The Night Crew

okay.’’
    The windows on the side of the back room were doublehung, with slide latches. She turned the latch on the first one, struggled to lift the window, got it up. There was a screen on the outside, with hooks inside. She unhooked it, and pushed it open.
    Harper was shouting: ‘‘The women are both still alive in here. If you stop now, you’ll just go to treatment.’’
    Crack.
    Something wooden exploded in the office. ‘‘Is he in the same place?’’ Anna called back to Harper.
    ‘‘I think so . . . came from the same direction.’’
    ‘‘I’m gone.’’ Anna boosted herself over the window ledge and dropped to the ground. There was a stretch of open yard in front of her, before she got into the brush. She took a breath, and sprinted across it, keeping the house between her and the spot they thought Judge might be. She passed a bush, slowed, turned, dropped to her belly.
    Light poured from the house and she could hear Harper yelling, but could not make out what he was saying. And she heard Judge shouting back from the other side.
    She had the gun and she thought: ‘‘If I take him now . . .’’
    But if she tried and lost, she’d be dead, and so would Harper and Glass. She moved back a bit into the brush, turned on the flashlight and let the needle of light lead her toward the driveway. The moon was higher now and if she didn’t look straight at it, she could see that lighter strip that marked the rut coming up from the road.
    She turned off the flashlight: better to let her eyes adjust. A minute passed, and another, as she patiently moved toward the track. She couldn’t afford to blunder into a tree, or twist an ankle.
    Then Judge spoke: ‘‘Hey.’’
    Close by; the hair rose on her neck. He was not within an arm’s length, but within fifty feet, she thought. She couldn’t hear him breathing, but she could hear the snap of twigs beneath his feet. He said it again, ‘‘Hey.’’
    The gun was in her jacket pocket. She slumped onto the ground, eased her jacket up over her face. In the dark, with her dark hair, if she could keep her face covered, she’d be nearly invisible. She used to play war with her brothers, running around the house on a summer’s night with guns made out of splintered boards. If you were dressed right, you could hide in a radish patch.
    No radishes up here . . .
    Then a thump, and the sound of a man’s feet pounding on the hard earth, running, sprinting, but just a few feet. Again, close by—to the right? Twenty feet? Did the shadow move? She pointed the pistol at the shadow. The shadow was gray, man-shaped. Was it moving? It seemed to be moving toward her . . .
    ‘‘HEY ANNA.’’ Not the shadow. Judge screamed at the house, and now he was off to her left, coming up on the window she’d crawled through. Would he step into the yard? How long a shot would it be? And she thought, Time.
    But if she could take him out.
    She pivoted in her spot, waiting. Then crack, and she saw the muzzle flash from the rifle. Seventy-five feet away, back in the brush. Judge was apparently moving around the house.
    If she moved on him, while he was sitting still, he’d hear her: there was too much dry brush. She bit her lip, thinking, then turned down the road. The ground was rising beneath her, and she felt vulnerable, slinking along. Was he right there, behind her? Then the road began to fall. She stopped, drew back into the brush, and looked back toward the farmhouse. Nothing moving, nothing . . .
    Crack . . .
    She didn’t see the flash, but it sounded as though it came from the back, the way Judge had been going. Anna started down the slope in a hurry, and when the yard light dropped out of sight, she turned the flashlight on again, gave it full play out in front, and ran down the hill.
    Never in her life had her legs seemed shorter, the distances longer. Twice she thought she saw the gate ahead, and passed the spot with no gate in sight. The third time, it was the gate. What about the alarm? No help for it. She’d have to trip it to get the car in anyway. To save time, she pulled the gate open as she went through, then turned and ran up the dark road toward the car.
    She was breathing hard when she got to it, fumbled for the key, found it, pushed the unlock button when she was still fifty feet downhill. The taillights blinked and the interior lights came on, and a few seconds later, she was cranking the engine over.
    Lights on going back up the hill? Yes. The lights