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going to have to lean out over the edge to see him.
    “Okay…” I continued to the south wall. There were two small, quarter-framed windows at that end, probably only a foot or two above the outside ground level. There was very dirty glass in most of the frames, so it would be nearly impossible to see clearly into the gloomy basement from the outside. There were, however, two empty frames, both in the left-hand window. He’d have to go there if he was going to try to look in.
    Either that, or go all the way to the back of the building, on the east side, where there was a walk-in door. The old door didn’t fit well, and I could see daylight around all four edges of the rickety thing. Maybe there. Maybe. But if it was me, I’d kind of like to get a glimpse of what was inside before I came through the door. I put my rifle to my shoulder and pointed it in the general direction of the left-hand window, trying to keep the edges of the door in my peripheral vision in case I was guessing wrong.
    “You keep looking toward the shed,” I said to Sally. “I’ll take this one.”
    “Okay.”
    There was a noise from Hester. It was like she was trying to talk with a mouthful of Novocain. I glanced at her, and she was pointing her handgun at the door.
    “Got it,” she managed to get out.
    I just said, “Right.” There wasn’t time to tell her how impressed I was.
    I slowly approached the window, half expecting to see a grenade or bomb or something come flying through. Instead, when I was about five feet away from it, the empty frames were suddenly filled by a New York Yankees baseball cap and a very wide-open mouth, which screamed something about “—die!!!!” Just like that, it was gone. I didn’t even have a chance to squeeze the trigger.
    He had to have been on all fours and to the right of the frame, just to get his head that low and at that angle. Almost instinctively, I fired four rounds through the old wallboards, at what I hoped was the right level to blow him to hell.
    Mistake. The overpressure from the muzzle blast of that AR-15 in the confined area of the barn brought down a shower of dust and bits of stuff from the rafters and between the floorboards above my head. The concussion made my ears ring. The only plus was a series of high-pitched screams from outside the barn, which seemed to get weaker and weaker, and then stopped altogether.
    I looked back at Sally, who was brushing the debris from her hair even as she was talking on the walkie-talkie, and giving me a dirty look. Over at Hester, who had put up her shoulder to hold the compress in place while she too tried to brush the dust from her hair and keep her handgun pointed at the old door.
    I was sure I’d killed whoever it was. It was a funny, sad kind of feeling.
    “George,” said Sally, loudly, “says he can see him now.”
    I looked quizzically at her.
    “He says the guy is running. Back to the shed. It looks like you might have hit him.” She held the walkie-talkie closer to her ear. “In the hand, maybe…”
    Damn. The funny, sad feeling left instantly, replaced by regret that I hadn’t killed him. I thought that was really interesting. So much for the humanitarian deputy.
    Sally continued to listen. She smiled. “He says it was the dumb one, and that you made him lose his hat out in the yard.”
    There was an upside yet. At least he’d left the immediate vicinity of the barn.
    “Ask him,” I said, “if he can see any others out there moving around.”
    “You don’t have to shout,” said Sally.
    I hadn’t realized that I was. The effect of the noise of the rifle, of course.
    “Luuggg!” said Hester.
    I stepped toward her, pointing my rifle at the door.
    “Nunh,” she said, and actually sounded happy. “Lugg.” She was looking at me and holding out her hand. “I gawdd id!”
    In her palm was the nail fragment that had been lodged in her cheek. She’d apparently managed to push it back out somehow, despite what had to be some