barrel of a rifle in his back and escorted him a few yards down to dig the next hole. There were only a few more posts to sink before the fence on this part of the field was complete. Marco guessed that they would move on to clearing the brush and trees next, before they got to planting. It was anybody’s guess if Magnus would let them live beyond that.
Marco had tried to escape a couple of times since the raid. He’d even gotten a few miles away once, but the overgrown animal trails all looked the same out there. Left, right, or straight-ahead—there was no way to know whether you were headed to civilization or deeper into the wilderness. In the end, he always made a wrong turn and practically walked right back into camp. Magnus usually gave him a slap on the back and an extra helping of venison stew.
“Welcome back,” he’d say, practically laughing himself out of his chair. “We were starting to worry we’d lost you.”
Marco was exhausted. He’d had enough for one lifetime.
“Just shoot me then!”
“I probably would, but then we’d never see your friend Greg again. You’re the bait in this elaborate mousetrap of mine.”
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