Die Trying by Lee Child

of the hut. Knelt down and found a small rock. Hefted it in his hand

and waited for Ray to follow him.

He didn’t come. Reacher waited eight minutes. Long experience had

taught him: if they don’t come after six minutes, they aren’t coming at

all. People think in five-minute segments, because of the way clocks

are laid out. They say: I’ll wait five minutes. Then, because they’re

cautious, they add another minute. They think it’s smart. Reacher

waited the first five, then the extra one, then added two more for the

sake of safety. But Ray didn’t come. He wasn’t going to.

Reacher avoided the clearing. He kept to the trees. He skirted the

area in the forest. Ignored the beaten earth paths. He wasn’t worried

about the dogs. They weren’t out. Fowler had talked about mountain

lions roaming. Nobody leaves dogs out at night where there are

mountain lions on the prowl. That’s a sure way of having no dogs left

in the morning.

He made a complete circuit of the Bastion, hidden in the trees. The

lights were all out and the whole place was still and silent. He

waited in the trees behind the mess hall. The kitchen was a square

hut, awkwardly connected to the back of the main structure. There were

no lights on, but the door was open, and the woman who had served him

breakfast was waiting in the shadows. He watched her from the trees.

He waited five minutes. Then six. No other movement anywhere. He

tossed his small rock onto the path to her left. She jumped at the

sound. He called softly. She came out of the shadows. Alone. She

walked over to the trees. He took her elbow and pulled her back into

the darkness.

“How did you get out of there?” she whispered to him.

It was impossible to tell how old she was. Maybe twenty-five, maybe

forty-five. She was a handsome woman, lean, long straight hair, but

careworn and worried. A flicker of spirit and resilience underneath.

She would have been comfortable a hundred years ago, stumbling down the

Oregon trail.

“How did you get out?” she whispered again.

“I walked out the door,” Reacher whispered back.

The woman just looked at him blankly.

“You’ve got to help us,” she whispered.

Then she stopped and wrung her hands and twisted her head left and

right, peering into the dark, terrified.

“Help how?” he asked. “Why?”

They’re all crazy,” the woman said. “You’ve got to help us.”

“How?” he asked again.

She just grimaced, arms held wide, like it was obvious, or like she

didn’t know where to start, or how.

“From the beginning,” he said.

She nodded, twice, swallowing, collecting herself.

“People have disappeared,” she said.

“What people?” he asked. “How did they disappear?”

They just disappeared,” she said. “It’s Borken. He’s taken over

everything. It’s a long story. Most of us were up here with other

groups, just surviving on our own, with our families, you know? I was

with the Northwestern Freemen. Then Borken started coming around,

talking about unity. He fought and argued. The other leaders

disagreed with his views. Then they just started disappearing. They

just left. Borken said they couldn’t stand the pace. They just

disappeared. So he said we had to join with him. Said we had no

choice. Some of us are more or less prisoners here.”

Reacher nodded.

“And now things are happening up at the mines,” she said.

“What things?” he asked her.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Bad things, I guess. We’re not allowed to

go up there. They’re only a mile up the road, but they’re off limits.

Something was going on there today. They said they were all working in

the south, on the border, but when they came back for lunch, they came

from the north. I saw them from the kitchen window. They were smiling

and laughing.”

“Who?” Reacher asked.

OQO

“Borken and the ones he trusts,” she said. “He’s crazy. He says

they’ll attack us when we declare independence and we have to fight

back. Starting tomorrow. We’re all scared. We got families, you

know? But there’s nothing we can do. You oppose him, and you either