On the other side of the SUV the long fuse that Mercy had found in the vehicle was burning fast. Its other end had been dropped into the opening for the gas tank, where a few gallons of gas and a ton of explosive vapor dwelt.
The fuse quickly burned down, reached the open fill cap, and disappeared into the tank.
The men turned to run, but it was too late.
A second later an explosion rocked the SUV, lifting it off the dirt and vaporizing parts of the men unfortunate enough to be standing next to it. The concussive force threw the rest of their remains a hundred feet away. An arm hit Buckley in the face; a leg wrapped itself around the man next to him.
“Oh my God!” screamed Buckley as he tried to scramble away. He didn’t say any more because he wasn’t given the chance.
A size-thirteen foot hit him so hard in the face that his jaw shattered. The man next to him had his windpipe crushed by that same foot. He dropped to the dirt grabbing at his throat, sucking on air that could not pass through the damaged pipe.
Buckley was lifted up by another kick to the side of his head and was slammed against a chunk of rock and slumped to the ground, bleeding from multiple cuts and punctures.
A third man made the mistake of trying to fight with his bare hands against the force that had been unleashed against them. The bony knee drove into his face, crushing his nose. As he slumped down, repeated foot and elbow strikes shattered his skull. He would die a minute later from the hemorrhage.
The remaining men, the fight stricken clean out of them, turned to flee. Or would have, except for the bullets, fired by Pine and Spector, that chased them down and ended their lives.
And then all became quiet except for the moans and groans, and the gurgles of the dying, their exhaled breaths frosting the chilly air.
Mercy, barefoot and relaxed, came to stand over Buckley. She used her foot to roll him over on his back. He didn’t look nearly as handsome now.
As she turned to look at Pine and Spector, who were limping out from cover, their guns still smoking, Buckley abruptly sat up, raised his shotgun, and pointed the muzzle at Mercy’s broad back.
The gun fired.
Only it wasn’t Buckley’s.
The shot hit him directly in the mouth and passed out the back of his head.
He slumped back to the dirt for the final time.
Mercy whirled around to look at him and then turned back, right as her sister lowered her gun.
Pine exhaled a long breath and said, “We’re out of the tree, Mercy. And back on firm ground.”
She slumped to the dirt, unconscious, where an exhausted and bloody Spector joined her a moment later.
CHAPTER
77
MERCY DROVE THEM IN BUCKLEY’S JEEP toward the town. When they finally got in the range of cell service, a revived but badly injured Pine notified the local authorities about all that had happened. When they reached the hospital, Mercy jumped from the Jeep, ran inside, and got a team of nurses and doctors to rush out to attend to the wounded women.
Later, Pine phoned Drew McAllister from a bed in the emergency room and took a few minutes to fill him in.
“I remember the Buckley case,” he said. “Worked with some agents who were actually there. They were bad news. Sex trafficking, guns, drugs. The works. And the old man apparently slept with all the young girls to make sure they were ‘acceptable.’ ”
“Well, the son wasn’t as obvious, but he was just as dangerous, and every bit the psycho that his father was.”
“From what you told me it’s a miracle you made it out alive.”
“I’m so sorry about Bertrand.”