There’s a small canopy tent along the metal crowd control barriers that divide the back and front. It’s completely covered by a mesh net and huge tarp that acts as the entrance to the side of the stage. Unless you want to risk jumping ropes and barricades, you have to go through there to get backstage.

No one is guarding the entrance, so I poke my head in through the tent flap to find two guards sitting down playing cards. There’s no one else around and their guns are stashed on a table at the far side of the tent.

Both of them look up at me.

“Oi, you’re not supposed to be in here,” says the man closest to me.

I step in, Gus follows, and I close the flaps behind us.

The first man stands up.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say, “I’m just looking for the bathrooms.”

The guy lets out a breath, smiles tightly, then points. “Around the corner to the left.”

I step forward and offer my hand. “I just want to say thank you guys for putting on such a great show. God bless you.”

The guy raises a curious eyebrow at me, then shrugs and shakes my hand. When his bullet proof vest and blue jeans hit the canvas rug below us, the other guy jumps up so fast he knocks the card table over spilling soda and chips everywhere, flips back over the cooler he’s sitting on, and lands on his back.

I run over and grab his exposed ankle, and … he’s gone too.

“That was so loud,” says Xeno. “Can you sneak around, oh, I don’t know, a little more sneakily?”

“That band is ten times louder,” I say, strapping a bullet proof vest on as fast as I can. “No one heard anything.” I grab a ball cap, a pair of shades, strap one of those AK-47s to my back, and enter the side stage area … only to collide with a woman.

She practically bounces off of me and lands on her butt.

“Watch it,” she says.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say, leaning over to offer my hand, but she shoves it away and pulls herself up.

The stage is about seven feet off the ground, and we're on the side without a ladder. To my left, there's another canopy tent that leads to the crystal. Further back, there's a dusty path winding around to the rear of the stage, where I can see some RVs parked. And there’s no one else in direct sight, save for the entertainers and light/sound engineers on the stage.

Gus comes in behind me, does a circle around the girl, then comes back to stand behind my legs.

She looks to be about my age. Short blonde hair, short jean shorts, low cut shirt that says God Made Aliens Too. Her face is covered in freckles, and she has this little button nose. She’s also wearing cowboy boots.

She eyes me warily for a moment, looking me up and down. Then she squints, and her nose crinkles up.

“I don’t recognize you,” she says. “Daddy had me vet every single one of yall before you signed on as security. And you, sir, don’t look familiar.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Did I mention she has this adorable southern drawl? You don’t hear that very often in Utah.

“Oh,” I say, “Uh. Well, that’s because the guys in there asked me for help. They, uh, had to take off, and I … wait, who’s your daddy?”

She squints at me again then pulls a walkie-talkie off her belt and puts it to her mouth. “Jeff, are you there?”

“Just send her,” mumbles Xeno against the handle of the gun.

“Wait, hold on, who’s Jeff?” I say, stepping towards her.

She gets wide eyed, points a finger at me, and takes a step back.

“Copy that, Miss Brock,” comes the voice over the comm. “How can I help?”

“Miss Brock?” I say. “Doctor Brock. So you’re the preacher's daughter?”

“If you worked for us you'd already know that,” she said, pulling out the pistol she kept at her side.

I can’t help but roll my eyes. I’m getting so sick of people pointing things at me.

I can almost feel Xeno goaning.

Gus makes a little whining noise, but doesn't move.

“Now, I’m gonna need you to put your AK down on the ground, really nice and slow-like,” she says.

“Where you at?” comes Jeff’s voice from the walkie.

“By the side entrance. I have another one of them crazies here trying to wreck the show again.”

“Government or fanatic?” says the voice.

“Can’t tell,” she says. “Could be either.”

“Listen,” I say, setting my gun down. “I just want to meet your dad. Okay? I don’t want any trouble.”

Gus barks, helpfully.

“Sure, you just want to meet him.” The incredulousness in her tone is palpable. She doesn't put her gun away, but she glances down and says, “cute doggy you got there.”

“Thanks,” I say, smiling. “His name’s Gus.” I reached down with one hand to scratch behind his ears.

“Keep your hands up, please,” she says.

“Sure, sure,” I say, showing her my palms.

She frowns, motions with her head to my hand. “What happened there?”

I look at my palm, then back at her. I suck in a breath and let it out slowly. “Long, long story,” I say. “That’s actually what I came to talk to your father about.”

“What do you mean?”

The band up on stage sings, I’m so blessed, I’m so blessed, got this heartbeat in my chest …

“Look,” I say, “I’m not here to disrupt your show or hurt anyone. I’m here to save people. Just like he is trying to do. Just like what you’re trying to do.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You, see—”

“This him?” says a man to my left. I turn to find a tall fellow with a flat top haircut and a very serious looking face holding his AK at me.

“You’re Jeff, I presume,” I say.

“Yeah, that’s him,” says Miss Brock, holstering her own gun.

Jeff approaches me, picks up my gun, and makes a gesture to turn around and walk back the other way with a “come on, let’s go,” insinuating that he would follow me out. To what end, I have no idea.

Gus goes, Bark bark.

“Just one thing,” I say, as Jeff gets close to touch.

I lunge forward, grab Jeff by the exposed arm. He grunts and recoils, but not enough to break from my grip.

I stumble forward as his body vanishes and his whole attire falls to the dusty ground.

Miss Brock gasps, covers her mouth with both hands, and takes a few steps back. For a moment she just stares at me wide-eyed.

Then Gus walks up to her, sits a foot away, sticks his tongue out, and tilts his head like a curious, innocent puppy.

I lift my hands up again to show her I mean no harm.

“Well, now she’s seen too much,” says Xeno. “Now you have to send her.”

Miss Brock lowers her hands at the sight of a pair of speaking lips on the palm of my hand and gives me an astonish, squinty, horrified look.

I clap my hands and rub them together really well with a tight lip cringe. “Hey, look, I can expla—”

Her eyes roll back and she passes out.

“Oh, great,” says Xeno. “You killed her!”