Wow. Rob had obviously been watching a lot more CNN than I had.

After piling some potatoes onto Jim Henderson's plate—only for a second did I fantasize about pretending to accidentally drop them into his lap—I moved on to the rest of the table, trying not to notice as I did so a disturbing thing. There were lots of disturbing things to notice in that barn, but the one that I kept coming back to was the men's hands. Each and every one of them had the same tattoo on the webbing between the thumb and forefinger of their right hand. And that was the coiled snake of the "Don't Tread On Me" flag. The same snake that had been on Nate's chest. The same snake that had been burned into Seth's hand. This was some fraternity, let me tell you.

It wasn't until my bowl was almost empty that I felt the cold, wet nudge on one hand. I looked down and saw Chigger, his big brown eyes rolling up at me appealingly. Gone was the menacing growl and raised back hairs. I had food, and Chigger wanted food. Therefore, if I gave Chigger food, I would be Chigger's friend.

I let Chigger lick what remained in the bowl.

I fully intended to go back to the ranch house kitchen and refill that bowl without rinsing it out first. In fact, I was headed toward the barn door to do just that when I noticed something that I didn't like … that I didn't like at all. And that was Kerchief-Head, over at Jim Henderson's table, leaning down to whisper something in his ear. As she whispered I saw Jim glance around the room, until at last his gaze found me. Those piercing blue eyes stayed on me, too, until Kerchief-Head finished whatever it was she'd had to say and straightened up.

Look, it could have been a lot of things. It could have been the thing with the roll. Heck, she could have seen me letting Chigger lick the bowl.

But I'm not stupid. I knew what it was. I knew what it was the minute Jim Henderson's gaze landed on me.

Kerchief-Head had told him about catching me in the hallway near where they were keeping Seth. That was all.

We were dead.

It took a little while for it to happen, though. Henderson whispered something back to Kerchief-Head, and she scuttled out of there like a water bug. For a little while, I thought maybe we were all right. You know, that maybe I'd made a mistake. Rob was going on about abominations of nature and how America would never be restored to the great nation it had once been until all Christians banded together, and Henderson seemed to be listening to him pretty intently.

But then I saw something that made my heart stop.

And that was Red Plaid Jacket with the end of his rifle pointed at the back of Seth Blumenthal's neck as he forced the boy to walk across the barn floor, right up to where Jim Henderson and Rob sat.

Everyone stopped talking when they saw this, and once again, the silence in the barn was overwhelming. The only sound I could hear was the sound of Seth's sobs. He had started crying again. I saw him look frantically around the barn, and I knew he was looking for me. Fortunately, I was far enough in the shadows that he hadn't been able to see me, or without a doubt, I'd have been dead.

If I'd known, of course, what was going to happen a minute later anyway, I probably wouldn't have cared so much. As it was, I was actually relieved Seth hadn't spotted me. I sunk my fingers into Chigger's soft fur and willed my heart to start beating again. Hurry up, Chick. Hurry up, Chick. Hurry up, Chick!

"Americans," Jim Henderson said to the assembled masses. I could see at once that he was every bit the orator Rob was. Everyone looked at him with that glazed expression of adoration I recognized from that movie about the Jim Jones massacre. Henderson was these people's messiah on earth.

"We've made some fine new friends tonight," Henderson went on, slapping a hand to Rob's shoulder. The only reason he'd been able to reach it was that Rob was sitting and he was standing. "And I for one am grateful. Grateful that Hank and Ginger found their way to our little flock."

Ginger? Who the hell was Ginger? Then, as a good many heads turned in my direction, I realized Rob had told them my name was Ginger.

He is such a card.

"But however impressed we may be by Hank and Ginger's professed dedication to our cause," Henderson went on, "there's really only one way to test the loyalty of a true American, isn't there?"

There was a general murmur of assent. My heart thudded more loudly than ever. I did not like the sound of this. I did not like the sound of this at all.

"Hank," Henderson said, turning to Rob. "You see before you a boy. Seemingly innocent enough looking, I know. But innocence, as we all know, can be deceiving. The devil sometimes tries to fool us into believing in the innocence of an individual, when in fact that individual is laden with sin. In this case, this boy is soaked in sin. Because he is, in fact, a Jew."

I dug my fingers so hard into Chigger's coat, a smaller dog would have cried out. Chigger, however, only wagged his tail, still hoping for another crack at the bowl I held. Apparently, nobody had ever bothered to feed Chigger before. How else could you explain how easily I'd won over his allegiance?

"Hank," Henderson said. "Because you've already, in the short time I've known you, so thoroughly impressed me with your sincerity and commitment to the cause, I am going to allow you a great privilege I've heretofore denied both myself and my other men. Hank, I am going to let you kill a Jew."

And with that, Jim Henderson presented Rob with a knife he pulled out of his own boot.

A lot of things when through my mind then. I thought about how much I loved my mom, even though she can be such a pain in the ass sometimes, with her weird ideas about how I should dress and who I should date. I thought about how mad I was going to be if I didn't get to stick around to find out if Douglas ever did anything about his crush on Tasha Thompkins. I thought about the state orchestra championship, and how for the first time in years, I wouldn't be bringing home a blue ribbon cut in the shape of the state of Indiana.

It's strange the things you think about right before you die. I don't even know how I knew I was going to die. I just knew it, the way I knew that eventually, all that snow outside was going to melt, and it would be spring again someday. Rob and I were going to die, and the only thing we had to make sure of was that they didn't try to kill Seth along with us.

"Well," Henderson was saying to my boyfriend. "Go on. Take my knife. Really. It's okay. He's just a Jew."

Seth Blumenthal, I have to say, was being pretty brave. He was crying, but he was doing it quietly, with his head held high. I guess after what he'd been through, death didn't seem like such a bad thing. I don't know how else to explain it. I kind of felt the same way. I wasn't scared, really. Oh, I didn't want it to hurt. But I wasn't scared to die.

All I wanted was to take as many True Americans down with me as I could.

Rob reached out and took the knife from Jim Henderson.

"Thataboy," Henderson said, smiling in a sickly way beneath his mustache. "Now go ahead. Show us you are true believer. Stick it to the pig."

So Rob did the only thing he could. The same thing I'd have done, in his situation.

He threw an arm around Jim Henderson's neck, brought the knife blade to his jugular vein, and said, "Anybody moves, and Jimbo here gets it."

C H A P T E R

14

Have you ever been to a football game where the higher ranked team was so certain of winning, there wasn't even a doubt in the minds of their fans that they wouldn't? And then, through some total miscalculation on the part of the superior team, the underdog got the upper hand?

The faces of the True Americans looked like the faces of the fans of the winning team, seconds after their team mangled some play so horribly, their opponent, against all odds, scored a touchdown.

They were stunned. Just stunned.

"Thanks," I said to Red Plaid Jacket, as I relieved him of his rifle. "I'll take that."

I had never held a rifle before in my life, but I had a pretty good idea how one worked. You just pointed at the thing you wanted to hit, and pulled the trigger. No big mystery in that.

Of course, if you thought about it, there was no reason in the world for us to be so cocky. Okay, so yeah, Rob had a knife to a guy's throat, and I had a rifle. Big deal. It was still about fifty to two. Well, three, if you counted Seth. Four, if you included Chigger, who was still following me around, hoping for more mashed potatoes, even though I'd put down the bowl.

But hey, we had the upper hand for the moment, and we were going to take advantage of it while we could.

"Okay," Rob said, as the blood slowly drained from Jim Henderson's face. Not because Rob had poked a hole in him or anything. Just because the leader of the True Americans was so very, very scared.

"Okay, now. Everybody just stay very calm, and no one is going to get hurt." Hey, he had me convinced. Rob seemed totally believable, as far as knife-wielding hostage-takers went. "Me and the girl and the kid and Jimbo here are going to take a little walk. And if any of you want to see your fearless leader live through this, you're going to let us go. Okay?"

When no one objected, Rob went, "Good. Jess. Seth. Let's go."

And so started what had to have looked like one weird parade. With me leading the way, rifle in hand and dog at my heels, a dazed-looking Seth following me, and Rob, with his arm around Henderson, taking up the rear, we made our way down the length of the barn. I wouldn't want to give you the impression that Mr. Henderson was playing the silent martyr in all of this, however. Oh, no. See, people who haven't the slightest qualm about doing unspeakably horrible things to others are always the ones who act like the biggest babies of all whenever anybody in turn threatens them.