They left behind weapons, evidence, damaged property, and the remains of the confidence they had arrived with.
The fire department sirens sounded in the distance.
Police would come later.
Conveniently later.
But Otis no longer cared about that.
The game had changed.
And Wade Gryom still did not fully understand who he had chosen to threaten.
By morning, yellow police tape fluttered around the smoldering remains of the barn.
News vans gathered near the property line.
Inside the farmhouse kitchen, Otis and Shirley watched the local Channel 8 broadcast.
The report showed carefully selected footage.
Billy Gryom being carried away.
Several injured men receiving medical treatment.
Then Wade appeared on screen, his expression carefully arranged into something resembling grief.
“We were just checking on old Freeman,” Wade said.
“Heard some strange noises. Wanted to make sure he was okay.”
He paused dramatically.
“Then out of nowhere, violence.”
Shirley’s coffee cup hit the table harder than she intended.
“They edited out the fire.”
She stared at the television.
“The graffiti. The threats. Everything.”
“Of course they did,” Otis replied.
His voice remained calm, but the anger underneath it was unmistakable.
“Channel 8 is owned by Wade’s cousin.”
The reporter continued.
According to the report, Otis Freeman was a local farmer with possible militant ties who may have used excessive force against concerned citizens investigating suspicious activity.
Dre burst through the screen door.
“You seeing this?”
He pointed toward the television.
“They’re saying you attacked them.”
He pulled out his phone.
“It’s all over social media too.”
Shirley took the phone.
Post after post repeated the same distorted version.
Otis was dangerous.
Otis was unstable.
Otis needed to be arrested.
The people who had attacked his property were being recast as victims.
“We have the real footage,” Otis said.
“It shows everything.”
“Already downloaded it,” Shirley replied. “But Channel 8 won’t air it.”
She scrolled farther.
“And Wade’s family lawyer is calling for your arrest.”
Outside, more reporters arrived.
Cameras pointed through the fence.
People gathered along the road.
Some looked curious.
Others openly hostile.
Dre paced the kitchen.
“This ain’t right.”
He shook his head.
“We’ve got to show people what really happened.”
“Working on it,” Shirley said.
Her fingers moved quickly across her laptop.
“I’m contacting national outlets.”
She looked toward Otis.
“But the local stations are already building a story around you being some kind of dangerous militant.”
Otis stood.
His massive frame blocked part of the morning light.
“Need to talk to Mike.”
“Sheriff Latimer?” Dre scoffed. “Man, he’s probably in Wade’s pocket too.”
“Maybe.”
Otis reached for his keys.
“But he knows me.”
He paused.
“Twenty years of being neighbors counts for something.”
Shirley touched his arm.
“Be careful.”
Her voice softened.