CHAPTER 13
“They’re headed this way,” Chaco told Russell. “We better get Bethany and the kids back into the wine cellar right now.”
As though performing a well-rehearsed play, everyone took his or her place. Chaco, Remington at his side, stood at a small opening at a window nearest the front door. He trained the binoculars on the approaching truck, badly dinged fender and driver door, back window shattered, but painted an extraordinary metal flake blue.
The vehicle rolled to a stop in front of one of the burned houses across the road. A tall, slender man in his late twenties wearing a grey Stetson, along with a short, heavyset woman with waist-length platinum blonde hair that hung over her arms like a shawl, exited the truck. The man turned and lifted out a chunky, tow-headed boy, maybe
