We found a body first.

“Shot right through the heart and left under a brush pile,” Jimmy said. He sounded as tired as I felt. We hadn’t stopped walkin’ for hours.

“Not left under brush, buried under it,” I said. “Somebody tried to bury him. That’s somethin’.”

Jimmy shrugged. “Maybe whoever killed him just didn’t want to get caught.”

There was a shack beyond the trees ahead, on the shoulder of a gravel road. I glanced at Jimmy and we split up to approach the shack from opposite sides. He pulled his pistol. I unslung my .22.

Cupboards and bins stood open and bare. The shack had been stripped of anything remotely useful. Spray-painted on one interior wall was the symbol that some called a vengement, a warnin’ sign.

“You see this?” Jimmy called from outside. “This electrical box is new!  All the wiring here is new! What the…?”

I barely heard him. I was walkin’ out of the shack’s front door where two gas pumps stood. One of the pumps had been left unlocked, the key left in the lock.

That’s all I had time to see before the first bullet zipped over my head. Someone shouted from the cover of the trees. Two men, maybe three. I hustled back to the shack and found Jimmy already takin’ cover there.

“Karch’s guys,” Jimmy said.

I crouched in the corner next to him and eyed the vengement doubtfully. “This ain’t Karch’s camp though, is it?”

“No,” Jimmy said. “They’re here for us.”