Free The Last Town (Book 4): Fighting the Dead by Stephen Knight

Walter Lennon pushed in his role as chief protector, Barry Corbett was still the boss. He got what he wanted, even if it meant Lennon or one of his men would have to take a bullet over it.
    And that meant yet another Expedition rolled onto the scene, this one carrying six armed retired Marines who had seen battle in Iraq and Afghanistan and knew their way around killing people who they deemed threatening. Corbett knew he was perfectly safe in their presence, and that Norton and Dani would be, as well. By the time they arrived at the small house on the edge of town, there were three cops there and a gaggle of onlookers, many who stared at Corbett with a mixture of relief and apprehension when he arrived with his entourage.
    “Victor, what are you doing here?” Corbett asked, when he saw his friend talking with two of Single Tree’s finest. He recognized Santoro, the beefy cop Victor had told him was a grade A pecker. It made sense—Santoro was a relative of Hector Aguilar, and peckerdom ran strong in that family like the Dark Side of the Force ran through the Sith.
    “Barry? What are you doing here?” Victor looked past him at Walter Lennon, who sighed and spread his hands.
    “My question exactly,” Lennon said, then turned away from both men as he kept eyes out, like any good Marine would do. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Danielle was doing the same, head on a swivel, scoping out the houses that faced the street, their facades illuminated in strobing blue and red emergency lights. Norton stood beside her, hands in his pockets, looking uncomfortable and out of place.
    “I heard we might have lost the chief, and I wanted to get the information first hand,” Corbett said, stepping closer to Victor and Santoro. For all the stories that he’d heard, Santoro seemed suddenly meek. He looked up at Corbett, and Corbett looked back. For certain, he could see a little bit of the Aguilar bloodline in the chunky cop’s face. Olive complexion, thick-framed glasses, a busy dark mustache that sat above his lower lip like a caterpillar on a campout.
    “Wilbur, is it?” Corbett asked.
    Santoro nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m Officer Santoro,” he said, and a little bit of prideful arrogance crept into his voice.
    “You next in line?”
    Santoro seemed caught off guard. “Sorry?”
    “Grady’s dead, right?”
    “Yes.”
    “Okay. So are you next in line? Who leads the department now?”
    Santoro shuffled his feet. “I’m the senior officer on the force right now, so yeah, I’m technically in command.”
    “Good to know.” Corbett turned to Victor. “Vic, tell me what happened.”
    Santoro held up a hand. “I’m sorry, Mister Corbett, but—”
    “Santoro, how many prisoners are dead in Estelle’s house?” Corbett asked.
    “Two, but one has been taken into custody.”
    “And how many more are on the run?”
    “That would be two, Barry,” Victor answered. “As best as we can figure. Estelle confirmed she saw five men, and we can account for three.” He turned back to Santoro. “By the way, I’ll need my cuffs back.”
    “Santoro, how many officers are on duty at the moment?” Corbett asked.
    “All of them,” Santoro answered. “Three of us are here, though one was involved in the incident. The rest are heading this way to search for the convicts.”
    “We don’t know if they’re together, Barry,” Victor said. “They might have split up.”
    “Are reservation police assisting?”
    Santoro didn’t seem to like the question. “I’m not sure we’re going to need—”
    “We are, in that I arrested one of the convicts and Tribal Officer Kuruk engaged the others, along with myself and Chief Grady,” Victor said, and his voice was stone cold. “Officer Santoro here seems to think that Single Tree’s small department can handle this situation without further assistance from us, but I have five officers already looking in the desert.” Victor nodded down the street, and Corbett looked in the