Page 77 of Hudson
Hud stayed on his knees and watched it go.
“Hud.” Alex stood over him. “We need to move.”
“I have to call Abbie.” Hud stared at his hands. Dark with Creed’s blood. “What do I even say to her?”
“The truth. That’s all you can do.” Alex held out a rag.
Hud stood and wiped his hands slowly, then pulled out his phone and stared at it. “He has to make it, Alex. Abbie’s pregnant.”
Alex went very still. Something moved across his face, and he said nothing for a moment. He didn’t have to.
They both knew about their late colleague, Macauley Carter, whose widow had delivered their baby after they put him in the ground.
“Creed never said anything.”
“He told me the day we went to Whitefish.” Hud exhaled. “He was happy about it.”
Alex was quiet for a moment, then put a hand on his shoulder. “He’s tough. Tougher than most. We have to hold onto that.” He paused. “Ride with me to the hospital?”
“No. I’ll take my truck.” Hud turned. “Tell Luke toride with you.”
“Sure.”
Beau McCallister came walking toward him across the dark field.
“You alright, Hud?”
“Yeah. Just settling myself before I make a call.”
“I can call Abbie if you want.”
“No.” Hud shook his head. “I appreciate it, but it’s mine to do.”
“Understood.” Beau crossed his arms. “Good news is we got all of them.”
Hud looked up. “White?”
“Pissing and moaning about Fitch giving him up, but yes. We’ve got him. Nine total, one dead. We’ll get names back at the office and hand them off to the sheriff’s department.”
“Thanks, Beau. I’m heading to the hospital after I make this call. Let me know if one of the names is Whittingham.”
“Will do.”
Beau turned and walked back across the field.
Hud stood alone for a moment in the dark. This job could hollow a man out if he let it. But every one of those agents would be back out here tomorrow without a second thought, same as him. It wasn’t something you could explain to someone who didn’t live it. It was just who they were.
Hud grabbed the water bottle from the cupholder, poured it over his hands and watched the water run dark before it ran clear. He dried off with the paper towels he kept behind the seat, climbed in and got moving.
He called Abbie on the way. She held herself together the way strong people do when they have no other choice, but her voice shook at the edges and heheard it. He told her he’d meet her there.
Behind him the field was emptying out. He watched in the mirror as headlights swept across the tree line one by one and moved away, until there was nothing left but the darkness and the quiet of the pasture.
An hour later he was still in the waiting room. No one had come out. He sat with his elbows on his knees, head down, hands clasped between them.
He wasn’t a man who prayed often. But he did tonight.
That man has been through enough. Dear God, let him live.
