Gone Missing (Kate Burkholder 4)

it up.”
    Mast stares at me as if I’m some unpleasant chore that must be completed. There’s no hatred, no passion in his eyes. I’m not a person to him, simply an impediment to his mission. There’s no doubt in my mind he means to harm me. Kill me. Or maybe chain me down here with the others.
    “No more talking,” he tells me. “My work here is larger than you or me, and I will not let you interfere. I will not let you stop me.”
    I stare back, my brain scrambling for some way to get through to him. But my earlier calm has transformed into a twitching mass of nerves. The truth of the matter is, I’m in trouble. He’s got the upper hand and we both know it.
    Mast isn’t a large man—maybe six feet tall, 170 pounds. He’s thirty years older than I am, so I’ve got the advantage of youth. I’m physically fit and fairly adept in the arena of self-defense. But I’m injured; he’s got fifty pounds on me and a lot more muscle.
    Cautiously, I ease myself to a sitting position, try a different tactic. “God would never ask you to hurt anyone. He is benevolent. He wouldn’t ask you to harm another person.”
    “He that spareth the rod hateth his son.”
    “T alt shall not kill.”
    Mast sighs, as if none of this is his plea sure, but a burden placed upon him by a merciless God. “I took no plea sure in that. Annie King was an accident. She ran . . .” He shrugs, his words trailing off. “It made my heart heavy. But it is a burden I must bear. A sacrifice I have been asked to make.”
    I want to tell him that’s a total crock of shit, but I hold my tongue. “You’re hurting people,” I whisper. “This is not what God wants you to do.”
    “The young people have lost their way, Chief Burkholder. Surely you see that in your line of work. Our youth have become morally corrupt. Spiritually destitute.” He shakes his head, a parent ravaged by disappointment. “Ruth Wagler had become a slave to the white powder. She sold her body, her very soul to get it. Bonnie Fisher murdered her unborn child. Leah Stuckey seduced her own uncle. Young Sadie Miller lies with the English boys. She gives freely of her body. She drinks alcohol and her head is filled with prideful ideas.
    “The Lord has burdened me with the task of punishing the disobedient and sinners, and when they manifest repentance, He will receive them back.” Fervor rings in his voice. “I bring them back to the Amish way. Back to the Lord. In essence, Chief Burkholder, I save their souls.”
    “By torturing and murdering?”
    “It is extreme,” he admits. “But they have strayed far. In time, they will be thankful.” For the first time, I see the glint of insanity in his eyes. “Leah Stuckey was beyond redemption. But she did not die at my hand. God took her into His loving hands and returned her to the earth.”
    I stare at him, knowing God had nothing to do with it. She died a slow death of starvation, exposure, and neglect.
    Knowing there will be no negotiating, that his thought processes are beyond reason, I steal a quick glance around. The shovel leans against the wall, four feet away. I wonder if I can reach it before Mast brings down the rifle and gets off a shot.
    “Did you dig these tunnels?” I ask, though I vaguely recall someone telling me this farm was once part of the Underground Railroad.
    “These passages have been here since the Civil War. For the African slaves, you know. They could flee the house and hide in the forest—”
    I lunge at the shovel, grab the handle above the spade. Pain rips up my side as I swing. The steel spade smashes against Mast’s chest. A guttural sound tears from his throat. His knees buckle and the rifle falls to the ground. I clamber to my feet. He lunges at me, but I lurch back, scramble out of reach. I look around for my weapon, but it’s nowhere in sight. Where the hell is my gun?
    The next thing I know, his arms clamp around my thighs. He’s trying to knock me off balance, get me on the ground so he can overpower me. I raise the shovel, bring the spade down hard. The blade strikes his shoulder. Yowling, he reels backward, lands on his ass. I lunge at the flashlight a few feet away, but he reaches out and his hand closes around my ankle. I hit him with the shovel again, but my angle is bad and the blade only grazes his elbow. I lash out with my other foot, catch him in the chin. The impact snaps his head back, but he doesn’t let go. If he gets me on the ground, I’m done. The