The clubhouse lasted less than twenty four hours after the warrants hit national news. That was all the time we got.
One day.
One final day inside the place that had become home. After that, Devil's Hollow disappeared.
At least that was the plan. Reality looked a lot messier. The moment federal agencies started circulating our photographs nationwide, every road became dangerous and every motel became a potential trap, while every gas station carried the possibility of somebody recognizing our faces from television.
The walls were closing in and everybody knew it but nobody said it out loud.
The atmosphere inside the clubhouse felt different as members packed equipment into trucks and loaded weapons into hidden compartments. Not defeated. Not hopeless. Just tired.
Months of war had ca
