Shallow Creek

Afternoon gradually turned into evening, and finally Brendan spotted someone.  A lone man exited a small side door near the back of the barn and lit a cigarette.  He stood close enough that the faint hints of secondhand smoke eventually reached Brendan’s nostrils.  After a few rapid puffs, the man ground out his nicotine fix on the ground and went back inside.  When the door opened, Brendan didn’t see any kind of internal locking mechanism, not even a latch for a padlock, like the outside of the door had.  Over the next few hours, while night drew close, the same man repeated this process every fifteen to twenty minutes.  Having established this routine, Brendan skirted around so that now he was looking directly at the back of the barn.

From this perspective, Brendan had a clear view of the space between the farmhouse and the barn.  No electrical cables ran overhead between the buildings, so either they’d taken the extraordinary measures to bury them, or they hadn’t hooked up any power in the barn.  That would mean no alarm inside the barn either, unless they used a battery-operated, wireless setup.

Brendan lay down in the grass and waited for night to fall completely, praying no copperheads or scorpions decided to check him out.  Humbly asking his brother to call an ambulance for him wouldn’t look too good right now.

Chapter 31

Brendan stifled a yawn and listened to the steady rhythm of the crickets weaving a symphony of monotony on this cool Texas night.  Initially he’d thought this stakeout would be fun and nostalgic, but now he remembered it was never that fun as a Marine either.  Even the modest temperature drop had him wishing he’d worn something more insulated than a long-sleeved flannel shirt.  Another ten degrees or so and the crickets would probably die off, too.

He yawned again and closed his eyes for a second, resting his forehead down on his arms.  Sound sleep had evaded him for days, but now fatigue assaulted him relentlessly.  Wouldn’t it be funny if his peaceful snoring gave up his position?

No, probably not.

The smoker hadn’t appeared in about an hour, which was a mild concern considering how regular the guy had been for hours on end.  It could be that he ran out of smokes.  Depleting your supply this far from civilization probably meant facing a night of withdrawals and irritability, so at least one person was going to be a crabby bastard if Brendan ran into them.

Brendan’s head jerked up suddenly.  Crap, how long had he been asleep?  His last watch check had been an hour ago, so no more than that.  Everything looked the same, but now he could hear muffled voices from inside the barn.  A light came on above a door on the opposite side of the barn from the smoker’s door.  The voices grew louder now.  The door swung open and seven men exited, talking and laughing like a group of guys not too worried about being watched.  Lots of jokes and chants for beer flowed between the men, so apparently quitting time had arrived at long last.

One man waited until the rest cleared out of the barn, and then closed the door and padlocked the latch.  From the light shining above the shaved head, Brendan easily recognized the giant he knew only as Serge.  Maybe he should’ve been surprised, but he wasn’t.  He’d cultivated a hunch about that man ever since their encounter with his sister.  At least now Brendan had some vindication for deciding to spend the night under the pretty Texas stars with all his favorite critters.

The gaggle of laughing idiots slowly made their way into the farmhouse, and Serge followed them stoically.  Lights flared all over the inside of the long, ranch-style building, illuminating the whole yard through the windows.  Silhouettes walked back and forth for a few minutes, but eventually movement was only visible at two large windows at the far end of the house.  Brendan guessed that was the kitchen or living room, which would be the most common places for a bunch of dudes to congregate when beer is involved.

The walls of the house must’ve been substantially thicker than those of the barn, because Brendan couldn’t hear a thing now.  He waited for fifteen full minutes to see if anyone from the house would run out to the barn because they’d forgotten something, or to see if anyone was still left in the barn and would leave to join their buddies.

Brendan burst from cover, staying low to the ground and keeping the barn mostly between him and the house.  He kept eyes on the main entrance to the farmhouse, in case someone had found their reserve cigarettes and needed a hit.  Once against the back wall of the cheaply made barn, Brendan slid down the corrugated siding towards the side door he knew to be unlocked, the one the smoker had used earlier.