CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
All was silent except for the creaking of the broken door on the old house. The air was filled with swirling dust. Maria was face down, crumpled on the desert floor.
Close to her, the leader was trying to stagger to his feet. The front of his shirt was drenched with an ever-widening pool of blood. He wheezed as he muttered, "You bastard, I'll kill you."
The explosion from a rifle drove him into a seated position by the dry well. The g*n slipped from his fingers as death glazed his eyes.
Slowly, Maria forced herself up on her hands and knees; then, with one hand, she pushed dirty, matted hair back from her face. She peered toward the sound of the rifle shot … and could not comprehend what she was seeing. "You!"
Stepping from the porch of the house, walking toward h
