The Empty Chair

out.”
    “Shit,” Garrett cried. He rolled to his knees, staring at Lucy, eyes frantic.
    Sachs, alone among them, it seemed, knew what was coming. “No, Garrett, don’t—”
    The boy ignored her and flung the door open and, half running, half crawling, skittered along the porch. Bullets cracked into the wood, following him. Sachs had no idea if he’d been hit.
    Then there was silence. The men moved closer to the cabin with the kerosene.
    Sachs looked around the room, filled with dust from the impact of the bullets. She saw:
    Mary Beth, hugging herself, crying.
    Lucy, her eyes filled with the devil’s own hatred, checking her pistol.
    Thom, slowly bleeding to death.
    Lincoln Rhyme, on his back, breathing hard.
    You and me . . .
    In a steady voice Sachs said to Lucy, “We’ve got to go out there. We’ve got to stop them. The two of us.”
    “There’re three of them, they’ve got rifles.”
    “They’re going to set fire to the place. And either burn us alive or shoot us when we run outside. We don’t have any choice. Take the cuffs off.” Sachs held out her wrists. “You have to.”
    “How can I trust you?” Lucy whispered. “You ambushed us at the river.”
    Sachs asked, “Ambushed? What’re you talking about?”
    Lucy scowled. “What am I talking about? You used that boat as a lure and shot at Ned when he went out to get it.”
    “Bullshit! You thought we were under the boat and shot at us. ”
    “Only after you . . .” Then Lucy’s voice faded, and she nodded knowingly.
    Sachs said to the deputy, “It was them. Culbeau and the others. One of them shot first. To scare you and slow you up probably.”
    “And we thought it was you.”
    Sachs held her wrists out. “We don’t have any choice.”
    The deputy looked at Sachs carefully then slowly reached into her pocket and found her cuff key. She undid the chrome bracelets. Sachs rubbed her wrists. “What’s the ammunition situation?”
    “I’ve got four left.”
    “I’ve got five in mine,” Sachs said, taking her long-barreled Smith & Wesson from Lucy and checking the cylinder.
    Sachs looked down at Thom. Mary Beth stepped forward. “I’ll take care of him.”
    “One thing,” Sachs said. “He’s gay. He’s been tested but . . .”
    “Doesn’t matter,” the girl responded. “I’ll be careful. Go on.”
    “Sachs,” Rhyme said. “I . . .”
    “Later, Rhyme. No time for that now.” Sachs eased to the door, looked out quickly, eyes taking in the topography of the field, what would make good cover and shooting positions. Her hands free again, gripping a hefty gun in her palm, she felt confident once more. This was her world: guns and speed. She couldn’t think about Lincoln Rhyme and his operation, about Jesse Corn’s death, about Garrett Hanlon’s betrayal, about what awaited her if they got out of this terrible situation.
    When you move they can’t getcha . . .
    She said to Lucy, “We go out the door. You go left behind the van but don’t stop, no matter what. Keep moving till you get to the grass. I’m going right—for that tree over there. We get into the tall grass and stay down, move forward, toward the forest, flank them.”
    “They’ll see us go out the door.”
    “They’re supposed to see us. We want them to know there’re two of us out there somewhere in the grass. It’ll keep ’em edgy and looking over their shoulders. Don’t shoot unless you have a clear, no-miss target. Got that? . . . Do you?”
    “I’ve got it.”
    Sachs gripped the doorknob with her left hand. Her eyes met Lucy’s.

    One of them—O’Sarian, with Tomel beside him—was lugging the kerosene can toward the cabin, not paying attention to the front door. So that when the two women charged outside, splitting up and sprinting for cover, neither of them got his weapon up in time for a clear shot.
    Culbeau—back a ways so he could cover the front and sides of the cabin—must not have been expecting anybody to run either because by the time his deer rifle boomed, both Sachs and Lucy were rolling into the tall grass surrounding the cabin.
    O’Sarian and Tomel disappeared into the grass too and Culbeau shouted, “You let ’em get out. What the fuck you doing?” He fired one more shot toward Sachs—she hugged the earth—and when she looked again Culbeau too had dropped into the grass.
    Three deadly snakes out there in front of them. And no clue where they might be.
    Culbeau called, “Go right.”
    One of