Standard Disclaimer: No copyrighted material used in this chapter belongs to me. This story belongs to Linda Howard/Jones with some RIB and the writers of Glee mixed in. We are getting back to Bree and Cedes, but this chapter begins with Sam, and I know it's mean of me to extend the suspense...The drama will be over quickly though...for now...

Trigger Warnings: Shots fired, nobody we care about gets shot...if the drama gets too intense for you, you can skip where the line break is, but I promise nothing grisly will happen just suspenseful and a little action packed.

Chapter Seventeen

Sam was sprawled on the couch with the dog on the rug beside him. He had slept some after supper, but after he woke up from the nap he was restless and couldn't seem to settle down. His shoulder was just sore enough to be annoying, but that wasn't the reason why he couldn't rest. His mind was on his woman. He shouldn't claim her, but when she voluntarily put her hands on his skin, took care of him, blowing her sweet breath on him, and told him that she wanted him, that was the equivalency of a marriage proposal during an apocalypse. Just remembering her hands tending to him and caressing him made him more uncomfortable. It had been a long time since he'd been focused on a woman, period, and never to the extent Cedes grabbed his attention. He could have had her this afternoon, and his dick was telling him that he'd lost his mind because he'd refused to when she was there naked and wet in his shower. He was beginning to agree with his dick.

Except—he didn't want her to ever think that he had changed his mind to help because she had bartered her body for him to do so. He kept coming back to that part of their conversation. During his various war campaigns, he had seen some men take what some of the women offered as payment for safety. He detested those men. He never wanted a woman to feel beholden to him for anything. It was degrading and the bastards that took advantage of those women were the same who took advantage of drunk women. Sex should not be quid pro quo or take place without mutual desire. It should always take place with consent. He wanted Cedes there with him for no reason other than the two of them wanted to be together. His instant decision had been the right one; knowing that didn't stop him from regretting taking her when she admitted that she was attracted to him as well.

He tried to take his mind off of her. He lit a lamp, got a book, and read for a while, but he was wide-awake, uneasy, and didn't see the point in going to bed. After a while the dog raised his head and whined, so Sam took him out to let him mark his territory again. Then the dog went back to sleep; Sam didn't. He made some coffee—to hell with sleeping, it wasn't happening anyway so he might as well have some—and walked out on the porch to stare down at the dark valley. The moon was bright, the air cold but not freezing. His breath fogged in front of him.

There was enough light he could make out portions of the roads into and out of the area below, including the bypass from Knoxville. He began thinking about strategy, how people would try to move in and how best to energetically discourage them from it. Not everyone would be automatically turned away; those who could contribute would be welcome. They didn't need a constantly moving patrol as much as they needed strategic sentry posts, clearly understood signals with whistles and bullhorns, and organization. They would be more efficient with a clear progression of authority rather than different people making decisions on the fly—in effect, more military in structure.

He really didn't want to be actively involved in their makeshift sentry; but he'd get them set up the way he'd promised Cedes, then let them handle it.

Sure. He knew he was lying to himself as if he would leave and risk her safety. Even if he could convince her to move in with him, ain't no way was she going to leave Roz and Bree vulnerable.

He growled a bit under his breath as he gave up that train of thought, he'd be stepping into quicksand, and he'd likely never pull himself out. The idea of helping the community with their self-defense was tempting. As disgusted and emotionally exhausted as he'd become with political decisions that had cost the lives of his friends, his men, at his core he was military and part of him felt as if he was going home. This wasn't just in his wheelhouse, it was his wheelhouse. Even when he'd devoted himself to being as solitary as possible, he'd used military applications for self-defense.

Not only that, he had to accept that Cedes wasn't solitary. She came with people she cared about, not just her relatives but also her neighbors, her community. He couldn't isolate her up here with him, despite his instincts to do just that. For as long as this fascination with her held, she would link him to those people. Exactly how long that would be, who knew—

The sharp, light crack of rifle fire echoed across the valley.

Years of training kicked in and he was moving before he had consciously identified the sound as that of a .22 rifle. The mountains could mess with sound and a lot of people around here had .22s, but his instinct told him it was coming from in front and to the right, which would roughly be where Cedes's store was.

Alarmed, the dog stood up and barked when Sam erupted into the house. He grabbed his hunting rifle from the rack, a box of cartridges, the Mossberg in its scabbard, and his truck keys. He was out the door again seven seconds after he entered, leaped off the porch, and was in the truck at ten seconds, accelerating down the rough driveway in twelve seconds.

In the three seconds between porch and truck he heard more gunfire, the distinctive sound of more .22 shots, and the deeper bellow of higher caliber rifles.

"Hell no!" he ground out.

This was his fault. He should have been thinking strategically, from the second he agreed to get involved, instead of letting himself stay secure behind his emotional walls for one more night, as if that meant anything. He'd told Cedes himself that the gasoline was beyond valuable, and he knew she'd spread the word for people to come first thing in the morning to begin getting it. Logic dictated, then, that if anyone wanted to get all the gas for themselves, they had to do it tonight before all the valley inhabitants showed up in the morning for a share.

He'd bet his ass that the .22 fire was coming from Cedes's rifle, which meant she'd been way ahead of him in planning, and was guarding the gasoline supply.

Dear God, please do not let her be all by herself.

The small fleet of vehicles slowly rolled forward. If she could see them, then obviously whoever was in the vehicles could see her SUV parked there. They might or might not be able to also tell that the store door was open. Cedes held her breath as a dark-colored pickup truck slowly made its way over the gravel at the edge of the parking lot, facing toward the store. She couldn't tell how many people were in the truck, but she thought she saw someone in the bed. The truck stopped, and a dark figure hopped out of the truck bed. All the vehicles came to a stop; the drivers exited and reached into truck beds and back seats for gas cans. They were all men, going by their build, but with their winter coats and ball caps, or hoods pulled up, she couldn't recognize anyone.

She might have missed someone but she counted six men—at least. There could be more.

She heard muffled voices. They seemed to be looking at her SUV. Beside her, Bree was sucking in quick, shallow breaths. Cedes reached out and gave her a comforting touch on her arm. With luck, the group would decide that since she had blocked access to the tanks, they might as well leave . . . unless they thought they could move her Honda.

Three of the men started toward the SUV.

Dear God, was she doing the right thing? She didn't know. But decision was better than indecision, and Cedes made her decision. She raised the rifle, aimed high, so she wouldn't accidentally shoot someone, and fired over their heads.

Everyone dove for the ground, a confusion of movement in the night, people going in different directions, rolling, searching for cover.

Her wild hope was that the single shot would be enough to scare them off, that they'd leave when they realized there was an armed guard at the store. Right now the dark was her friend. They'd have no idea how many people were in here, only that their surprise raid hadn't worked.

Then another shot boomed out, and the window shattered beside her.

Panic filled her like a huge flood spreading through her entire body. Bree squeaked; Cedes turned and dropped down, expecting to see Bree lying bleeding at her feet. Instead the girl crouched by the door, staring up at her, her face a blob in the darkness. "Back!" she yelled, ordering Bree to retreat to the rear of the store. More shots. More glass shattered and rained on and around them. Cedes felt several stings on her face, her hands. Instead of obeying Bree moved forward, not back, raising her rifle and taking aim. She fired, then fired again.

Oh hell no! Oh hell why was she saying oh hell? Please God protect us. Make sure nothing happens to Bree. Please help me. She prayed knowing how they were so vulnerable here, with nothing to hide behind that would stop a bullet, and Bree shooting back instead of taking cover. They had to get out, they had to leave now. "Go towards the back door!" Cedes said insistently. They wouldn't be able to get the Honda, but they could escape down the path. She grabbed Bree by the collar of her coat and hauled the girl backward.

This time, thank goodness, Bree cooperated by scooting back, crawling with the rifle in her hand. Cedes did the same; as she did so she saw two dark figures darting past, skirting along the sides of the store. It was already too late to run, they'd be caught as soon as they went out the back door—but at least that door was locked with a heavy-duty dead bolt, and they only had to worry about people coming through the front.

"Too late," she panted, and fired through the door to hold off any who thought they might rush through it.

More shots. The plate-glass windows were completely gone, the glass door nothing more than an empty steel frame.

Her only advantage was that in the colorless moonlight she could at least see them outside, whereas she and Bree were swallowed up by the darkness of the store's interior. Terror almost swamped her, but for Bree, not herself. She would shoot as long as she was able to keep Bree safe. How could she ever have let Bree stay? She should have insisted on taking the girl home. She should have gotten Mike or even Brett to come with her as soon as her cousin appeared. She should have taken her home and gotten reinforcements. If anything happened to her cousin, Roz would be devastated.

"Hide behind the counter!" It wouldn't provide much shelter at all, being made of wood instead of heavy metal, but it was better than nothing. She kept herself between Bree and the front of the store as they crawled across the glass-covered floor.

Please God have someone hear the shots. How quiet it is now someone would have to hear what was going on, someone would figure out what was going on and come help them. Even though it was the middle of the night, the sound of gunfire would have to wake people up, people who were on edge after what had happened at the Carlisles' house the night before. Someone would come. Let it be soon! she prayed to God.

She saw the moon glint on a rifle barrel resting on the side of a pickup truck bed, near the left edge of the parking lot. Quickly she aimed and pulled the trigger, then ducked as answering fire splintered the counter to her left. Bree popped up like a jack-in-the-box and shot, then dropped back down. "I think I got him," she said, her voice so high it sounded as if she was on the verge of shrieking.

"You go, girl!" Later she would think about what it meant that she had encouraged Bree for possibly shooting someone. Later she would likely fall apart herself. For now she was too busy trying to stay alive to do more than have the fleeting thought. Inspiration finally came to her.

"Bree, you need to go and get inside of the cooler!"

At least it was metal. It couldn't be locked from the inside, but it was more protection, more—

Then she caught sight of movement to the side, and saw a couple of dark figures pushing at her CRV. The shooter at the pickup truck on the left had been drawing their attention away from what the others were doing. Think again dummies. Fiercely she swung the barrel around towards them and fired again.

The dimwits! Didn't they know the entire valley would soon be awake, and heading this way? Their only chance for success had been to get in and out without anyone noticing, and that opportunity was now long gone.

They were not getting her gasoline, not a single ounce of it.

She fired again, shattering what was left of a window. Oh hell! What if she shot her own vehicle? She paused a split second, then mentally shrugged and pulled the trigger one more time. If she didn't hold these thieves off, would they come after her and Bree and murder them so there were no witnesses? Even if she ended up riddling the SUV with holes, she couldn't let that happen. God I promise to never do anything like this again, if you send me help now!

As soon as the prayer left her lips, she saw a flicker of light in the darkness behind the ring of vehicles. She thought her mind was playing tricks on her. Then, she saw another flash of light and another. More vehicles coming? Or was her mind continuing to play tricks on her and it was just reflections of the moonlight, combined with hoping her prayers were answered?

She didn't have time to continue to ponder her question because she saw someone moving on their left. Bree must have seen the same thing, because they both fired at the same time.

Outside, someone shouted, the sound filled with panic, but she couldn't hear what they were saying over the ringing in her ears. All she could see were images of men running in several directions; dazedly, she watched them getting inside of their vehicles as if the hounds of hell were after them, then the vehicles all seemed to be moving simultaneously as they fled like rabbits being chased by hounds. In less than a minute, her parking lot was completely empty.

"Thank you Jesus, they all left!" she yelled and did a little victory dance.

"What?" Bree asked looking at her as if she had lost her mind.

"They are all gone! We are still alive!"

Side by side, they stood looking through the shattered windows. The moonlight glittered on the broken glass as if it was dancing on water. And here and there the darkness was punctured by headlights heading their way; finally, now that the men were gone, people were coming to help—or at least to see what was happening, and that amounted to the same thing.

Carefully she laid her rifle on the counter, then took Bree's rifle and placed it beside hers. She wrapped her arms around the girl and held her tight, felt her shaking but that was okay because Cedes was shaking just as hard.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, still talking too loudly.

"No. Are you?"

"I don't think I am. No, I would know if I had gotten shot." She continued to hold on tight. Maybe she had a few minor cuts, but her thick winter coat had protected her from a lot. Cuts didn't seem important when compared to expecting to be murdered.

"We did it Cedes," Bree said, her voice thin but touched with pride. "We scared those bastards off."

"We surely did." She wouldn't get on the girl for using the term bastards because that is what they were thieving bastards at that. It was probably the approaching vehicles that had made the men leave, but Cedes wasn't in the mood to be technical.

"Who run the world? Girls," Bree said before bursting into tears.

Cedes tried to comfort her the best she could while getting them both outside. She yawned, trying to ease the ringing in her ears, and released Bree long enough to press hard on both her ears, which seemed to help some. The .22s hadn't been that loud, but the other rifles had been a different matter. The cold air was sharp with the smell of burnt gunpowder, and a light haze of smoke lingered in the air.

A vehicle was coming down the road toward them, and Cedes stepped forward, so she could be seen in the sweep of the headlights, waving her arms. The truck stopped and Mike Chang ran forward. "I heard shooting," he said looking around trying to figure out what had transpired.

"Some men tried to steal my gas." Cedes sucked in a breath, because everything that had happened during the past . . . ten minutes—maybe?—seemed so unreal she could barely put it into words. "Bree and I were keeping watch inside the store. We have our rifles."

Gaping, he stared at the damage he could see behind her, and Bree was fiercely wiping her eyes.

"They shot at the two of you?" She had never seen or heard Mike this angry before. He looked as if he would personally find the men and dismember them himself.

Considering the store had every window shot out, Cedes thought the question was redundant, so she didn't answer, because more vehicles were coming toward them. One, bigger than the others, was driving on the wrong side of the road and passing everyone else, not that it mattered which lane anyone was in because they were all heading in the same direction—at least ten vehicles coming their way. She moved toward Bree, warily taking the girl back toward the store. The last thing she wanted was for them to get run over now, after surviving a gunfight.

She and her cousin had been in a freaking gunfight!

She had to be in a parallel universe or a dream. It was totally unreal, almost inconceivable. She didn't know whether to join Bree in crying, or . . . sit her ass down. Yes. She desperately needed to sit down.

Why the hell not? "My legs are shaky," she told Bree. "Let's sit down."

"Here?" Bree blinked her big eyes at her, and swiped her hand under her nose.

"Why not?"

They both sank down on the cold, dirty pavement, littered with grit, pieces of trash, and dead leaves that had blown across the parking lot. She could see all the gunshot casings in Mike's headlights. Bree leaned down against her shoulder, burrowing in like a child; Cedes hugged her tight, thankful to God beyond words that they'd come through unharmed, though she couldn't say the same about her store.

The racing parade of vehicles reached them and the big truck in the lead slid to a stop with screeching tires and Sam jumped out before it had rocked back on its suspension. He held a big rifle in his hand, and he looked big and mean as he zeroed in on her, sitting there on the ground. Backlit by the harsh light of all the headlights, he strode across the parking lot toward her, his gaze so focused and intent that everyone else might as well have been invisible.

Energy shot through her and instantly she scrambled to her feet, momentarily unable to see anything other than him. Beside her Bree also stood, perhaps wondering why Cedes had stood immediately up, but she, too, stared at Sam, her big eyes appearing huge in her gaunt face.

He reached them, not touching her but standing so close that even on this cold night she could feel his body heat—though perhaps that was probably her own reaction to his nearness, her body heating and responding to his. She couldn't see the color of his eyes, but she could definitely see the savage fire in their expression. "You're bleeding," he said menacingly.

"I am?" she asked, her tone bewildered.

Very lightly he touched a fingertip to her face, then dropped his hand as if the slight contact stung him.

"It's from the glass," Bree informed him. "When they shot out the windows."

Sam only asked, "Who did this to you?"

Cedes swallowed hard. In that instant she knew beyond any doubt that if she could put a name to any of the men who had attacked them, Sam would hunt them down and kill every single one of them. He looked five times as angry as Mike had did. "I don't know. There were six of them, as far as I could tell, but no one I could recognize. They wore hoods and baseball caps . . . and it's dark. Everything escalated really quickly."

It hadn't felt fast during the ordeal. Every second of the shootout had felt as if it were happening in slow motion.

Beside her, Bree shook her head. "It was just too dark to recognize anyone." She turned to watch all the other belated rescuers arrive, vehicle after vehicle pulling into the parking lot or onto the side of the road, while a few simply parked in the road where they were; it wasn't as if they had to worry about any traffic.

"I'm almost sure it was some of those meth heads from outside of Sevierville," Mike said, joining them. "The word would have spread that you have gas from the addicts who live here."

With an effort Cedes wrenched her attention away from Sam. "That's what I thought," she said. "That's why I was here, in case anyone tried anything. Not that it had to be meth heads. I imagine there are a lot of regular people who'd like to have as much gas as they could get."

Sam made a noise, rumbling low in his throat, that sounded suspiciously like a growl. She'd never before been around anyone who she thought might be growling. Rather than be alarmed, she felt comforted. It took all of her concentration to remain standing where she was, rather than taking a step forward and simply resting against him, her head on his chest, her arms around him.

More than anything, that was what she wanted to do.

"I have a first-aid kit in the truck," he said, wheeling away to stride to his vehicle forgetting that Mike was a doctor and probably had the same supplies in his own truck. In leaving Sam had broken the connective circle that had surrounded them and kept everyone else at a distance. Mike watched him for a minute, his eyebrows lifted and the shocked look on his face was priceless, then he turned back to Cedes.

"Damn, I wish I'd gotten here sooner," he said, his shock at Evans's presence disappeared when he noticed the cuts on Cedes's face for the first time. Her being hurt and Bree possibly being harmed still angered him. "I'm so sorry Cedes. I should have noticed you were hurt; I should have been here with you instead of Bree. And what the he—heck is Sam Evans doing here?" Quickly he changed hell to heck in deference to Bree's tender ears, completely ignoring the fact that he had just cursed. Nevertheless, Mike was a surgeon, and he held to his mode of behavior.

"I don't know why he's here right now," Cedes replied, "but I went to his house yesterday and asked him to give us some pointers on what the patrol should be doing, and he agreed to come down this morning . . . is it morning yet?" She felt as if so many hours had passed, first in boredom and then in terror, that it had to be close to dawn.

"Getting close to two o'clock," Mike answered knowing Cedes wasn't telling him everything. Obviously something was going on between her and Sam. To get the man who was adamant about being left alone to come down the mountain during a shootout, want to tend to her wounds, and come back to give security pointers. He was not dense to know that Sam was definitely into Cedes and would do anything for her.

The conversation was surreal. Cedes felt as if the world had slid a little bit out of whack, or maybe this was just her reaction to shock. "Is that all I thought it was much later."

"It's zero six forty-seven Zulu," Sam said, returning in time to hear their exchange. He set down the tackle box he was carrying, and flipped open the latches.

Mike nodded. "That's one forty-seven to us," he told Bree, who nodded. She was staring wide-eyed at Sam like he was as Sam tore open a pack and extracted an antiseptic wipe, then positioned himself so the headlights were shining on Cedes's face and began carefully cleaning away the blood.

Cedes could only stare up at him. Fewer than twelve hours ago she'd been doing basically the same thing to him, though admittedly the cut on his back was much worse than anything she had sustained from the flying glass. Her face was stinging a bit, but that was all. If she'd been judging her condition by Sam's expression, she'd have thought she was dying, because he looked savage—controlled, but savage. She could have cleaned her own face much faster because Sam was taking care not to hurt her; she wouldn't have been as gentle with herself.

Brett Bukowski, Carl Howell, Dave and Paul Karofsky, and about ten other men were grouped around, anger in their voices as they talked quietly among themselves, glaring at the damage done to the store, to her. It didn't matter that the store was currently empty and useless; one of their own had been attacked, and they took it personally. Likely they were feeling guilty because they hadn't thought ahead and Cedes and Bree—a kid!—had literally been put in the line of fire. Mike sensing that Sam didn't want him tending to Cedes, went over to join them, leaving Sam and Cedes relatively isolated, with Bree watching.

"You're hurt and it's all because of me," Sam said under his breath. "Damn it all, I should have thought all of this through. Of course the bastards were going to come after the gas, knowing this was their only chance."

"I didn't think anyone would really try it," she murmured, letting him tilt her face up to better examine a tiny cut on her forehead. "Especially since I parked on top of the access to the tanks. I thought that would be enough to signal people that someone was here."

"Gasoline is worth the risk," he said briefly.

He touched a place on her forehead that had her jerking away with a surprised "Ouch!"

"Still some glass in there. Hold still." He bent and extracted a pair of long tweezers from the tackle box, then matter-of-factly seized the sliver of glass and pulled it out. She felt a fresh trickle of hot blood down her face, which he swabbed away before applying pressure to her forehead.

In a night of unbelievable happenings, perhaps the most unbelievable was that his touch soothed her ragged nerves to the point she stopped shaking, stopped feeling as if her next breath would be accompanied by a panic attack. The strangest thing was that while he was blaming himself because she was hurt, he wasn't acting as if she'd been unable to handle the situation.

She would have said without hesitation that she'd been ill-equipped to face six men with guns, and she never wanted to do anything like that again, but she'd managed. She didn't have a panic attack, and her worst fears had been for Bree. One thing for sure, she'd learned from the incident. If she ever thought she might face armed men again, she would make sure she had a bigger rifle and better cover. So perhaps, she'd been forever changed by the CME, but she would not lie down defenseless and let anyone hurt her or especially her family.

Lord, she still hoped she never had to do anything like that again, but she now knew and people in the community knew exactly what she was capable of.

He put small adhesive bandages over a couple of the worst cuts, the ones that wanted to keep bleeding. "Anywhere else?"

"A couple on my hand, but I can take care of that later."

"Show me your hands Cedes."

He held her right hand in his left one, gently cleaned the small cuts there, wiped away the blood. The cuts were all minor, and had already stopped bleeding.

"Is she going to be okay?" Bree asked in a small voice, hovering anxiously nearby.

"She's okay," Sam said, hunkering down to put the first-aid tackle box in order and secure the latches. "She has some little cuts." He glanced up at her. "How about you, do you have any cuts?"

"I'm fine. Cedes was between me and the window when it shattered." Bree edged closer to them, her worried gaze peering over Cedes's features as if assuring herself once again that they were both, indeed, all in one piece. "Grandma's going to shit literal and figurative bricks when she finds out about this," she informed them.

Sam's mouth twitched. He didn't laugh, didn't even smile, but she saw the slight wrinkling at the corners of his eyes. Cedes opened her mouth to scold Bree over her language, then shut it. After a fifteen-year-old girl stood side by side with her shooting at a group of men who were trying to kill them, she wasn't going to scold her at about her language. "I imagine we will never hear the end of it," she said instead.

Now that Sam had taken care of first aid, the others moved closer and surrounded them.

"Did you get a good look at any of the cars?" Brett asked her.

"I couldn't tell you colors, or anything like that. There were three trucks and two cars. I might've missed someone, in the dark, but I counted six men. When they saw all of the headlights coming towards the store, they scattered like roaches when someone turns on a light. None of them drove with their own headlights on."

"Do you think anyone got shot?" Sam's voice had gone into that dark place again. "Or any of the vehicles?"

"I know we had to hit a truck or two," Cedes replied. "As for people . . . I am not positive."

"I am almost sure I did," Bree said. "I think I shot someone." The last two words wavered, and she gulped back tears.

"Sometimes you got to, to insure your safety. It was self-defense," Sam said, so calmly to Bree comforting the girl. He turned to the group surrounding them. "How about some of you get your flashlights and look for blood on the ground? Cedes, about where were the vehicles positioned?"

"Everywhere they were trying to keep my attention away from the gas tanks," she replied, pointing out the area with a sweep of her hand.

Several men went to their trucks to get their flashlights, and in the case of a couple of them, handheld spotlights. Others got in their vehicles and moved them back, out of the designated area. Sam watched for a silent half minute, then turned back. "I didn't pass anyone driving without lights."

"They'd have taken the side road and stayed off the highway," Carl Howell said. "And if they knew the side roads, that means they're from here."

"Found some blood," Brett shouted out. He was standing at the edge of the parking lot directly in front of the store, looking down. Sam and the others strode over; Cedes and Bree stayed where they were. She took Bree's hand. Before the shootout, she'd have been deeply upset at the possibility she had shot and wounded someone, but she and Bree had been on the receiving end of their shots, and she found it difficult to care. Considering how fast all of the attackers had been moving, she doubted any of their wounds were fatal. That was the only pity she felt.

Evidently she had a bit of savage in her, after all.

Sam and the others quickly returned. He stood in the center and looked around at all of them, effortlessly assuming the role of authority. They were tough men, men who were used to hard work, to hunting for food to feed their families, to putting themselves on the line, but they all looked to him without hesitation. He had been the one they all wanted in charge from the beginning, and now that he was here they'd have to be fools to not listen to him.

"We need to look at every vehicle. Like Cedes said, the odds are more than one of them took a bullet. We also know at least one person was wounded. Talk to people, find out who got hurt tonight, supposedly while hunting or something like that." Sam looked around at all the men, his gaze hard. "Pay attention to everything. There'll be threats from the outside, but right now the biggest danger is from people right here in this community."