Lex Nelson's Arc

Chapter 11 of 13

Lex carried her sister up the tunnel steps and pushed open the trapdoor into the barn. Dust hung in the lantern light. Boots scraped stone on the far side. She set the girl down behind a feed crate and drew her rifle, because the sound was wrong — too many feet, too steady. A man stepped into the lantern light with a folded paper held out like a flag. Two more came behind him, rifles low but ready. He shook the page open. An embossed seal caught the light. He read her sister's name off it in a flat voice, then said the word "lawful" twice. Lex looked past them to the stone arch at the barn's far end. Fallen beams crossed the threshold. Sand had piled against the wood. The only door out was buried, and they had done the burying before they ever came down. Near the arch stood a wheeled cart with leg irons bolted to the bed and a canvas cover folded back. He had come ready to load and ride. He held up a second document, heavier, with a government stamp. "Step away from the property," he said. "Paper says she's mine. I don't need to shoot you. I'd rather not." Lex measured the room. Three guns. One blocked exit. A girl behind her too thin to run. She lowered the rifle slow, then whistled — two short notes. The dog went low and slid under the feed crates toward the men's heels. In the half-second their eyes dropped, Lex fired once, took the lead man in the chest, and dragged her sister sideways behind the cart as the other two opened up. Wood splintered. The lantern shattered. She got one of them with her second shot. The third broke for the tunnel and was gone. Lex pressed her sister against the cart's iron rail and breathed. The paper lay near the dead man's hand, the seal still catching what light was left. Outside, a horse stamped — his horse, tied and waiting, mane pale in the dark. The buried arch was still buried. The tunnel was open again, and the third man was running toward whoever had sent him.