Never Cry Mercy by L. T. Ryan

in her life. I'm sure she'll be OK."
    "I'm sure you're right."
    The conversation died after that. Reese put on a pot of coffee. After two cups, I headed out.
    "Be careful out there," she said.
    I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked back. The light silhouetted her frame. I couldn't help but stare.
    "What?" she said.
    I shook off the feelings rising for her.
    "Reese, is there anyone in this town I can trust?"
    "Besides me?"
    "Besides you."
    "Nope."

Chapter 13
    I took a roundabout way back to the old couple's house, veering off on side streets and alleys. Some connected, others didn't. Didn't matter. I didn't feel like rushing it. I had no idea how Ingrid would take the news, or if she'd let me leave, even though we both knew it was best I did. They weren't safe with me there. She'd illustrated that point.
    Heat rose off the blacktop, shimmering in front of me, distorting the surroundings, filling the area with the aroma of tar. Had to be the hottest day I'd faced in a couple months, at least. Definitely the most humid. My shirt clung to my back, damp with sweat. I'd always thought these parts were more arid than humid. Perhaps it was the time of year.
    Behind me, dark clouds advanced from the west. Dark wasn't even the right word. They were black. Ominous. We were in for a rough one, it seemed. I wondered if the approaching storm was a harbinger of what was to come. Maybe the weather was why no one was out. The locals knew better than I that these storms could hit fast, dumping a ton of hail, littering the area with lightning strikes, and spurring multiple tornados. I made a mental note of houses with cellars in the event I found myself stuck in the thick of it.
    The low rumble of a diesel engine rose from the south as I neared an intersection. In a town like this, there had to be at least a handful of heavy duty diesel trucks. But it sure sounded like the one I'd heard earlier. I took up position behind a large oak tree that had grown through the sidewalk, driving the concrete upward, splintering it into a hundred fragments. Some were missing. Likely taken by kids who tossed them at each other, or windows, or whatever.
    The GMC slithered past, tires wavering in the haze. The older man drove. Linus was in the passenger seat. I presumed his larger friend was laid up at home after the beating he took. Was it coincidence they were in the area I was staying? Were they out looking for me?   It wasn't like we were in New York City, where their presence meant they had me in their sights. The town was small. Smaller than small, actually. They might've been going from one house to the next and just happened to be passing by.
    The thought did little to settle me down. I remained on edge, anticipating an attack.
    I repositioned myself against the tree so they couldn't spot me in the rearview. Two blocks later, they turned left and rolled out of sight. The engine faded amid the rumble of distant thunder. I backtracked one street in the event they decided to come down the same road again in a minute or two.
    A group of kids around ten years old, give or take, huddled around the sidewalk. Their hands moved wildly. They spoke in excited tones, higher pitched voices rising and falling, each vying to get a word in. Eyes darted back and forth to each other, to the ground. Glances were thrown over shoulders. When the first one spotted me, he frantically waved his arms in front of him to stop the others. Someone was coming, and they didn't want to ruin their secret. They all straightened, turned toward me, stared me down.
    "Gentlemen," I said, stopping about ten feet shy of their position.
    "Sir," a boy of Mexican descent said.
    "What's going on?" I asked.
    "Nothing," the boy said.
    They'd formed a wall of sorts. I took a couple steps forward, rose up on my toes to get a glimpse over them. A couple puffed up their chests, almost challenging me.
    "Sure doesn't look like nothing," I said.
    "It's nothing, old man," a blond-haired kid