The rickety wooden door shook two or three times before it finally came off its rotting hinges and collapsed to the floor in chunks. Clint Land came through the door, a shotgun in his hands. Just behind him was Echols, his service pistol out and ready for what they found. Both men wore kevlar vests PCSD stamped on the front and back. 

"It's Spencer," Land said as other deputies came into the house with them. "Down on the ground, sir."

Roland Spencer complied, sprawling out on the floor and saying something Echols couldn't hear. Off to the side, a dead body lay. Blood ran from a head wound and stained the floor. The color and movement of the blood told Echols it was fresh, just a few minutes old. He held his hand up for quiet from the rest of the group. In the sudden silence he heard Spencer talking.

"Went out the window, maybe you can catch him. Fucking Chew and Dante, didn't mean to do anything other than provide for that boy."

"Get the dogs, Clint," Echols said as he turned to leave the house. "We got more hunting to do."