Splintered Loyalty by Mark Troy

Author:Mark Troy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Down & Out Books

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Johnson lived on a small farm east of town. A gravel drive took us past now-fallow plots she identified as vegetable gardens. I tried to show interest, but the pain in my ribs hijacked my attention.

We arrived at a white building trimmed in green. It resembled a mobile home in shape, but longer and wider than a standard and narrower than a doublewide. Evergreen shrubs provided accents.

Johnson said, “This used to be a barracks. When the camp closed, the government gave the barracks to homesteaders. You’ll find a lot of these throughout the county.”

We went up two steps to a small covered porch and through a front door. I kept my knife in my hand but sheathed. I wasn’t ready to trust anyone yet, not even the rangers.

The interior of Johnson’s home was as homey and comfortable as the exterior hinted. It was laid out shotgun style with kitchen, then dining area, then living room furnished simply with a sofa, recliner, end tables, and lamps. The end tables looked like period pieces from the ’40s or ’50s. A flat-screen TV on the wall returned us to the present. A door led to more rooms beyond.

Johnson said, “Let’s clean you up and examine your injuries. Bathroom’s this way.” She made for the door leading from the living room.

I hesitated. “What about him?” McConnell had plopped down on the sofa.

Johnson turned, hands on hips. “The bathroom’s small, Ava. We won’t all fit. Even if we did, no privacy. I know you want to keep an eye on us. You don’t trust us. I get it. But you need to let me help you.”

“Don’t tell me what I need.”

“We can all sit out here and watch you suffer with your injuries, or we can patch you up as best we can. Your call.”

I wanted an end to the pain and to rest. I needed rest more than anything.

McConnell said, “I’ll check the news. Find out if they’re saying anything about you.”.

McConnell switched on the TV. Johnson asked him to make coffee. I followed her to the bathroom.

Once inside the tiny bathroom, Johnson produced a washcloth and a bar of face soap with which to scrub away the dirt and smudges from the fire. I wetted it under the faucet and began working the soap into it without putting away the knife.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Johnson slammed the toilet lid down. “Sit down and give me the cloth.”

I sat. She soaped the cloth and proceeded to wash my face.

“Are you ever going to put that down?”

“This blade is the only thing between me and death.”

“Do I look like death to you?”

“I think they picked me up leaving the restaurant, the one you told me to go to.”

Johnson backed away. “Are you implying I set you up?”

“Did you tell anybody I would be there?”

“Are you serious? This town has only two places to eat. If these killers wanted to find you, they could have flipped a coin. Listen to me, Ava, I want to help you.

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