Badlands (5 page)

“Do they touch kids?”

“I don’t think so,” she said, disturbed by the question. She’d told him about child molesters out of necessity. He had no fear of strangers, no shyness. One day he’d wandered off in the library when her back was turned. After a frantic search, she’d found him talking to a friendly older man. Later, at home, she’d explained the danger.

She doubted any of the kidnappers were pedophiles, but the threat of rape had felt very real to her. A woman of color surrounded by racist gang members was at high risk. She thought about the way Dirk had manhandled Owen, with threatening postures and suggestive insults. These men weren’t above using sexual violence as intimidation.

She felt another pang of guilt for leaving him. This was all her fault. He wouldn’t have taken this job under normal circumstances. Her father had probably appealed to his sense of chivalry, claiming she required special protection.

If she hadn’t been such a coward and a pushover, none of this would have happened. She should have moved away from home three months ago, when she graduated. Or sooner, before her father announced his candidacy. She hadn’t because her father claimed it wasn’t
safe
. He’d insisted on enrolling Cruz in a private Catholic preschool for the same reason. After he offered to pay full tuition, how could she refuse?

Her father doted on Cruz, spoiling him with expensive gifts. He was like the son Jorge had always wanted. And Cruz needed a man in his life, so she didn’t complain. If her father had his way, Penny would marry a young conservative—Cuban, perhaps, because there were so few Mexican-American Republicans—and move in next door.

She should have stood firm and been more independent. She should have told her father flat out that she had feelings for Owen.

Now it was too late.

She couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing him again, never asking for another kiss. With a strangled sob, she touched her trembling lips, trying to recapture that tender moment. Her fingertips tasted like salt and something else, a dark tang. With horror, she realized that she had dried blood on her hands.

“I’m scared,” Cruz said.

“So am I,” she replied, hugging him close.

CHAPTER FIVE

“G
ET
UP
.”

Shane woke Owen by kicking the bottom of his foot. He wrenched his eyes open, studying the tan nylon tent fabric inches from his nose. Dirk had dragged him inside last night, where he’d drifted in and out of consciousness. His mouth was dry and his throat ached. His midsection, which had taken the brunt of the blows, felt like raw hamburger. When he tried to raise a hand to his face, he encountered resistance.

Handcuffs. Now they were in the front.

Shane was standing outside the tent, smoking a cigarette. His motorcycle mask was pulled down to his neck. He had a 9 mm tucked into his waistband.

Owen’s stomach roiled at the smell of tobacco. He groaned, trying to piece together the events from the night before. His brother had attempted to kill him, or maybe just scare him into believing his life was in danger. It had worked; he was scared. He’d only been knocked out once before, after the earthquake. Waking up under a collapsed freeway with a band of escaped convicts, himself included, had been pretty fucking horrible. Getting strangled by his own brother, even more so.

“Your bitch ran off with her kid,” Shane said.

Owen blinked a few times, processing the information. He was glad Penny had escaped, but the badlands was a treacherous place for a woman and child with no shelter or supplies.

“Don’t call her that,” he said, rolling over and crawling out of the tent.

“A bitch or yours?”

He winced at the early-morning light. “How did she get away?”

Shane took another drag. “Went to pee, grabbed a rock and bashed Gardener over the head with it.”

Owen spotted Gardener on the other side of camp. He had a purple goose egg on the left side of his forehead, and he looked nauseated. Owen had to give Penny credit for a simple, effective attack.

While the crew got ready to search for Penny and Cruz, Owen studied each member, memorizing as many details as possible. Most of them were wearing hats and sunglasses, with handkerchiefs over their faces. Next to Shane, Dirk was the strongest, medium height and loaded with muscle. Sometimes that kind of bulk could slow a man down, but Dirk’s movements weren’t clumsy. He was armed with a handgun, like Shane.

Gardener was the weak link, even before his injury. He had hound-dog eyes, a receding hairline and a rounded gut.

The other two men, Brett and Roach, were in between. Brett was small and wiry, tough like a bullfighter, with dusty-blond hair. Roach had longish dark hair. He was taller than Dirk, almost as tall as Shane. His pale skin and slouching physique gave Owen the impression that he played a lot of video games.

Owen rated them by threat level. Shane was a five, despite their family connection. Dirk, four; Brett and Roach, three; Gardener, one.

No one tried to guard Owen as he found a rock to urinate behind. He couldn’t get far in handcuffs and wasn’t going anywhere, anyway. Not without Penny and Cruz. He helped himself to a jug of water, rinsing the old blood from his mouth before taking a drink. Then he eased his shirt back on to his shoulders and fastened the single remaining button. Bruises were already beginning to form on his battered torso.

A few minutes later, they loaded into the SUV and followed Penny’s tracks. She’d stolen Gardener’s boots—clever.

They lost her trail quickly. She’d left the softer terrain of the wash and traveled across the hard-packed hills. Shane parked the SUV and got out, muttering under his breath. Going after her on foot would be a hassle. Penny couldn’t outdistance them with a child in tow, but if she found a good place to hide, she had a chance of evading them.

She could also die from heat and dehydration. Fear stabbed Owen’s chest. He didn’t know whether to root for her or not. She might be safer with them.

Shane searched for a sign of her while the rest of them waited in the SUV. He cursed and kicked a cactus, annoyed with it for getting in his path. Then he looked south, his eyes narrow. “Let’s check out the mud caves.”

Owen wasn’t familiar with every inch of terrain between here and the border, but he knew the mud caves. Situated a few miles away, the domelike structures offered a network of tunnels and caverns, formed out of dried clay. Beyond the caves lay a five-palm oasis with ample shade and a seasonal pool of water. From there it was a half-day’s hike to the old railroad, which led back to civilization. If Owen got the opportunity to break free, he could orient himself and survive out here. He could guide Penny and Cruz to safety.

Shane drove south and parked as close to the mud caves as possible, walking the final mile. The early-morning sun was already blasting heat. Living near the coast for so long had thinned Owen’s blood. Eighty degrees felt like a hundred. They were all sweating as they approached the cave’s entrance.

One by one, they stepped out of the harsh sun and into the cave’s cool, dark recesses. It was almost like entering an air-conditioned room. Owen squinted into the cave, letting his vision adjust to the lack of light.

Dirk bent to pick up a scrap of fabric on the dirt floor. He brought it to his face and inhaled, as if sniffing panties. “This is hers.”

Shane inspected the blue-green material and turned to Owen. “Call out to her.”

Although his body still ached from last night, he hesitated. He’d take another beating before he betrayed Penny.

His brother drew the 9 mm from his waistband and pressed it to Owen’s cheek. This wasn’t up for discussion. “Do it.”

“Penny,” he shouted, his voice hoarse with anger. Most of it was directed at Shane but some bled inward. He’d been warring with these feelings his entire life. This sick, dysfunctional mixture of love and hate. As much as Owen loathed his father, he’d also sought his approval in many ways. He’d learned welding, his father’s trade, to earn a rare pat on the back. He hadn’t wanted to be like his father, but he’d wanted be
liked
by him.

That desire had never quite faded.

He was furious with Shane for picking up where their dad had left off, and with himself for being unable to break this vicious cycle.

Penny didn’t answer his call. She might not be able to hear him. She might not even be inside the cave anymore. Some tunnels went on for miles and offered multiple escape routes. Others were dead ends.

Shane returned his gun to his waistband, his eyes moving from Dirk to Brett. They were brothers, too, Owen realized. The younger, smaller Brett was a criminal-in-training.

“Give Brett your piece,” Shane said to Dirk.

“What for?”

“I’m sending him in. They might be hiding in a narrow space. He’ll fit through the tight spots easier than you.”

Dirk handed his weapon to Brett, seeming to be disappointed. He wanted to hunt down Penny and terrorize her himself. “How will he get her out?”

Shane sucked on his lip, thinking. “Owen, you go first. Make her come to you.”

“And if she won’t?” Brett asked.

“Tell her you’re going to shoot Owen in the head.”

Brett’s mouth went slack. He wasn’t as hardened as Dirk, or as macho. “O-okay.”

“If she still doesn’t come out, shoot him in the foot,” Shane conceded. The guy who’d pulled his punches last night was gone, replaced by the cold-eyed sociopath who’d choked Owen into submission. His brother was good at intimidating people, staying in control. He could flip the switch between charming and cruel in an instant. Penny’s actions had challenged his authority—and this was payback.

Dirk smiled at Owen, enjoying the tension.

“You two, walk around the perimeter,” Shane said to Roach and Dirk. “If you find another entrance, guard it. I’ll stay here.”

They followed his instructions, leaving the mouth of the cave. Brett trained the gun on Owen while Shane removed his cuffs. Owen needed free hands to navigate in the dark. Between the twisted tunnels, armed escort and men blocking the exits, he’d be a fool to try running away. Or so they thought.

Owen rubbed his chafed wrists, his blood pumping with adrenaline. He wasn’t going to let an amateur like Brett shoot him in the foot. He’d take advantage of any opportunity to escape. He’d create an opening if he had to.

Shane had brought supplies from the SUV’s glove compartment. They had walkie-talkies and flashlights. Brett clipped the walkie-talkie to his waist and held a mini-flashlight in his teeth, gesturing for Owen to precede him. The setup wasn’t ideal. Owen’s shoulders kept blocking the beam of light. Brett wasn’t stupid enough to let him hold the flashlight, so Owen crouched as low as possible, picking his way forward.

He was comfortable in this kind of setting. Dark, confined spaces didn’t bother him, even after his experience in the earthquake. Neither did heat, usually. During his firefighter training, he’d endured both better than most students. He’d grown up near the badlands, in Salton City. High temperatures and harsh conditions just reminded him of home.

They came to a fork in the tunnel. Owen stopped and listened, detecting the faintest hint of wind. He couldn’t wait any longer. If they reached the end of the cave before he had a chance to strike, all would be lost.

“Bats,” he shouted at the top of his lungs, flapping his arms around.

Brett looked up at the ceiling of the tunnel, where there
were
bats. Sleeping bats, tucked up and motionless.

Owen seized the moment of distraction. He grabbed Brett’s right wrist and slammed it against the cave wall, knocking the gun loose from his grip. It clattered to the floor, along with the flashlight from Brett’s surprised mouth. Owen couldn’t see his face, but he didn’t need to. He drew back his arm and punched Brett in the stomach with full force. The air rushed out of him in an audible whoosh.

Brett doubled over, as men who’d been gut-checked often did. Owen grabbed Brett’s head and brought it down on his raised knee, crushing the small bones and cartilage in his nose. The blow was delivered with enough force to knock him out, apparently. He slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Owen scrambled for the gun and flashlight. He also took Brett’s walkie-talkie. Then he crept forward, his heart hammering against his chest. “Penny?” he called out, unsure which direction to take.

He had no idea how they would get out of this. His actions might have saved them or sealed their doom.

* * *

P
ENNY
JOLTED
AWAKE
with a start.

She’d had a dream about Owen. He’d been calling out to her in the dark, crawling through the earthquake wreckage, searching vehicles full of dead bodies. She was pregnant again, sitting in the passenger seat of her aunt’s car. Not trapped under the freeway, as she had been, but among the victims in the massive pileup outside. Owen had found her and reached inside. His grasping hand was blue-tinged, his forearm ropey with black veins.

Shivering, she cleared her mind of the disturbing image.

Cruz was about ten feet away from her, carving designs on the wall with a sharp stick. It was hard-packed clay, not crumbly, but it had a fine, siltlike surface. The powdery substance clung to her dress and skin. Cruz looked like he’d taken a bath in it. He was singing songs under his breath, not being quiet at all.

“Shh,” she told him, straightening. “Did you hear anything?”

“No.”

“Come here.”

He dropped the stick with reluctance and returned to her side. The light coming from the hole in the ceiling seemed a little brighter. She took a sip of water, doubting she’d slept more than an hour. “How long was I asleep?”

“I don’t know.” He had no sense of time. Five minutes was an eternity to him.

She put her arm around him and listened, her pulse still pounding from the nightmare. Although she was exhausted, she couldn’t believe she’d drifted off. She’d been quaking with tension and sorrow, tortured by the thought of Owen dying.

Catastrophic events made some people stronger. Owen had been a hero during the earthquake. He’d emerged from prison a reformed man. At his national park job, he’d proven himself again by rushing to help a female ranger in trouble. These experiences had inspired him to pursue a career in rescue work. He was naturally courageous.

Penny wasn’t.

She’d had the opposite reaction to trauma, retreating from any hint of danger. Playing it safe was more her style. She didn’t know how she’d drummed up the nerve to hit a man over the head with a rock. If not for the blood under her fingernails, she’d have suspected the episode was just another bad dream.

“I’m hungry,” Cruz whispered.

Penny gave him a drink of water. It was the only thing she had.

“When can we leave?”

“Soon.”

“What happened to Owen?”

She swallowed hard, unable to answer without breaking down. Although she had mixed feelings about prayer, she said a silent plea in her desperation, begging God to spare them.

“I’m bored,” Cruz said.

“You don’t like this cave?”

“I want to see the rest of it.”

“I bet there are bats.”