanical whirring that made all three kidnappers freeze.

"Drones," Lenny whispered. "That's got to be drones."

"Shit!" Mack was instantly sober. "How'd they find us so fast?"

"I told you we should have gone further north," Dale said, his voice cracking with panic.

The buzzing sound circled the cabin, then moved off toward the east.

"They're searching," Mack said, grabbing his bag. "We're done here. Lenny, get the truck started. Dale, grab his legs."

"What about the rope around his neck?" Lenny asked.

"Leave it. Keeps him quiet." Mack hauled Billy up by his shoulders, and the sudden movement pulled the noose tight. Billy's face went purple as he fought for air.

They carried him outside like a trussed animal, his vision fading in and out as the rope choked him. The truck engine was already running when they threw him in the back.

Mack jumped behind the wheel and gunned it, spinning the tires on the pine needles. "We head north, deeper into the hills. Find another place to hole up."

But as they rounded the first bend, the truck hit a patch of soft earth and the rear wheels sank deep into the mud. The engine whined as Mack floored the accelerator, but they were stuck fast.

"Come on, come on!" Mack screamed, rocking the truck back and forth.

The buzzing sound was getting closer again.

"It's no use," Dale said, panic fully taking over. "We gotta run!"

"What about him?" Lenny pointed to Billy, who was barely conscious in the truck bed.

Mack looked at Billy for a long moment, then at the approaching sound of the search drones. "Leave him. Let him choke himself to death. Problem solved."

"But what if they find the body?" Dale asked.

"Then they find a dead rich boy instead of a live hostage. Either way, we're gone." Mack grabbed his rifle. "Move!"

All three men grabbed their gear and took off into the woods on foot, leaving Billy alone in the back of the stuck truck, slowly strangling himself with every breath.

Chapter 7

The convoy had reached the base of Pine Ridge when Brian's phone chimed with an incoming message. His face went white as he looked at the screen.

"Dad! Another photo just came in!"

Rob snatched the phone and his jaw tightened. The image showed Billy in the back of a truck, the rope around his neck pulled tight, his face purple, clearly choking.

"Jesus Christ," Tom breathed, looking over Rob's shoulder. "He's dying."

"No time for systematic searches," Rob said, grabbing his radio. "All units, suspect vehicle located somewhere in the target area. Victim is actively in distress. We go with the dogs, now."

Old Pops was already unloading the hounds from the back of Tom's truck. Blue, Rex, and Maggie jumped down, immediately alert and sniffing the air. Rob's three dogs joined them, forming a pack of six eager trackers.

"Here," Tom said, pulling Billy's sweaty shirt from a plastic bag - the one they'd retrieved from the mule's seat. "Get his scent."

Old Pops held the shirt out to Blue first, the lead hound. The big dog sniffed deeply, then lifted his head, testing the wind. Within seconds, all six dogs were whining and pulling at their leads.

"They got something," Josh said, checking his rifle.

Blue suddenly broke into a full bay, straining against his leash. The other hounds joined in, their voices echoing through the pine trees.

"Let 'em go," Old Pops commanded.

The dogs shot forward like bullets, following a scent trail that led away from the planned routes. Tom, Josh, and Old Pops followed at a run, their boots pounding on the forest floor.

Rob spoke into his radio as he sprinted behind them. "Dogs have a trail. All units converge on our position. Move fast - we may not have much time."

The hounds led them through dense timber, over fallen logs, up a steep ridge. Their baying grew more excited with each hundred yards.

"They're close," Tom panted, his heart hammering. "Real close."

Ahead, Blue's barking changed pitch - sharper, more urgent. The kind of bark that meant he'd found his target.

"There!" Josh shouted, pointing through the trees.

A pickup truck sat tilted at an impossible angle, its rear wheels buried deep in soft earth. The front end pointed skyward, and in the back they could see Billy, motionless, rope around his neck.

"Billy!" Tom started sprinting toward the truck.

Old Pops grabbed his radio. "Rob, we found the truck. Victim is in the back, but the truck's abandoned. Suspects are on foot."

"Roger that," Rob's voice crackled back. "All units, suspects fled on foot. Set up a perimeter."

Old Pops was already calling the dogs back from the truck. "Blue! Rex! Here, boys!"

The hounds circled back, confused but obedient. Old Pops knelt down and let them sniff the ground around the truck, picking up the fresh scent of the kidnappers.

"Change of scent, boys. Find the bastards who did this."

The dogs immediately picked up the new trail, their noses to the ground. Within seconds they were baying again, heading away from the truck in three different directions.

"They split up," Old Pops said grimly. "Tom, you and Josh get to Billy. I'm going after these sons of bitches."

Tom and Josh continued their desperate sprint toward the truck while Old Pops followed the hounds into the forest, his rifle ready.

Over the next twenty minutes, the forest filled with the sounds of the hunt. First one group of dogs struck, their triumphant baying echoing from the north.

"Got one," came Rob's voice over the radio.

Then the second group found their target near the creek.

"Second suspect in custody," Barker reported.

Finally, Blue's distinctive howl rang out from the eastern ridge.

"That's all three," Old Pops' voice came over the radio. "Trussed up like Christmas turkeys. Deputies can come collect the garbage."

Rob's voice followed: "All suspects in custody. Medevac is inbound for the victim."

The hunt was over.

Chapter 8

Tom vaulted into the truck bed, his hands shaking as he pulled out his knife. Billy's face was purple, his lips blue, the rope around his neck cutting deep into his skin. His chest barely moved with shallow, labored breaths.

"Easy, son," Tom whispered, sliding the blade carefully under the rope. "Easy now."

The neck rope came free with one precise cut. Billy's head fell forward and he gasped, a horrible rattling sound as air rushed into his damaged throat. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and filled with pain.

Josh climbed into the truck bed from the other side. "Jesus, look what they did to him."

Billy's chest and ribs were covered in dark bruises, his face swollen and bloody. The rope burns around his neck were raw and angry. His arms were twisted behind him at an impossible angle, the circulation completely cut off.

"This rope's been on too long," Tom said, studying the bonds around Billy's elbows. "His hands are completely numb. We cut this wrong, he could lose feeling permanently."

"Dispatch, this is Deputy Walsh," came Brian's voice over the radio. "All three suspects are secured and in custody. Repeat, all suspects captured and restrained."

Tom worked slowly, carefully cutting the rope around Billy's chest first. Each strand that came free allowed Billy to breathe a little easier, but he still couldn't speak. His throat was too damaged.

"Billy, can you hear me?" Josh asked. "Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."

Billy's fingers barely moved, but it was enough.

"Medevac approaching your position," came the radio call.

Tom looked up through the trees. "They can't land here. Too much canopy, and we're on a slope."

The helicopter circled overhead, the pilot's voice crackling through the radio: "Negative on landing. No suitable LZ. You'll need to transport to the access road."

"How long to get him out of here?" Josh asked, still working on the rope around Billy's wrists.

"Twenty minutes to the main road, maybe more with these logging trails."

Rob's voice came over the radio: "I'll take point with lights and sirens. We can have him at County General in forty minutes."

Tom made the decision. "We move him now." He looked at Billy, whose eyes were more focused now but still filled with pain. "Son, we're going to lift you into the truck. It's going to hurt, but we need to get you to a hospital."

They wrapped Billy in a blanket from the emergency kit, then carefully lifted him from the truck bed. Every movement brought a soft groan from his damaged throat.

Tom's truck came bouncing through the trees, followed by Rob's patrol vehicle, lights already flashing. They eased Billy into the back seat, Josh climbing in beside him to monitor his breathing.

"Go, go, go!" Tom shouted, jumping behind the wheel.

The convoy raced down the mountain, Rob's siren wailing as they flew along the winding logging roads. Every bump and turn brought fresh pain to Billy's battered body, but Josh kept talking to him, keeping him conscious.

"Stay with us, Billy. We're almost there. Sarah's waiting. Rebecca's waiting. The Kid keeps asking about his Uncle Billy."

Thirty-five minutes later, they screeched into the emergency bay at County General. The trauma team was already waiting, having been alerted by radio.

"Male, approximately 25, victim of kidnapping and assault," the lead doctor called out as they transferred Billy to a gurney. "Possible strangulation, multiple contusions, circulation compromise to upper extremities."

Tom started to follow the gurney inside, but a nurse stopped him. "Family waiting room is through those doors. We'll update you as soon as we can."

Tom watched helplessly as they wheeled his son through the trauma bay doors. Josh put a hand on his shoulder.

"He's alive, Dad. He's going to make it."

Tom nodded, but his hands were still shaking as they walked toward the waiting room where Sarah and Rebecca were already rushing through the hospital entrance, their faces streaked with tears.

The hardest part was over. Now came the waiting.

Chapter 9

The waiting room at County General was quiet. Tom, Josh, Old Pops, and Rob sat in uncomfortable plastic chairs, still wearing their muddy clothes from the hunt. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as they waited for news.

Tom pulled out his phone and called home. Sarah's face appeared on the FaceTime screen, her eyes red from crying. Behind her, he could see Rebecca holding the Kid, who was playing with his toys but glancing anxiously at the phone.

"Any word?" Sarah asked.

"Still waiting. Doctor said they're checking for internal injuries, making sure there's no permanent damage from the strangulation."

The Kid looked up from his toys. "Is Uncle Billy okay?"

"The doctors are helping him right now, buddy," Tom said gently.

Old Pops leaned forward in his chair, his weathered hands clasped together. "Boy's tougher than those bastards gave him credit for. He'll pull through."

Rob's radio crackled. "Dad, this is Brian. We got all three suspects processed and in holding cells. Federal agents are en route from Denver to take over the kidnapping case."

"Good," Rob replied. "Make sure they're separated. I don't want them comparing stories."

Two hours later, Dr. Martinez emerged from the double doors, still in surgical scrubs. Everyone stood up immediately.

"He's going to be fine," the doctor said, and the collective sigh of relief was audible. "Severe bruising to the throat and neck, rope burns, multiple contusions on his torso and face. His circulation was compromised for several hours, so his hands and arms will be sore for a while, but there's no permanent nerve damage."

"Can we see him?" Tom asked.

"He's awake, but his voice will be very hoarse for a few days. We'll keep him for observation - minimum three days to monitor for any complications from the strangulation."

Tom held up his phone so Sarah could hear. "Did you get that, honey?"

"Three days," Sarah repeated, tears streaming down her face. "But he's okay?"

"He's okay," Dr. Martinez confirmed. "Room 314. Two visitors at a time, please."

The doctor barely finished speaking before all four men rushed past him toward the elevators. Dr. Martinez just smiled and shook his head. There was no stopping this family.

They crowded into Billy's room together. He was propped up in the hospital bed, his neck wrapped in gauze, his face swollen and bruised. But his eyes were alert, and when he saw all of them there, he managed a weak smile.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Don't try to talk," Tom said, moving to the bedside. "Just rest."

Billy shook his head slightly and reached for Tom's phone. Tom held it up so Billy could see Sarah on the screen.

"Oh, baby," Sarah cried when she saw his battered face. "My sweet boy."

Billy's eyes filled with tears as he looked at his mother. He tried to speak but could only mouth the words "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Sarah said firmly. "Nothing. You hear me?"

Suddenly the Kid's face appeared on the screen as he grabbed the phone from Rebecca.

"Uncle Billy! Uncle Billy!" he shouted excitedly. "I was so scared! But Grandpa Tom and Grandpa Pops found you with the dogs! And they tied up the bad men!"

Billy looked at his nephew's innocent, excited face, and something inside him finally broke. The tears came then - deep, wrenching sobs that shook his entire body. All the fear, the pain, the helplessness of the past two days came pouring out.

Tom gently took the phone back. "Sarah, he needs to rest now. We'll call you later."

"Kiss him for me," Sarah whispered. "Tell him I love him."

An hour later, Dr. Martinez appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat gently. "Gentlemen, he needs to rest now."

Tom was reluctant to leave, but Old Pops put a hand on his shoulder. "Boy's safe now. Hospital's got security, and those three bastards are locked up tight. Billy needs rest more than he needs us hovering over him."

As they filed out of the room, Billy was already drifting off to sleep, the first peaceful rest he'd had in two days.

The nightmare was finally over.

Final Chapter

Old Pops and the Kid had been planning the reunion for two days, huddled together over kitchen table logistics like generals preparing for battle. The Kid insisted on balloons - lots of them - and a banner that read "WELCOME HOME UNCLE BILLY!" in his uneven five-year-old handwriting.

"We need the good chairs from the barn," Pops told Tom, checking items off his list. "And Sarah, you call everybody - both families, Billy's friends from school, his hunting buddies. This boy's coming home proper."

By Saturday afternoon, the Benson ranch was transformed. Tables groaned under the weight of Sarah's cooking, Rebecca's desserts, and Eileen's famous potato salad. Rob had set up a makeshift stage where Old Pops' banjo waited patiently. Cars and trucks lined the driveway - classmates, hunting buddies, neighbors who'd followed the story on the news.

The Kid stood on the porch in his best shirt, scanning the horizon. "There! There's Grandpa Pops' truck!"

The blue pickup came bouncing down the driveway, Billy visible in the passenger seat, still pale but grinning. Before the truck fully stopped, Leeann was running across the yard.

She reached the truck as Billy climbed out, still moving carefully, and threw her arms around him. The kisses came fast and desperate - on his lips, his cheeks, his forehead - anywhere she could reach. Billy laughed, trying to catch his breath between her smooches.

Even Old Pops wiped his eyes as he watched his grandson's girlfriend welcome him home. "That's enough smoochin' for now, girl," he called out with a gruff smile. "Save some for later."

The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter. Billy was immediately surrounded, hands patting his back, voices asking how he felt, everyone wanting to touch him, to make sure he was real and safe.

Later, after the initial hugs and tears subsided, Billy found himself at the big picnic table with his high school buddies - Jake, Marcus, and Cole, all tough ranch boys who'd grown up hunting and fighting alongside him. The Kid had claimed the spot right next to Billy, perched on the bench like a devoted squire.

"So there I was," Billy said, leaning forward conspiratorially, "tied up with thick logging chain - not rope, chain - and they had my arms twisted behind my back so tight I thought my shoulders were gonna snap clean off."

Jake whistled low. "Chain? Jesus, Billy."

"That's when the big one - and I'm talking six-foot-six, maybe three hundred pounds - starts wailing on me with his fists. Broke two of my ribs with the first punch." Billy touched his still-tender side for effect.

The Kid's eyes went wide as saucers. "Did it hurt real bad, Uncle Billy?"

"Like hell, little man. But I wasn't gonna let some druggie redneck see me cry. So I spit blood right in his face and told him to hit me harder."

Marcus laughed and shook his head. "You crazy son of a bitch."

Tom and Josh were standing nearby, grinning as they listened to Billy's increasingly heroic version of events. By now, the kidnappers had grown from three nervous drunks to a gang of hardened criminals, and Billy's brief escape attempt had become a full-blown action sequence.

"That's when I decided to make my move," Billy continued, his voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. "Even with the chains cutting into my wrists, I worked my legs free. Took me four hours of working in the dark, blood running down my arms, but I got loose."

"Then what happened?" Cole asked, genuinely caught up in the story.

"I made a run for it. Almost got clean away too, but they had dogs tracking me. German Shepherds, big as wolves. When they caught me..." Billy shook his head grimly. "Let's just say they made sure I wouldn't try that again."

The Kid leaned closer, hanging on every word. "But you were brave, right Uncle Billy?"

"Never backed down, buddy. Even when they hogtied me with barbed wire around my neck, I kept fighting. That's what Bensons do - we never quit."

From across the yard, Old Pops started playing his banjo, soft background music that mixed with Billy's increasingly embellished tale. His classmates hung on every word, each detail more dramatic than the last.

As the sun set, the party moved into full swing. Rob manned the grill while the women kept the food coming. Billy continued holding court at the picnic table, his story growing more heroic with each beer and each retelling.

Near midnight, as the crowd began to thin out, Billy found himself still at the table with the Kid, who had refused all attempts to put him to bed.

"Uncle Billy," the Kid said sleepily, leaning against his uncle's side, "you're the toughest guy in the whole world, aren't you?"

Billy looked down at his nephew's trusting face, then out at his family scattered around the yard - Tom and Josh cleaning up, Sarah and Rebecca packing leftovers, Old Pops putting away his banjo, Rob and Eileen saying goodbye to the last guests.

"No, buddy," Billy said quietly, his voice still hoarse but full of love. "I'm just lucky to have a family that never gives up on each other."

The Kid nodded sagely, as if this made perfect sense, and curled up closer to his Uncle Billy, the newest hero in his young world.

The nightmare was over. The family was whole again. And somewhere in the distance, six hounds settled down for the night, their job well done.