After Darkness Fell (24 page)

“Think you can make it?”

The growing exhaustion had been weighing heavily on my shoulders ever since I’d reached the top of the hill. I forced it away. I wasn’t quite ready to lie down. I still had a couple of things to do before calling it a day. I reminded myself that if I could climb a steep hill like this one, going down the other side would not be nearly as difficult. “I know I can.”

He was staring at my wound again. “You look pretty well done-in. If you want me to help you down this drop, tell me now. We’ll give it helluva try if you want, but it’ll definitely slow us down ...”

I frowned. I knew he was just being considerate, but I wasn’t in the mood to hear something like that. I intended to see this through, and I’d do it on my own two feet.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep up.” I holstered the Ruger and zipped up my jacket. Then I began squeezing through the heavy brush just as a sudden burst of gunfire slammed into the crest of the hill a hundred feet behind us.

It took us about five minutes to get to the bottom of the hill. I lost my footing several times, stumbling and nearly falling, but grabbed some exposed roots to keep the momentum from pulling me down the hill. My friend stopped during my first mishap and took a few steps back up the hill to help me, but I motioned for him to keep going. Reluctantly he turned back around and continued his descent. The widening gap between us inspired me to get right back up. My light-headedness drifted back a few times, but I focused on Fields, and in no time I was alert and in control of myself again.

Just when I thought my legs would give out, we’d reached the bottom of the hill.

The Desert Scout held straight out, my friend scanned the road and the woods as he hurried across the road. I could barely keep up with him, but it didn’t matter; I knew where he was going. My limbs had become concrete pillars, and my hips screamed in agony with each step. My wounded arm burned like hot coals, stabbing me with each beat of my heart. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to keep moving. Each step brought me closer to Fields; I kept reminding myself how far I’d come, how much closer I was to finding her. We needed one another, and even though I was exhausted and bleeding and barely able to stand, none of it mattered because I was convinced we’d be together again.

I finally made it to the other side of the road. The light-headedness returned as I stepped into the brush and trudged through the tall weeds hiding the big vehicle from view. Once again I ignored my discomfort and focused on reaching the truck. It was an effort to pull open the door, as well as to climb in, but I’d come much too far to give up. Grabbing the door handle and armrest, I pulled myself up. It took a mighty effort to slide my pitiful butt into the seat, but as soon as I did, my body melted, and I experienced a sensation of ecstasy I’d never realized existed.

My friend had already climbed in and situated himself behind the wheel. He’d laid the Desert Scout on the back seat, placed a Colt .45 auto on the console between our seats, and reached into his pants pocket. My pulse hammered as I watched him pull out a ring of keys, select one and jam it into the ignition. I was certain the big machine wouldn’t start. The key would be the wrong one, and he’d have to take a very long time to find the right one. There were probably a dozen other keys on the ring, and by the time he was able to start up the truck, Simon’s gang would drive by in their truck and kill us.

My fears were quickly proven wrong. The SUV started right up. It took only a second or two for him to shift gears and ease the big vehicle through the thick grass, over the hilly shoulder and onto the road.

I found myself staring numbly at the road as he accelerated to 60, then 65, in no time at all. Then I glanced at the .45 on the console and thought of Fields. I thought of the previous night, just a few short hours ago, when I’d found her .38 in the woods. In that same instant, just as I found myself growing angry again, I noticed that I wasn’t holding the Ruger. My neck grew warm and my heart sputtered. Forcing myself not to panic, I pressed my left arm firmly against my side and felt the hard bulky shape hanging there. Relieved but still not convinced, I opened my jacket. There it was, resting in its holster under my left arm.

“Still there?” my friend asked.

I nodded.

“I saw you holster it at the top of the hill. Good move.”

It was a good thing I’d been thinking clearly back there. Otherwise, I would have probably fallen down the hill and lost it in the weeds.

I pulled it out. As I placed it in my lap, I glanced out the side window, expecting to see the distant figures of two riflemen appearing in the middle of the road, kneeling, aiming, sighting us in...

The road was deserted.

I sat back in my seat, fastened the harness and fought off more waves of dizziness. I couldn’t let go. Not now. There were more urgent matters to tend to. I had to tell this man about Fields while I was still conscious. Once I collapsed, he wouldn’t have any idea why I was even out there. He’d take me to wherever his place was and would bandage me up, but this wouldn’t help Fields. This wasn’t the time for me to slip away. I had to tell this man what we had to do, where we had to go.

“You oughta be tending to that wound,” he said. “I’d do it, but we’ve got to...”

“Listen ... I’ve got to tell you about...”

“They almost killed you back there.”

“I don’t care about that. I have to...”

“You’re barely able to stay awake, Moss. What’s so damned important that you don’t even care if that wound gets infected?”

I took a deep breath and blurted it out. “Those psychotic assholes took my girlfriend. The man in charge ... he ... they’re out here somewhere.”

“I know.”

He knew. He knew about Fields. This stranger somehow knew about Fields. I couldn’t grasp the concept. Was I already losing it? Imagining all this? Slipping into deliria?

What the hell was going on?

I suddenly felt as if I’d just turned on the TV in time to watch the tail end of a good story. This stranger knew my name. He knew I was former military. He even knew where I was. But most incredible of all,
he
knew about Fields
.

“Did you just say what I thought you said?”

“Moss, you don’t look so good. You need to rest. Lie back and...”

“Answer me, dammit. Did you or did you not say you know about my girlfriend?”

“Yeah. I did. Now lie back and relax.”

What the hell was going on? Any dizziness that had been flickering around me had just fled into the darkness. And the throbbing in my wounded arm had eased up. This was a good thing, because right now I didn’t have time for dizziness or to worry about the hot throbbing in my arm. I was pretty angry and confused right now, and wasn’t about to let minor distractions take over. I had to find out who this man was and how he knew about me and Fields.

“Who the hell
are
you? And how do you know I was in the military?”

“The name’s Shaw. Harry Shaw. You can call me Harry...”

“Listen, Shaw. I really appreciate what you did back there, and I’m indebted to you for getting me out of there and all, but my lady is out here somewhere and...”

“We’ll find her, Moss. We have a pretty good idea where they are.”

“He’s got a regular car lot behind his house out on Cherry Hill Road. I don’t even know what vehicle he’s...” I stopped talking when the chills drifted slowly down my spine.
We
. He’d said
we
. “Did you just say
we
?”

“Settle back in your seat. We’ll be there in just a few minutes.”

This was too much. I was afraid I really was hallucinating. In fact, I suddenly had the sinking feeling that I’d actually died somewhere back there—possibly when Marlon was holding his gun on me. I was beginning to suspect Marlon
wasn’t
the one who was shot. I might have this all wrong. Maybe
I
was the one who’d been shot. When I died, my spirit got everything mixed up the moment I entered the other side and started sniffing around.

I gazed at the Ruger in my lap. Touched it, picked it up. Held it in my hand. Put it back down. Felt the wrap Shaw had given me back there. Then I tapped my pocket where I kept the flask he’d given me. Everything was there.

This situation was real. I was real. The seat I was sitting in was real. The vehicle we were riding in was real. The man sitting beside me was real.

And he’d just said “we.” Not “we,” as in the two of us, but “we,” as in he and someone else.
We have a pretty good idea where they are
. I couldn’t get much of anything else out of that statement. The only thing that made sense was that I was real, Shaw was real, and there was someone else, someone Shaw had just mentioned.

I only hoped this other person was also real.

“What the hell’s going on?” I couldn’t believe the words had left my throat in a coherent flow. Couldn’t believe I’d been able to ask the question at all.

“Trust me, okay?”

“I don’t know what’s going on, Shaw. I don’t even know if I’m still alive. If you’re actually sitting there. I want to believe I’m alive, but none of this is making any...”

“You’re still alive, Moss. If you’re doubtful, just slap yourself on the arm.”

I wasn’t
that
irrational—not yet, anyway.

“Listen to me, now. We know about Simon, and we know where he’s taking Miss Fields. Just settle down and try to relax. We’ll be there in about ten minutes. Think you can hold on until then?”

“What the hell do
you
think?”

***

Shaw mashed his foot down and got the SUV doing 75 on the narrow country road. I sat back in the seat and immediately felt my tense limbs relaxing. Due to the crumbling pavement and frequent turns, Shaw struggled to keep the SUV from going off into the ditch, and we screeched around the hairpin curves, thumping the bumpy shoulder several times. For some reason, it didn’t bother me. At the moment, all I cared about was the comfortable seat and the calming sensation of the inside of my eyelids. And this man had just said he knew where Fields was.

I heard Shaw mumbling a little later, and figured he might be trying to explain what he’d meant before, when he’d used the word “we.” My curiosity got the better of me, and I decided this would be the time to find out what was going on. I opened my eyes, but he’d already stopped talking. He stared straight ahead as he drove, gripping the wheel with his right hand. His left hand soon joined his right. I thought I saw it come out of his jacket pocket, but I couldn’t be sure.

“Did you say something?” I asked.

He shook his head and kept driving.

“I thought I heard you say something.”

“You’re tired, Moss. Relax.”

He was only half right—I was more than tired. I closed my eyes and let my tortured body melt into the seat. The steady humming of the SUV gradually dimmed, my limbs quit aching and my arm stopped hurting. My world grew dark and soft, almost dreamlike. The darkness dimmed and turned gray, then silver, as if a heavy fog had just lifted. Shapes appeared in the fog. They gradually darkened, and as they drew nearer, they grew more distinct.

A long, thin black figure approached, growing lighter and more distinct, and finally turning into Fields. She was dressed in jeans, tennis shoes and her red tee shirt—the one with the tiny silver stars that I liked so much—and her hair was full and shiny. She stopped just a couple of feet away and bent over me. Her hair brushed against my face. It felt like a warm summer breeze had kissed me, and my body tingled all over.

Then she kissed me on the forehead, and when her face was just inches away, she whispered, “Why did it take you so long to get here, Moss?” But she was smiling, playing with me, and I knew things would be okay, and we’d never be separated again.

I wanted to say something equally glib and cute. The first thing that came to mind was, “Traffic was heavy,” but when I opened my mouth, I found that I couldn’t talk. A large lump had filled my throat. The excitement of being with her again had no doubt turned my brain into overload, and my body wasn’t able to function properly. Or maybe I was more exhausted than I thought. Whatever the reason, she understood. Her smile still lit up her face, and she continued stroking my hair. Then she whispered, “It’s all right, Moss, everything will be just fine once you get up.”

I knew exactly what she meant. We had to return to the farm and continue living our lives. It was vital to put this nasty nightmare behind us and go on, somehow, living day by day, as before. But we couldn’t do anything until I got up and took her back to my grandparents’ farm.

I tried getting up but quickly discovered that I couldn’t. I was stuck to the ground, and no matter how much I struggled, something held me down.

She watched me patiently, and after a few moments held out her arms. She spoke again, but this time her voice sounded different.

“Get up, Moss.”

Her voice had lowered in pitch, turning into a man’s voice, one that sounded very familiar. In fact, as I tried analyzing it, I realized that it sounded like
Reed
.