He shoved her to the floor and pushed her toward the bed. “You have to hide. Hide. Hide!”

With silent sobs convulsing through her body, Darla forced herself under the King’s California King. She tucked her body between two plastic bins of clothes and tried to picture Teddy’s face. He would be so scared. He would be so worried. He needed her and she needed him. The door to the master bedroom banged open, shots were fired into the open room and Darla covered her ears with her hands. She couldn’t tell if she screamed or if she was only screaming in her head. Then the firing stopped, the footsteps retreated.

After a long minute, someone yelled that the upstairs was all clear. Her ears rang and she didn’t know if she should move or stay. Then Darla felt Dean’s hands latching around her ankles and he rolled her out from under the bed.

She was about to ask him where he hid, when they heard the boom. The foundation of the house shook with violent fury. Then a second boom rocked them and Darla tumbled to the ground. They rushed to the window, Dean’s hand still holding Darla’s arm. Outside, they saw the men pouring from the house, stomping back down the street in tight lines. Two men in uniform worked together to carry an unconscious Ethan from the house; Ethan’s body seemed tiny in their hands. When they reached the sidewalk, one of the men took over—cradling the twenty-year-old like a baby. His head flopping as the soldier picked up his pace.

And then Darla saw her son.

He was crying, tears streaming down his face. And he kicked and flailed at the young man carrying him away from the house, running back toward the way they came.

“Teddy!” Darla yelled and she pushed off from Dean before he could grab her and rushed into the hallway. The smell of smoke was overpowering and as she reached the stairs, she knew then that the house was on fire. Flames licked up from the basement and were already growing, lapping at the first set of stairs. Darla ignored the inferno, didn’t question where her houseguests were, and she bounded down the steps and out the door.

When she reached the landing, she skidded to a halt. Joey’s body lay in the same position as before; his eyes wide-open, staring up at her, vacant and void of life.

She pushed the image aside and bolted down to the grass and out onto the street. Already the men were like dots in the distance, rounding the corner toward their waiting helicopters. Darla sprinted after them, pumping her arms, her lungs aching and ready to burst. She had never run so fast in her entire life; it felt like she could takeoff and fly. But as she neared the park, she saw the first of the machines rise and circle with a steady whack-whack-whack of its propellers.

Then the second helicopter lifted. And Darla sank to the ground, her chest heaving. All the air had left her body and she gasped for breath.

“Teddy! Teddy!” she yelled between gasping breaths.

Teddy was gone.

She screamed and rose to her feet; then pushing herself with all her might, Darla began to follow the helicopters, chasing them across the sidewalk, cutting through yards, until they were nothing more than tiny spots in the sky.

“Darla! Stop!” She heard and she turned.

Running after her, his big body thumping along the paths she had taken, was Dean.

“They’re gone,” he breathed. “They’re all gone.”

“I tried to get him,” she sobbed and gulped. “I couldn’t run fast enough.”

“No,” Dean shook his head and he put his hands on his knees. When he looked up at her, he had tears in his eyes. “At the house. Back at the house.”

His meaning dawned on her and she paused. “Everyone?”

“They shot everyone,” Dean answered. “God Almighty, Darla, they shot everyone.”

They ran back to the fire. The flames now burst through the second-story windows; orange and red, they danced toward the sky. And black billowing clouds of smoke followed the colorful hues into the air above the house. Soon, the entire neighborhood was painted in a thin blanket of white and gray.

“Ainsley…Doctor Krause…” Darla said trancelike. She tumbled to the ground when the heat of the fire touched her skin. Her thoughts next went to Teddy’s toys. The action figures he had come to love; she resisted the urge to go back into the fire to salvage them. He would be so heartbroken to learn they had burned; her desire to save the toys overwhelmed her. She turned away and let the tears fall.

“Doctor Krause was gone for sure. I saw her as I left. Execution style. Ainsley…I don’t know…” Dean replied. “The fire moved fast…”

Darla nodded, but she wasn’t listening.

She scanned the grass and then jumped. Sitting upright against the shrubs in the far corner of the yard was Spencer. His shirt was stained red and splotches of blood stuck to his neck and his chin. His face was pale, his eyes closed, but Darla could see the rise and fall of his chest.

“Son of a bitch,” she grumbled and crawled forward.

“Darla—” Dean said, but he let her go, following on her heels.

“You gave them my son,” Darla screamed over the roar of the fire. “You told them where he was…this…this death…this is on your hands!”

Spencer kept his hands pressed to his belly, but blood still seeped through his fingers. The men had shot a hole into his stomach and left him to die. Joey, Doctor Krause, were killed instantly—Spencer was dying slowly, bleeding out with each painful intake of air.

They had wanted him to suffer most.

Darla felt Dean’s hand on her arm. Her lips trembled, her limbs shook, everything inside of her was cold. The heat of the fire radiated toward them, but Darla was freezing, her teeth chattered together.

“I wish, I wish,” she breathed, “that they had left you for me.” And she rocked her body forward, with Dean’s hand still wrapped around her wrist and she spit on him. Her saliva rolled down Spencer’s cheek and nose.

“I was never the enemy,” Spencer said in a whisper.

“I don’t have to choose,” Darla screamed. “It’s not you or them. It’s you and them. He’s all I have left! Can’t you understand that? He’s all I had left!”

“Trying…to save…”

“Yourself,” Darla cried. “That’s all everything was ever about. You. You. You. Their blood is on your hands. All those people…who trusted you…”

Something within the house crumbled and crashed; wood and debris began to tumble inward. The crackling of the fire was deafening and the heat became more intense.

“We have to get away from the house,” Dean said and he tugged on Darla.

“Gun,” Darla commanded, but Dean shook his head.

“We have to go, Darla, now,” he said.

“Gun!” she said again and Dean reached into his waistband and pulled out a second small shotgun.

She raised the gun and held it to Spencer’s head. Another crash; sparks and smoke flew upward into the sky.

“You took away everything that mattered to me,” she said as the tears spilled down her face.

“I’m…already…gone,” Spencer muttered with his eyes closed. “You’re…doing me a favor. I want you to…shoot me.”

Darla’s hand trembled as she held the gun in front of her. Then she dropped it to the ground and kicked it away toward the house.

“I want you to suffer,” she said and Spencer did not reply. Blood began to pool at his sides.

Dean marched back through the heat and whisked Darla away, grabbing her around the waist, and pulling her toward safety. She kept her eyes trained on Spencer—the principal followed her gaze and then closed his eyes, his breathing slowing.

“Rot. Rot. Rot in hell…murderer…” Darla screamed at him and then she crumpled into Dean’s arms and let herself get dragged to the opposite side of the street. “He took away everything I had,” Darla said again. She sobbed and watched as the King house succumbed to the fire.