Free Deadfall by Robert Liparulo Page A

survivors? Maybe John Wood should have left instructions; he hadn’t seemed too well liked. Tom hoped for something about his family and the outdoors he had loved so much.
    Had loved so much!
    He was already referring to himself in the past tense.
    No . . . no . . . no . . .
    He pushed himself up.
    Not dead yet.
    He turned in a circle.Woods on all sides, except where the church stood. The church. He could hide in there, decide what to do, when to do it. He moved toward it, then stopped.The roar of an engine reached him first. He lowered himself behind a headstone. The Hummer appeared on a thirty-foot stretch of Provincial, visible between the church and rectory. It screeched to a halt. Tom could see nothing through the black-tinted windows. The vehicle rolled out of sight, blocked by the church. If they inspected the church and continued into the graveyard, they would catch him for sure. He bolted north, into the trees. He paused and crouched. The Hummer appeared on the other side of the church, still rolling slowly. Had they seen him? Could they see him now, even in the shadows of the evergreens? He wondered if they were using high-tech tracking tools, something like infrared goggles or a GPS device they’d hidden on him.
    Last week, when the Hummer had been parked at the service station, Tom had inspected it. In design, it resembled an extended-cab pickup: two doors on each side, servicing two rows of seats, an open bed in back.Two chairs were bolted to the floor of the bed. The pedestals appeared hydraulic or pneumatic, enabling the seats to rise and go down. Handgrips were mounted to the bed sides and cab roof. The setup reminded Tom of the trucks hunters and photographers used on safari in Africa. The windows, which appeared opaque, granted a dim view of the interior when he pushed his face up to them and cupped his hands to block out exterior light. The dash and center console were arrayed with gadgets that could not possibly be stock equipment.
    The engine died and the front doors opened. Pruitt emerged from the passenger’s side, the bulky video camera clutched in one hand. Bad came out of the driver’s door and clanked the machine gun down on the hood. Pruitt looked past the church to the cemetery, scanned over to the woods, then up at the sky. He spoke to Bad, shaking his head.Tom imagined his complaints about how the shadows made for poor lighting conditions. Bad waved him off, picked up the G11, and walked around the front bumper. Together, they strode toward the cemetery and Tom’s position in the woods. They spoke normally, like two guys just heading to a buddy’s place.
    â€œMan, I can’t wake up,” Pruitt said. “I don’t know why we had to get up so early.”
    â€œShut up, Pru. You know the plan was righteous. What else we gonna do, try to round up the whole town at once? Divide and conquer, dude.Who’s up and who’s not is a natural division. Props to Declan.”
    â€œSo what? We let ’em just walk into our net? I bet not everyone comes out every day.”
    â€œNah.We’ll go get ’em after this first batch.Take our leisure, you know?”
    A staticky voice issued a sharp command.
    The two stopped. Bad pulled a walkie-talkie out of a breast pocket. Spoke into it.
    The words coming through the tiny speaker were too fuzzy for Tom to make out.
    Both men returned to the Hummer and climbed inside.The SUV roared to life, made a tight U-turn, and sped away.
    Tom felt nauseated. We’ll go get ’em after this first batch. They were going to go door-to-door, gathering the town into their makeshift prison in the community center. He had to get to Laura.
    He continued through the woods another thirty feet, where the trees gave way to a big open lawn. Trudy Thatcher’s property. Her house lay at the far end. It was only forty yards away, but it felt like miles and miles of exposure to Tom. Halfway across was a copse of white birches. He