Chapter 1
Surrounded by 3 men holding semi-automatic rifles, Billy Benson watched as his brother Jake was forced to strip to the waist and empty his pockets. He removed his belt and dropped his consortium radio in the dirt. He was tied hand and foot. Now Billy threw off his shirt and did the same. Quickly he too was tied with rope around his back, wrists, and then his ankles. A large strip of duct tape was wound around the brothers' heads, sealing their mouths into a tight gag.
One of the kidnappers picked up Billy's radio and hit the 911 button. Throughout the consortium "911BillyBenson" voiced 3 times. Then the kidnapper said...."Hey you mother fuckers, we got your Benson boys tied up and we taking them. Ransom information will follow." He crushed both radios.
The Brothers were dumped into the back of a pickup, hogtied, and driven for 2 hours.
And the Radio network went chaotic.
Josh: "911BillyBenson - what the hell?"
Ray: "Billy, you copy?"
Celeb: "Jake! Someone respond!"
Tom: "Who the fuck was that on the line?"
Sarah: "Did he just say—"
Josh: "Tom! Tom, you hearing this?"
Ray: "Where's Wade? Get Wade on!"
Robert Beaumont: "Anyone got eyes on them?"
Billy Jr: "Check the GPS—"
Tom: "Their truck, where's their truck?"
Ryan Nelson: "Shut up! Everybody shut up!"
Edna: "Oh my God, oh my God—"
Josh: "Ray, you near the south pasture?"
Mary Nelson: "What did he meant taking them?"
Rebecca: "I'm calling Dad now—"
Wilson Nelson: "This is Wilson, I'm en route—"
Robert Beaumont: "En route where? We don't know where!"
Sarah: "Pops! Someone get Pops!"
Voices crashing over each other. Panic spreading like wildfire through the network. Static. Confusion. Fear.
No answers.
Just chaos.
Chapter 2
The truck stopped.
Billy felt rough hands dragging him out of the bed. His body hit dirt. Through the duct tape gag, he tried to pull air through his nose, but panic was making it hard. His wrists were already numb from the rope.
Jake landed beside him with a grunt.
They were hauled upright and shoved forward into darkness. A barn. Old. Abandoned. The smell of rotted wood and animal shit.
The kidnappers didn't bother untying them. They just grabbed the rope connecting Billy's wrists to his ankles - that single inch of give - and looped it through a pulley system hanging from the rafters.
Then they pulled.
Billy's body jerked upward. His bound wrists yanked toward his bound ankles as they hoisted him up, bending him backward in an impossible arch. His arms stretched behind him, shoulders screaming as they took his full weight. His ankles pulled up toward his hands. Five feet off the ground, suspended in mid-air, his body curved like a bow.
He couldn't straighten. Couldn't relieve the pressure. His entire weight hung from his wrists and ankles with his torso bent backward, every muscle straining.
Jake went up next. Same pulley. Same position. Hoisted five feet up, his body arched, face twisted in agony.
They hung facing each other. Six feet apart. Close enough to see every detail of each other's suffering.
Billy's shoulders were already burning. His spine bent backward in a way it was never meant to bend. He couldn't move. Couldn't adjust. Any shift in his weight made the rope cut deeper.
Through the duct tape, every breath was a fight. In through his nose. Slow. Don't panic.
He looked at Jake.
Jake's eyes were wild. Angry. His whole body was rigid, every muscle locked as he tried to fight against the ropes. Billy could see Jake's wrists - the rope already cutting deep grooves into the skin.
Don't. You'll just make it worse. Calm down. Save your strength.
Billy tried to catch his brother's eyes. Tried to send him the message.
But Jake wasn't looking at him.
Jake wanted to kill them. If he could get his hands free - just his hands - he'd rip them all apart. His shoulders felt like they were being torn out of their sockets. His spine screamed with every breath.
He looked at Billy.
His little brother's face was already pale, drenched in sweat. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his chest was heaving with shallow breaths through his nose. Jake could see Billy's wrists behind him - bound tight, already swelling, the skin turning dark where the circulation was cut off.
Fuck. Fuck. Billy.
Jake tried to say his name, but the duct tape turned it into a muffled grunt.
Billy's eyes opened. They locked on Jake's.
For a second, Jake saw fear there. Real fear. Not the kind of fear you get falling off a horse or dodging a rattlesnake. The kind that knows you might die.
Billy saw it in Jake's eyes too. That flash of panic his brother always tried to hide. The hothead who never backed down from anything, looking at him now with something close to terror.
Billy couldn't see his own wrists, but he could feel the rope cutting in. The warm wetness running down his arms told him he was bleeding. He could see Jake's wrists clearly - the blood starting to drip off his elbows in steady drops.
We're really in it now.
He thought about Edna. About whether she was seeing this. If she was watching him bleed and suffer and couldn't do anything about it.
Jake stared at Billy's wrists. They were already purple. Swollen. The rope disappearing into the flesh. Blood running in steady streams down his arms.
This is my fault. I should have fought harder. I should have seen them coming.
He wanted to tell Billy he was sorry. That he'd get them out of this. That help was coming.
But all he could do was stare at his little brother and watch him suffer.
One of the kidnappers set up a camera on a tripod. Pointed it at both of them.
Billy's stomach dropped. They were going to broadcast this. The whole consortium was going to watch.
Jr. was going to watch.
Edna was going to watch.
Mom and Pops were going to watch.
"Say hi to your family, boys."
The red light blinked on.
Then they left.
Chapter 3
The video feed hit every high-tech radio in the consortium at once.
Billy Jr. was in the command center when it came through. He'd been running surveillance footage from the ranch cameras for the past hour, trying to find the moment the truck appeared, when the encrypted signal pinged.
He tapped the screen.
The image loaded.
Billy and Jake. Hanging five feet off the ground in an abandoned barn. Bodies arched backward, faces twisted in pain. Blood dripping from their wrists.
"Oh fuck. Oh fuck. OH FUCK."
Celeb and Colton were right behind him, working on the other terminals. Billy Renzo, Mattern, and Rodriguez had already arrived and were spread across the command center with their synched iPads, scrubbing through different camera feeds.
Celeb spun around. "What? What is it—"
Then he saw the screen.
"No. NO. BILLY! JAKE!"
Jr. hit the broadcast button without thinking. Pushed the feed to every radio in the network.
He shouldn't have done that.
But his hands were shaking and his uncle was hanging there and he wasn't thinking straight.
The 911 network exploded again.
Tom: "What the hell is this?"
Sarah: "Oh my God—"
Rebecca: "Dad, are you seeing this?"
Wade: "I'm seeing it."
Edna: "BILLY!"
Ray: "Where are they? Can we trace the signal?"
Billy Jr: "I'm trying! I'm trying!"
Pops: "Those motherfuckers. Those MOTHERFUCKERS."
Mary Nelson: "Wade, we have to do something—"
Robert Beaumont: "Jr., can you get a location from that feed?"
Billy Jr: "It's encrypted. It's bouncing through—I don't know, I need time!"
Celeb: "They're my best friends—they're—how long have they been like that?"
Rebecca: "Too long. Look at their wrists. Look at the swelling."
Sarah: "Rebecca, what does that mean?"
Rebecca: "Mom, I—"
Tom: "Rebecca. What does it mean."
Rebecca: "They're losing circulation. If they stay like that much longer, they could lose their arms. Or worse."
Silence on the line.
Then Pops: "Get everyone to the house. Now."
In the command center, Celeb stood frozen, staring at the screen. His roommates. His best friends. The guys he shared bunk beds with, hid beer with under the floorboards, worked the ranch with every single day.
Hanging there. Bleeding.
Colton put a hand on his cousin's shoulder. "Celeb, we gotta—"
"I know." Celeb's voice was flat. Dead. "I know."
He sat back down at his terminal, fingers trembling as he went back to scrubbing through surveillance footage.
Renzo looked up from his iPad. "We need to find that truck. Everyone keep scanning the ranch cameras from this morning. Every angle."
The boys were silent except for the tapping of fingers on screens. Mattern and Rodriguez bent over their iPads. Colton working his terminal. Jr. trying to trace the video signal. Celeb reviewing perimeter cameras.
Twenty minutes later, Rodriguez's voice broke the silence in the command center.
"Got it! South access road camera, 7:43 this morning. Black Ford F-250, no plates, heading toward the south pasture."
Jr. pulled up the footage on the main screen. "Timestamp matches. That's them. Celeb, pull up the perimeter cameras—"
"Already on it," Celeb said, his voice tight. "Got them leaving the property at 8:17. Heading west on Ranch Road 12."
"Mattern, pull up the gas station on Route 9. They had to pass through there."
Mattern's fingers flew across his iPad. "Accessing now..."
Thirty seconds of silence.
"Got them!" Mattern's voice cracked with excitement. "Route 9 gas station, 8:52 AM. Same truck. Headed west."
Jr. grabbed all eighteen iPads - the ones they'd synched to the network - and stacked them quickly. "Everyone downstairs. Bring everything."
The boys thundered down the stairs into the living room, arms full of iPads and laptops.
The Benson ranch house living room was chaos.
Sarah stood frozen in front of the monitor, watching her sons hang there. She wasn't crying. She wasn't moving. She was just... standing.
Tom paced behind her, fists clenched, jaw tight. Every few seconds he'd look at the screen, then look away. Like if he didn't look, it wasn't real.
Pops sat in his chair with a bottle of Jack Daniels, but for once he wasn't drinking it. He just held it, staring at the screen, his mouth moving in a steady stream of curses that nobody could hear.
"Fucking bastards. Goddamn sons of bitches. I'll kill them. I'll fucking kill them all."
Rebecca stood next to the monitor with her phone pressed to her ear, talking to someone at the hospital. Her voice was calm. Professional. But her hands were shaking.
"Yes, I need a trauma team on standby. Two patients. Possible shoulder dislocations, nerve damage, severe lacerations... No, they're not here yet. I don't know when they'll be here."
Edna sat on the couch, staring at the screen. Tears streaming down her face. Silent.
Mary Nelson sat next to her, one arm around her shoulders, but Mary was watching the screen too. Her son-in-law's brothers. Family.
Wade stood by the door in his sheriff's uniform, radio in hand, coordinating with his deputies. Wilson and Ryan were already mobilizing, but nobody knew where to go.
Robert and Caroline Beaumont arrived moments before the boys came down, bursting through the door.
"Where's Celeb?" Robert asked immediately.
The answer came in the form of footsteps thundering down the stairs.
Jr. burst into the living room first, arms full of iPads. The other boys right behind him.
"Pops! We got something!"
Everyone turned.
Jr. started handing out iPads - one to Tom, one to Wade, one to Robert, one to Pops. The screens all showed the same footage, synched together.
"We tracked the truck from our south access road, through the perimeter cameras, and caught them at the gas station on Route 9 headed west. Black Ford F-250, no plates. Two hours ago."
Wade took the iPad, studying the gas station footage. He zoomed in on the truck. On the men inside.
"Can't make out faces from this angle," Wade muttered. "But I can send this to my office. See if they can enhance it, identify anything."
He pulled out his phone and forwarded the footage.
"Wilson, Ryan - you getting this?" Wade spoke into his radio.
Wilson: "Got it. Running it now."
Wade looked at Jr. "Can you track them further west of Route 9?"
Jr. shook his head. "There's not much surveillance out that way. We're launching the drones now to scan every barn and outbuilding in that direction. Thermal imaging, night vision - everything we've got."
"How long will that take?"
Jr. exchanged glances with Celeb, Colton, and the other boys.
"Hours. Maybe four, maybe five. That's a lot of territory to cover."
Rebecca's voice cut through the room. "They don't have five hours."
Everyone looked at her.
She pointed at the screen. At Billy and Jake hanging there.
"Look at the discoloration. Look at the swelling. Their circulation is almost completely cut off. If we don't get them down soon..." She paused. "They'll lose their hands. Maybe their arms. And if their shoulders dislocate while they're hanging like that, the damage could be permanent. Or fatal."
Sarah made a sound. A small, broken sound.
Tom stopped pacing. "So what do we do?"
"We wait for the ransom demand," Wade said. "They said instructions would follow. We pay whatever they want and—"
Pops slammed the bottle of Jack Daniels on the table.
"Fuck that. We find them. We go get them."
"With what information?" Wade shot back. "We don't know where they are!"
"Then we make them tell us!"
"Pops—"
"NO." The old man stood up, pointing at the screen. "Those are my grandsons hanging there. I'm not sitting in this goddamn house waiting for some piece of shit kidnapper to tell us what to do."
Tom put a hand on his father's shoulder. "Dad. Wade's right. We need a location first."
A phone buzzed.
Tom pulled it out. Looked at the screen.
"It's a text. From an unknown number."
Everyone crowded around.
$500,000. Instructions will follow.
That was it.
No location. No timeline. No proof they'd even return the boys alive.
Tom looked at Wade. "Can you trace it?"
Jr. was already moving. "Forward it to me."
Tom sent it. Jr.'s fingers flew across his iPad.
Thirty seconds later: "It's routed through an untraceable app. Encrypted. I can't—"
He slammed his fist on the table. "I can't trace it."
Celeb's voice was cold. "Then we find them another way. Keep running the drones. Check every goddamn building west of Route 9."
Pops picked up the Jack Daniels and took a long drink.
"That's my boy."
Robert looked at Wade, then at Tom, then at Pops.
"When they find that barn, I'm going with you."
Wade nodded. "So am I."
Pops stood up. "We all are."
The boys spread out across the living room with their iPads. Monitoring drone feeds. Scanning satellite imagery. Checking every structure, every abandoned building, every barn within fifty miles.
And they waited.
For five hours, they waited.
While they searched.
Chapter 4
Five hours in, Rodriguez shouted from his iPad.
"I got something! Thermal signature, abandoned barn, twelve miles west of Route 9. Two heat sources hanging in the center. Elevated. It's them!"
The living room exploded.
Jr. pulled up the drone feed on the main screen. There it was - an old barn, half-collapsed roof, middle of nowhere. And inside, two bodies suspended in the air.
"That's it," Celeb said, his voice shaking. "That's them."
Wade was already on his radio. "Wilson, Ryan - converge on these coordinates. Now."
Pops stood up. Didn't say a word. Just walked out of the living room toward the back of the house.
Tom knew where he was going.
The armory.
The Benson armory wasn't official. No permits, no paperwork. Just a locked room in the back of the house that had been collecting firearms since Pops came back from Vietnam.
Rifles. Shotguns. Handguns. Ammunition stacked floor to ceiling.
Pops unlocked the door and started pulling weapons off the racks.
"Everyone who's coming, get in here!"
Tom was first. Then Robert. Then Celeb and Colton.
Jr. appeared in the doorway with Renzo, Mattern, and Rodriguez behind him.
Pops looked at the four sixteen-year-olds. Then at Jr., who was technically old enough but still just a kid.
"You boys know how to shoot?"
"Yes sir," they said in unison.
Pops grabbed four sidearms. Checked the chambers. Loaded them.
"Then you're armed. This is war. You stay with the trucks, you cover our backs, and if any of those motherfuckers come at you, you put them down. Understood?"
"Yes sir."
He handed each of them a pistol.
Tom started to protest. "Dad, they're—"
"They're ranch hands," Pops cut him off. "And those are their uncles hanging in that barn. They're coming."
Tom didn't argue.
Wade arrived ten minutes later with Wilson and Ryan. Two more deputies pulled up behind them in patrol vehicles.
"We got sharpshooters?" Pops asked.
Wade nodded. "Wilson's trained. Ryan's good. And I hear Robert did some work overseas."
Robert stepped forward. "Afghanistan. Three tours."
"Celeb?" Wade asked.
"Dad taught me," Celeb said. His voice was cold. Flat. "I can shoot."
Pops grunted. "I was a sharpshooter in 'Nam. Still got the eye."
Wade pulled a rifle case from his truck. Opened it. Inside were three rifles with laser sights mounted on top.
"Wilson and Ryan have two more of these. Laser-pointed. You aim, the red dot shows you exactly where the bullet goes."
Pops stared at the rifle like it was Christmas morning.
"Laser-pointed?"
"Yeah. New tech. Well, new to civilian use anyway."
Pops picked up the rifle. Felt the weight. Looked through the scope.
"Goddamn. Why didn't we have these in 'Nam?"
He walked outside into the yard. Pointed the rifle at an old fence post fifty yards out.
The red dot appeared on the wood.
Pops squeezed the trigger.
The post exploded.
He lowered the rifle, a grin spreading across his face.
"I'm taking this one."
Wade handed rifles to Robert and Celeb. "You two get the other laser sights. Pops, you're with them. I want three sharpshooters covering the approach. The rest of us go in close."
Tom grabbed a shotgun. Josh and Ray appeared, armed with rifles. The Mattern and Rodriguez fathers arrived, armed. The Renzo father. All the consortium men who could shoot.
This wasn't a rescue.
This was a militia.
They loaded into trucks. Six vehicles total.
Pops, Robert, and Celeb in the lead truck with Wade. The sharpshooters.
Tom, Josh, and Ray in the second truck.
Wilson and Ryan with two more deputies in patrol vehicles.
Jr., Renzo, Mattern, and Rodriguez in the last truck, armed with sidearms, tasked with staying back and covering the perimeter.
The convoy pulled out of the Benson ranch at full speed.
Nobody spoke.
Sarah stood on the porch, watching them go. Edna next to her. Rebecca with her phone still pressed to her ear, coordinating with the hospital.
Mary Nelson stood with her arms crossed, praying silently.
Caroline Beaumont watched her husband and son drive off to kill three men.
And on every iPad, on every radio screen, Billy and Jake still hung in that barn.
Bleeding. Dying.
The drive took twenty minutes.
Wade coordinated over the radio. "Drones show no movement outside the barn. Thermal imaging shows three heat signatures inside - low to the ground. Sitting. Waiting. And two elevated signatures in the center."
"They're still hanging," Celeb said from the passenger seat.
"We're getting them down," Pops said.
Robert checked his rifle. "What's the play, Wade?"
"We approach from three sides. Sharpshooters take position on the ridge - you'll have a clear line of sight through the barn walls if needed. Thermal will guide you. The rest of us move in fast and loud. These bastards won't surrender."
"Good," Pops said. "I'm not asking them to."
The trucks stopped half a mile out. Killed the engines.
Wade radioed the command. "Sharpshooters, move to the ridge. Everyone else, on foot from here. Stay low. Stay quiet until we're in position."
Pops, Robert, and Celeb grabbed their rifles and moved toward the ridge overlooking the barn.
The red dots on their laser sights cut through the twilight.
Tom, Wade, Wilson, Ryan, Josh, Ray, and the other consortium men moved toward the barn from the east and south.
Jr. and the three sixteen-year-olds stayed with the trucks, sidearms drawn, scanning the perimeter.
Pops, Robert, and Celeb reached the ridge.
From here, they could see the barn clearly. Old. Falling apart. One truck parked outside - the black F-250.
Through the scope, with thermal imaging overlay, Pops could see the heat signatures inside.
Three men. Sitting near the door. Rifles across their laps.
And in the center, two bodies. Hanging.
"I got a clean shot on one of them," Robert whispered into his radio. "Left side of the barn."
"I got the one by the door," Celeb said. His voice was ice.
"I got the third," Pops said. "Center."
Wade's voice crackled over the radio. "On my signal. We're moving in."
Tom and the others crept toward the barn entrance.
Pops lined up his shot. The red dot hovered over the heat signature on the left.
For Billy. For Jake.
Wade's voice: "Now."
Tom kicked in the barn door.
The kidnappers jumped to their feet, rifles swinging up—
And three shots rang out from the ridge.
Pops' target dropped first. Clean headshot.
Robert's next. Chest. Down.
Celeb's last. Center mass. The man crumpled.
It was over in three seconds.
Tom rushed inside, shotgun raised, but there was nothing left to shoot.
Three bodies on the ground.
And Billy and Jake, still hanging from the rafters, barely conscious.
"Get them down!" Tom shouted. "GET THEM DOWN!"
Wilson and Ryan ran forward with knives, cutting the ropes.
Billy dropped first. Tom caught him, lowered him to the ground.
Jake next. Josh and Ray caught him.
Billy's eyes fluttered open. He looked at his dad.
Tried to speak through the duct tape.
Tom ripped the tape off. "I got you, son. I got you."
Billy's voice was barely a whisper. "Jake?"
"He's here. He's alive."
Wade was already on the radio. "We need medical NOW. Two victims, severe trauma, possible shoulder dislocations—"
Rebecca's voice came through, calm and clear. "Ambulance is en route. ETA eight minutes. Keep them stable."
Pops, Robert, and Celeb came down from the ridge.
Pops walked past the three dead kidnappers without looking at them.
He knelt next to Billy and Jake.
"You're okay now, boys. You're okay."
Billy's eyes found Celeb. His roommate. His best friend.
Celeb knelt down next to him, tears streaming down his face.
"I got you, brother. We got you."
Billy tried to smile. Couldn't.
Then he passed out.
Chapter 5
The ambulance screamed into Kings County Hospital with Billy and Jake in the back. Tom and Pops followed in their truck, Pops still holding his rifle. Rebecca had driven separately, leaving immediately after the rescue.
Dr. Peterson was waiting at the entrance with Rebecca already scrubbed in beside him. He'd been the Benson family doctor for thirty years. Delivered half their kids. Set broken bones from ranch accidents more times than he could count.
But he'd never seen anything like this.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered as they wheeled Billy and Jake through the doors.
Both brothers were semi-conscious. Shoulders visibly dislocated. Wrists wrapped in temporary bandages, already soaked through with blood. Their hands were swollen to twice their normal size, the color of eggplant.
"Get them into trauma one and two," Dr. Peterson ordered. "I need X-rays on both shoulders, circulation assessments on all extremities, and prep for relocation procedures."
Rebecca was already moving. "I'm assisting."
Dr. Peterson nodded. "Let's move."
Back at the Benson ranch, Pops had called over the radio before they'd even left the barn.
"Emergency rations. Two hours. They're coming home tonight."
Sarah looked at Mary Nelson, then at Caroline Beaumont, then at Edna, then at the wives from the Renzo, Mattern, Rodriguez, and Ray families who'd been waiting at the house.
Eight women. Two hours. Forty people.
"Let's move," Sarah said.
Emergency rations. Ranch wife code for feeding an army on short notice.
Sarah started pulling frozen brisket and ribs from the deep freezer. "We need to defrost everything fast. Hot water baths in the sinks. Mary, get the propane grills fired up outside."
Mary was already moving. "Caroline, help me with the grills. We've got three big ones out back."
Within minutes, the kitchen was controlled chaos. Frozen meat submerged in hot water in every sink and stockpot. As soon as the outer layers softened, they transferred everything outside to the massive propane grills.
Sarah and Edna worked the grills. Mary handled the sides - corn, beans, salad from the garden. Caroline and the other wives tackled bread and pies - some from the freezer, some made from scratch on the fly.
Eight ranch wives. Two hours.
They could feed a battalion.
They'd done it before. They'd do it again.
Two hours later at the hospital, Dr. Peterson emerged from the trauma rooms, pulling off his gloves. Rebecca followed, exhausted but steady.
Tom jumped to his feet. Pops stayed seated but leaned forward, gripping the arms of his chair.
"They're stable," Dr. Peterson said. "Both shoulders successfully relocated. Billy's left shoulder had some ligament damage - he'll need physical therapy. Jake's right shoulder was worse, but it'll heal. We've got them both in upper body braces to immobilize the joints for the next few weeks."
"Their hands?" Tom asked.
Rebecca stepped forward. "Severe lacerations on both wrists. We cleaned and bandaged them. The circulation is returning, slowly. There's some nerve damage - we won't know the full extent for a few days - but I don't think they'll lose function. They were lucky. Another hour..." She paused. "Another hour and we'd be having a very different conversation."
Tom exhaled.
Pops took a long drink from the flask he'd been hiding in his jacket.
"When can we take them home?" Tom asked.
"I'd like to keep them overnight for observation—" Dr. Peterson started.
"No." Jake's voice came from behind them.
They all turned.
Jake stood in the doorway of trauma room two, one arm in a brace, the other supporting himself against the doorframe. He looked like death warmed over - pale, sweating, swaying on his feet - but his jaw was set.
"We're going home."
Billy appeared behind him, in the same condition. Same brace. Same determination.
"Boys—" Dr. Peterson started.
"We're going home," Billy said. "Now."
Dr. Peterson looked at Rebecca.
She sighed. "I'll monitor them at the ranch. I've got everything I need. If anything changes, I'll bring them straight back."
Dr. Peterson looked at Tom, then back at the two stubborn brothers.
"Fine. But any complications, any at all, you bring them straight back."
"Deal," Jake said.
The convoy pulled back into the Benson ranch two hours later.
Billy and Jake were in the back of Tom's truck, propped up against the cab, both heavily medicated but awake.
As they pulled up to the house, the smell hit them first.
Barbecue. Roasted chicken. Fresh bread. Pies.
"What the hell?" Jake muttered.
Pops grinned from the front seat. "Emergency rations. Eight ladies. Two hours. That's all it takes."
The backyard was full.
Not just the Bensons and Nelsons and Beaumonts, but the Renzos, the Matterns, the Rodriguezes, the Rays. Every family in the consortium. Forty people, easy.
Long tables set up outside. Three massive propane grills still going. Platters of brisket, ribs, and chicken covering every surface. Sides spread across the tables. Pies cooling on the porch.
Billy and Jake were helped out of the truck by Tom and Robert.
The moment they appeared, everyone erupted.
Cheering. Crying. Hugging. Shouting.
Edna ran to Billy, threw her arms around him as carefully as she could, and sobbed into his chest.
"I thought I lost you. I thought—"
"I'm here," Billy whispered, holding her with his one good arm. "I'm here."
Celeb grabbed Jake in a careful hug. "Don't you ever fucking do that to me again."
Jake managed a weak laugh. "No promises."
Pops stood by the grill, bottle of Jack Daniels in hand, surveying the scene.
"Alright, you sons of bitches!" he shouted. "Let's eat!"
The backyard was chaos.
Platters of food passing up and down the long tables. Bottles of beer appearing from nowhere. Pops walking around with his bottle of Jack Daniels, pouring shots for anyone over eighteen - and pretending not to notice when Jr. and the wiz kids held out their cups too.
Billy and Jake were seated at the head of the main table, surrounded by family.
"How the hell did you find us?" Jake asked, taking a shot of Jack that Pops had just poured him.
Jr. leaned forward, grinning, his own cup suspiciously full. "Pulled surveillance from the ranch cameras, tracked your truck to Route 9, then got lucky with the drones. Five hours of scanning every barn west of the gas station."
"Lucky?" Celeb said, tossing back his shot. "Rodriguez spotted the thermal signature. If he'd been looking at the wrong sector—"
Rodriguez shrugged, sipping his Jack. "Right place, right time."
"Bullshit," Mattern said. "You're just good."
Billy looked at the four sixteen-year-olds, all nursing shots of Jack Daniels that Pops kept refilling. "You saved our lives."
"Nah," Renzo said, taking another sip. "We just found you. Pops, Robert, and Celeb did the rest."
All eyes turned to the three sharpshooters.
Pops raised his bottle. "Laser sights. Best goddamn invention since the rifle itself."
Robert raised his cup. "Three shots. Three down."
Celeb said nothing. Just stared at his plate.
Billy reached over with his good hand and squeezed his roommate's shoulder. "Thank you."
Celeb looked up. His eyes were red. "You're my brothers. Both of you."
"Damn right we are," Jake said.
Pops stood up, bottle raised. "To Billy and Jake! Toughest sons of bitches in Kings County!"
"To Billy and Jake!" everyone shouted.
An hour later, Pops disappeared into the house.
"Oh no," Tom muttered.
"What?" Sarah asked.
"He's getting the banjo."
Sure enough, Pops emerged with his battered old banjo slung over his shoulder and three more bottles of Jack Daniels in his arms.
"Found my stash!" he announced. "Six bottles total. We're drinking all of it tonight!"
He cracked open a fresh bottle and started pouring refills. Everyone - including Billy and Jake, still medicated but conscious, and the wiz kids who were starting to get properly drunk - held out their cups.
Pops settled into a chair, propped the banjo on his knee, and started tuning it.
"Oh God," Rebecca said.
"Here we go," Wade muttered.
Pops started playing. Badly. Off-key. Too loud.
And then he started singing. Old country songs. Vietnam-era folk tunes. Songs nobody recognized and probably shouldn't have been sung in polite company.
The mood, which had been celebratory but still heavy with the weight of the day, shattered.
Kids covered their ears. Adults winced. Sarah put her head in her hands.
But Pops didn't care. He played louder. Sang louder. Passed around more Jack Daniels.
By the third bottle, half the party was singing along - badly. By the fourth, people were dancing. By the fifth, Jr. and the wiz kids were trying to harmonize with Pops, which only made it worse.
Billy and Jake, heavily medicated and heavily drunk, were laughing so hard they could barely breathe.
"This is terrible," Billy gasped.
"Worst thing I've ever heard," Jake agreed.
"I love it," they both said at the same time.
Pops grinned, strummed another awful chord, and launched into another song.
By the time the sixth bottle was empty, it was past midnight. The consortium families were packing up to leave. The wiz kids could barely stand. Billy and Jake were half-asleep in their chairs.
Pops set down his banjo and looked at Tom.
"We're gonna need more Jack. I'm hitting the liquor store first thing tomorrow."
Tom laughed. "Yeah, Dad. We'll get more."
Jr., Celeb, Colton, Renzo, Mattern, and Rodriguez helped Billy and Jake up the stairs to the frat house.
The room was exactly as they'd left it that morning. Two bunk beds. Colton's mattress on the floor between them. The floorboards hiding the secret beer stash - though after tonight, nobody needed more alcohol.
Billy collapsed onto his bottom bunk. Jake took the other one.
Jr. climbed up to the top bunk above Billy. "Renzo, get up here. We're doubling up tonight."
Renzo stared at the bunk. "There's not enough room."
"There's room. Get your ass up here."
Renzo climbed up, squeezing in next to Jr. "This is cozy."
"Shut up."
Celeb looked down from his top bunk above Jake. "Mattern, you're with me."
Mattern climbed up, wedging himself against the wall. "I feel like a sardine."
"You smell like one too," Celeb said.
"Fuck you."
Colton looked at Rodriguez. "Guess you're with me, buddy."
Rodriguez dropped onto Colton's mattress on the floor. "At least there's more room down here."
"Not by much," Colton said, shoving over.
Silence for about ten seconds.
Then Renzo: "So... we're just not gonna talk about Pops' singing?"
Everyone groaned.
"That was the worst thing I've ever heard," Mattern said.
"My ears are still bleeding," Rodriguez added.
"He played the same chord for three songs straight," Jr. said. "I don't think he knows any other chords."
"He doesn't," Celeb confirmed. "I've heard him play before. It's always that one chord."
"And he was so proud of himself," Renzo said, laughing. "Like he was performing at the Grand Ole Opry."
"Six bottles of Jack will do that to you," Colton said.
Billy, still half-conscious, managed: "Best worst concert I've ever been to."
"You're medicated and drunk," Jake said from his bunk. "You would've enjoyed anything."
"Nah, it was perfect. Exactly what we needed."
Mattern shifted on Celeb's bunk. "Dude, you're taking up all the space."
"I'm not moving. You move."
"There's nowhere to move!"
"Not my problem."
"Celeb, I swear to God—"
"What? You gonna fight me? We're in a bunk bed. Where you gonna go?"
Everyone laughed.
Renzo elbowed Jr. "You're hogging the pillow."
"It's my pillow."
"We're sharing. That means I get half."
"You get whatever I give you."
"Jr., I will push you off this bunk."
"Try it. I dare you."
More laughter.
Rodriguez looked up from the floor. "At least Colton and I have room down here."
"Barely," Colton muttered. "You're breathing on me."
"Where else am I supposed to breathe?"
"Away from me."
"It's a mattress on the floor, Colt. There is no 'away.'"
Jake groaned. "Can everyone shut up? My shoulder's killing me."
"Take another pain pill," Billy suggested.
"I already took three."
"Take a fourth."
"Rebecca said—"
"Rebecca's not here. Take the pill."
"You guys are gonna OD before morning," Jr. said.
"Worth it," Jake muttered.
Celeb leaned over the side of his bunk to look at Billy and Jake. "You guys scared the shit out of us today. You know that?"
Billy looked up. "Yeah. I know."
"When that video feed came through..." Celeb's voice cracked. "I thought we were watching you die."
"We thought we were dying too," Jake said quietly.
Silence.
Then Renzo: "But you didn't. Because we're badasses who tracked you down."
"And Pops, Robert, and I shot three guys," Celeb added.
"Laser sights," Mattern said. "Pops is gonna be talking about those for the next decade."
"'Why didn't we have these in 'Nam?'" Rodriguez mimicked in his best Pops voice.
Everyone laughed again.
"Three shots, three kills," Jr. said. "That's actually insane."
"Pops was a sniper in Vietnam," Celeb said. "Dad was a sniper in Afghanistan. They taught me everything. It's in the blood."
"Still," Renzo said. "That was some action-movie shit."
"Real life's scarier than the movies," Billy said softly.
Another pause.
Then Colton: "So what happens now? You guys just... go back to work tomorrow?"
"Hell no," Jake said. "We're in these braces for weeks. Can't do shit."
"We'll do the work," Mattern said. "All of us. You guys just rest."
"We're not invalids," Billy protested.
"Dude, you were hanging from a barn ceiling for five hours," Rodriguez said. "You're staying in bed."
"For how long?"
"As long as it takes."
"That's boring."
"Too bad."
Jr. shifted on his bunk, nearly elbowing Renzo in the face. "Sorry."
"Watch it!"
"There's no room up here!"
"I know! You invited me up here!"
"I was being nice!"
"Well, stop!"
Celeb laughed. "You two sound like an old married couple."
"Shut up, Celeb," they said in unison.
"Mattern's not any better," Celeb continued. "He's been breathing in my ear for ten minutes."
"I can't help it! There's no space!"
"Breathe the other direction."
"There is no other direction!"
"Figure it out!"
Billy started laughing. It hurt his shoulder, but he couldn't stop.
"What's so funny?" Jake asked.
"This. All of this. We almost died today and now we're crammed into this room like sardines listening to everyone bitch about personal space."
Jake smiled. "Yeah. It's perfect."
"Frat house rules," Colton said from the floor.
"Frat house rules," they all echoed.
Silence again. But this time, comfortable.
Then Rodriguez: "I still can't believe Pops gave us guns. Like, actual guns. We're sixteen."
"He said it was war," Renzo said. "And he wasn't wrong."
"I felt like I was in a movie," Mattern admitted. "Armed. In a convoy. Covering the perimeter."
"You looked terrified," Jr. said.
"I was terrified! Those were real bullets!"
"None of us had to fire, though," Rodriguez said. "The sharpshooters took care of it."
"Thank God," Renzo muttered.
"You would've done it if you had to," Celeb said. "All of you. That's why Pops trusted you."
Billy looked around the room again. At his brother. At Jr. and Renzo squeezed into the top bunk. At Celeb and Mattern doing the same. At Colton and Rodriguez on the floor.
"I love you guys," Billy said.
"You already said that," Jake muttered.
"I'm saying it again."
"You're drunk."
"I'm serious."
"We know," Celeb said softly. "We love you too."
"All of us," Jr. added.
"Even Mattern?" Celeb joked.
"Especially Mattern," Jr. said.
"Fuck you guys," Mattern said, but he was smiling.
"Alright," Jake said. "Everybody shut up. If I don't sleep soon, I'm gonna pass out."
"You're already half-passed out," Billy said.
"Then let me finish the job."
They all settled in. Shifting. Adjusting. Finding the least uncomfortable positions in the cramped bunks.
"Jr., your elbow is in my ribs," Renzo said.
"Deal with it."
"Mattern, stop moving," Celeb ordered.
"I can't get comfortable!"
"Nobody's comfortable. That's the point."
"This sucks."
"Yep."
From the floor, Rodriguez: "Colton, you snore."
"No I don't."
"You do."
"Prove it."
"I will in about five minutes."
Billy smiled. Closed his eyes.
And for the first time in five hours, surrounded by his brother and his friends, crammed into a room that was way too small, listening to everyone bicker and laugh and breathe—
He felt safe.
Downstairs, Pops sat in his chair, the empty banjo resting against the wall, the six empty bottles of Jack Daniels lined up on the table like trophies.
Tom sat down next to him.
"You okay, Dad?"
Pops stared at the bottles. "I killed a man today. Three men."
"They deserved it."
"I know." Pops was quiet for a long moment. "Doesn't make it easier."
Tom didn't know what to say to that.
"But I'd do it again," Pops said. "A thousand times. For those boys."
"I know you would."
Pops looked up at the ceiling, toward the frat house.
"To family," he said quietly.
Tom raised his beer. "To family."
They sat in silence, listening to the sounds from upstairs.
Laughter. Banter. The rustling of blankets. Someone - probably Mattern - complaining about the lack of space.
Life going on.
And outside, the ranch settled into the quiet of night.
