No Turning Back - Chapter 30

Close The Door

Max lifted his head, ears pricked toward the door.

Gerhard remained at the window, nudging the curtain aside with one finger. He held the musket steady in his other hand, finger tight against the trigger.

Johann stayed close behind him, every muscle braced.

Jakob stood near the door, shoulders tense. He glanced back once at Johann, then reached silently toward the hearth, snatching up the iron poker leaning against the stones.

Johann’s eyes darted to Heinrich. A muffled drumming filled his ears—his own pulse, maybe. Or hooves.

Outside, the distant rhythm of an approaching horse stirred the stillness. Inside, Max’s nails clicked against the wood floor as he paced, tail stiff.

Gerhard didn’t move, his eyes fixed on the road beyond the curtain’s edge.

“Bailiff,” he muttered, crossing to the door and opening it partway.

The man outside fidgeted in the saddle, reins bunching slightly in his gloved hand.

“Afternoon, Gerhard,” the bailiff said, tipping his head.

Gerhard didn’t move. His eyes narrowed. “You alone, Otto?”

The bailiff hesitated, his lips tight. “For now.” His voice was dry, almost bitter.

Jakob pushed the door wider as he stepped beside Gerhard, fire poker in hand.

Otto blinked. “Jakob. You rode early.”

“And you brought trouble, sure as hell,” Jakob said, scanning the lane behind the bailiff.

Otto sat stiff-backed in the saddle, one hand brushing the brim of his hat before falling to his side.

“I know you, Gerhard. Always have.”

Jakob didn’t move. “That don’t mean much now, does it?”

Gerhard shot him a sidelong glance, but Jakob kept his gaze locked on the bailiff.

“So you know I warned him,” Jakob said, tugging his beard.

“Figured as much.” He didn’t wait for a reply, eyes already shifting toward the trees.

Jakob grunted.

“I saw what’s coming…” Otto muttered, struggling to keep his horse steady as it pawed at the wet ground, tail flicking.

He leaned forward slightly in the saddle. “You’ve got only minutes. They’re not far behind.”

Jakob swore under his breath, gripping the poker tighter.

“I rode hard,” Otto said, eyes skimming past Gerhard. “Took the long way. Made noise heading south, then doubled back.”

“Took you long enough,” Jakob muttered.

Gerhard cleared his throat, lifting one brow at Jakob in quiet warning.

“I found the horse. Shrine road, near the cross.” He shifted his grip on the saddle horn, boots creaking in the stirrups.

Gerhard’s jaw tightened. “You didn’t tell them where to find me?”

“No.” He paused, fingers drumming once on the pommel. “No, I didn’t tell them.” He looked Jakob dead in the eye. “Someone else might have.”

Jakob stiffened.

Gerhard’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t press. “Why not?”

Otto backed his horse a few steps. “Because I think they came here wanting a hanging, not justice.”

Gerhard’s fingers flexed on the musket, his grip tightening slightly. Johann stood rigid behind him as Otto’s words landed like a blow to the chest.

Heinrich stirred on the straw bed, a faint grimace tugging at his mouth.

Max whined.

Gerhard stepped forward onto the porch, shifting his body deliberately to block Otto’s view through the doorway.

“You should go, Otto.”

“I will.”

Gerhard relaxed his grip on the musket. “You didn’t see anyone?”

Otto’s gaze held for a moment before he answered. “I didn’t stop.”

Their eyes met. A silent understanding passed between them.

The bailiff cast a tense glance toward the house, wheeled the horse, and rode off without a word.

Jakob turned to Gerhard. “Think they followed?”

Gerhard bolted the door with a sharp click. “I would have.”

He turned to Johann. “We move him. The cellar.”

Johann opened his mouth to speak, but Gerhard cut him off.

“There’s no time. We move him now or he hangs from that oak tree.

Gerhard was already moving. “Wrap the blanket tight. Keep his leg steady. Jakob—get the hatch.”

Johann dropped to his knees beside Heinrich, pulling the coarse blanket tight over his shoulders and splinted leg, tucking the ends in to keep them from dragging. There was no time to be gentle. Heinrich was clammy with sweat again.

Jakob crossed the room in three quick strides and wrenched open the hatch set into the floorboards near the hearth. The wood groaned under his hand. Cool, damp air curled up from the darkness below.

“Max, come,” Gerhard ordered. The dog gave a low whine but obeyed, padding to the far wall, ears pinned.

Gerhard knelt opposite Johann. “Lift on my count,” he said, voice low. “One…two…”

They raised Heinrich between them, careful but swift. He gasped, his head dropping limp against Johann’s arm.

The cellar was no more than a root room—stone walls, crates of potatoes, onions hanging from twine, and shelves lined with jars and stone crocks. The air was cool and musty.

Jakob knelt in the corner, spreading a blanket without a word. As he straightened, his hands brushed the dirt off. “Colder down here, but it’s the safest place for him,” he muttered.

Johann scowled at the shadowed space. “And for us, too. For now.”

“Better cold than dead,” Gerhard muttered, kneeling to check the splint and pressing the back of his hand to Heinrich’s brow. “Jakob, hand me the jar behind the onions.”

Jakob passed it over without a word.

Johann glanced at Heinrich’s face—pale and tight with pain. He wished there were something, anything, for the pain, but before Gerhard could do more than twist the jar in his hand, hooves sounded faintly above them.

All three froze. Dust sifted down from the ceiling.

Jakob turned sharply to Johann. “If they’re hunting two, best you stay down here.”

Johann hesitated, his jaw tight, but Gerhard didn’t even look up. “Jakob’s right. Bar the hatch after us. Don’t open it unless it’s one of us calling you by name.”

Gerhard and Jakob climbed the cellar stairs swiftly, their footsteps muffled against the worn boards. At the top, Gerhard turned once, eyes catching Johann’s for the briefest moment.

“Bar it,” he said, his voice low but firm.

Johann reached up and slid the heavy iron latch into place with a solid clunk. Above him, the hatch settled into its frame, and the light from the main room vanished as it clicked shut. Darkness closed in.

He held the latch, breath caught in his throat. Crouched beside Heinrich, he strained to hear every sound above.

Upstairs, Gerhard yanked the curtain shut with one swift pull and stepped back from the window. Jakob was already moving—dragging a stool near the hearth and adjusting it as though it had always been there. The fire crackled and popped, casting flickering shadows across the floor.

The knock came almost immediately—sharp, deliberate.

Gerhard exchanged a glance with Jakob, then picked up the musket again before striding to the door. He eased it open just a hand’s width.

A man stood in front of the stoop, his coat too fine for a farmer—dark wool, tailored to fit. Dust clung to his boots. Four more men waited behind him, horses tossing their heads, hooves sucking at the wet earth.

The man at the door offered no smile. “Afternoon,” he said. “We’re looking for someone.”

Gerhard didn’t blink. “That so?”

“Two young men. One injured,” he added, without an introduction.

Jakob moved closer, the iron poker low at his side.

The man’s eyes darted toward the movement. “Mind if we come in?”

Gerhard’s jaw flexed. “I mind.”

Jakob stepped forward, poker still in hand, though lowered to his side. “It’s a small house. Ain’t much you can’t see from there.”

The man at the front took the porch in one stride. His posture spoke of command, and his fine-cut coat, dulled by road dust, set him apart from the others. A soldier’s beard framed his face, and his gaze didn’t waver. A leather satchel hung at his side, and a revolver rode his hip, heavy and visible.

“Army business,” the man added, flashing a folded paper stamped with the Prussian eagle. “One’s wanted. The other’s just missing. Word is, they headed this way.”

Gerhard tilted his head, unimpressed. “Plenty of folk head this way. Roads lead everywhere.”

The stranger’s mouth twitched. “Funny. You always keep two sets of boots by the door?”

Gerhard didn’t flinch. “My son visited last week. Left in a hurry. Weather turned.”

Behind them, one rider shifted in the saddle, eyes sweeping the yard, the outbuildings, the woods beyond. Another lifted his chin and sniffed the air, as if expecting to catch a scent. He turned his head slowly, not unlike a hound picking up a trail.

For a moment, no one moved.

The stranger smiled—tight, unfriendly. “You’ve got a reputation, old man. That’s why we came here first.”

“And I aim to keep it,” Gerhard said, feet planted wide.

A long silence stretched between them.

Jakob stood rigid, eyes locked on the mounted men.

The man stepped back; the chill trailing at his boots.

“We’ll be nearby,” he said finally. “Don’t go far.”

Gerhard turned away with controlled anger, closing the door.

The bolt slid home with a muted clunk. He tested it with a small jerk, then stood still.

“Heinrich’s not the only one at risk,” he muttered.

Jakob’s fists curled tight. His lips pressed to a line, eyes fixed on the floor. He didn’t speak.

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