Blood of Cain (Sean O'Brien (Mystery/Thrillers)) (50 page)

She kicked at the lid. Pounded with her fists. She took short breaths through her nostrils, the odor inside the coffin smelled of sawdust and mud. She lay there and listened to the sound of dirt falling against the top of the tomb. She prayed silently. Thought about her grandmother. “Sean, where are you?” Then she felt as if the walls to the tomb were closing in, her breathing labored, asthma coming on strong. She pursed her lips into the pipe that protruded inside the casket. She fought for her breath, her lungs burning.

Dillon stood over the grave and smiled, the full moon rising in the sky far beyond his shoulders. He bellowed, “I smell the promise of rain!”

Courtney screamed, used her fingernails to claw at the lid of the coffin, her mournful cry sounding as if it came from the center of the earth.

A rising full moon was my only light source driving the twisting logging road around the edge of a mountain. Tree limbs and branches raked down the side of the rental car. I set my phone on the center console and listened to Dave give me random directions from satellite GPS signals that could definitely see the forests, but not the trees. “Sean, looks like you’re within maybe three or four hundred yards from what appears to be the perimeter of Dillon’s compound.”

“What are you getting from Courtney’s phone signal?”

“It’s stationary, and it’s weak. Hasn’t moved in more than an hour. I’m worried.”

“How far do you think it is from where I am right now?”

“Mile, maybe a little more.”

“I’m running out of what’s left of this logging trail. Got to go the rest of the way on foot.”

“I’m following you. Stay off any obvious paths into the compound. You don’t know if they’re booby-trapped. He could even have buried a few landmines.”

I saw a text message pop up on my phone. Reading it, my blood ran cold. Dillon Flanagan wrote:
I know you’re here little brother - during the great flood, God murdered everyone on earth except Noah’s family - He set an example for me to follow – bury your heart because Courtney will perish in the flood waters - and you’re next, as was Abel-

I sat in the car and re-read the text, my thoughts racing. I shut off the engine, grabbed a flashlight from the glove box, extra rifle cartridges, and stepped out into the light of the moon. The tall cedars cast shadows across the trail. I could smell pine needles and rain in the air. I glanced up in the sky, the full moon bright, but clouds in the distance, the dark guts of the clouds streaking with veins of heat lighting.

Dave said, “What’s happening? I can tell you’re not moving.”

“I just received a text from Dillon. I’ll read it to you. He said:
‘I know you’re here little brother - during the great flood, God murdered everyone on earth except Noah’s family - He set an
example for me to follow – bury your heart because Courtney will perish in the floodwaters - and you’re next, as was Abel.’
”

“Is that all he wrote?”

“Yes, but it’s enough. It looks like a hell of a storm is brewing over the mountains. Look on your satellite topography chart and find a low-lying area.”

“There aren’t many in the Blue Ridge Mountains.”

“Find someplace that might be prone to flooding. A valley or gorge, maybe. Someplace that could be susceptible to flash flooding, and somewhere close to Dillon’s compound.”

“Give me a minute. You think he stuck her in a ravine somewhere?”

“Yes. He said to bury my heart because Courtney will perish in the floodwaters. I think he buried her somewhere, and the rain is coming.”

“Sean, he’s laying a trap for you.”

***

Courtney tried to control her breathing. The coffin was almost airless, muggy and hot. Perspiration soaked her blouse. Her left cheek was throbbing and swollen from Dillon’s kick, lower lip puffed-up, dried blood crusted in one corner of her mouth. Soft light from the moon came in through the pipe, illuminating her face damp from sweat. She forced herself to stay calm. It was the only way an asthma attack wouldn’t return.

She thought about Boots, his smile and his kind encouraging words. She remembered the long talks she used to have with Isaac, and how much his dog meant to him. She remembered Sean’s dachshund, Max—her big brown eyes, the way she could catch a piece of food in mid-air. Courtney smiled. She thought about her grandmother. A single tear spilled from her eye and rolled down her cheek, falling onto the wood beneath her head.

She looked through the pipe, watching the moon, watching a wisp of dark cloud floating in front of the moon. The interior of the coffin darkened for a moment, and then the cloud passed, the light returning. She lay there, staring through the pipe, the light coming from so far away. And then a large cloud seemed to devour the moon.

And the interior of the casket was the darkest black Courtney had ever seen and felt.

Lightning popped in the sky above the Blue Ridge Mountains, each burst of light giving the mountains the look of dark purple dinosaurs slumbering since the ice ages. I used the light from the cracks of lightning to help me see through the woods, trying to stay off worn paths and heading in the direction of Dillon’s compound.

The rain began falling in large, heavy drops coming through the gaps in the tree limbs.

I plugged an earphone into my phone and said, “Dave, I’m close to the village. I can smell wood smoke. It’s raining. Can you hear me?”

“Barely. Sounds like you’re in a tunnel. I think you’re about a half mile from where Courtney’s signal is originating. Maybe it’s the interference from the rain, but her location signal is getting weaker. Head toward the two o’clock position. And hurry.”

I ran, branches and limbs slapping me in the face and across my chest, the rain pouring harder. Within a minute I was entering the compound. I stayed on the fringe, working forward but staying in the perimeter near the woods. I could see light in the windows of the cabins, the light flickering like it was coming from kerosene lanterns. I heard the braying of a donkey in the night, could see farm animals standing next to one another under the limbs of an oak tree in a small pasture bordered by a split-rail fence.

I heard the rush of water, a fast moving creek. Lightning cracked and I could see a lot of water pouring from the end of a wooden trough, gushing in a torrent onto the blades of a grist mill, the wheel spinning. I had to find Courtney, and I had to do it within minutes. My immediate regret was that I didn’t take Dillon out when I had the chance. I’d saved a man’s life, and now my niece was very close to losing hers.
Come on big bother, step out of the shadows.

Dave said, “Sean, you’re less than five hundred yards. Head toward the noon position. Go straight. Can you—”

“Dave! Can you hear me?”

Nothing. Only white noise in my earpiece. I’d lost him.

I ran, gripping my rifle. Not willing to use my flashlight yet. A hard rain fell, the drops stinging my face as I ran.
Hold on Courtney. Just hold on
.

***

Rain dripped inside the pipe and fell onto the center of Courtney’s forehead.
Drip … drip … drip.
After a few minutes, the drops felt like rocks hitting her between the eyes. She could hear water rushing outside. “Oh God,” she whispered. “I don’t want to drown … please … help …”

Water began seeping in the casket through the joints, a slight trickle, enough to wet the back of her hair. She felt the air go out of the coffin, pushed her mouth closer to the pipe and breathed. Rain hit her in the back of the throat. She could hear Dillon’s mocking voice:

‘Drowning is a bad way to go ‘cause it takes so long to die. Lungs burn, you cough, spit up water, trying so hard to catch a breath of sweet air. Then you’ll have nothing but water to breathe, and you’ll finally begin to surrender … sort of dreamlike because in the casket you’ll plainly hear your own heart beat its last thump-thump.’

***

I tried to run in the direction that Dave had last given me. I heard static in one ear, the waterfall of a pounding rain in the other ear. I pushed farther, knowing that the rain would smother the noise of my approach. Unless Dillon and his men could see me in one of the flashes of lightning, I didn’t think I’d be ambushed. I knew I couldn’t see them any better than they could see me. But they knew the land, and if Dillon had set a trap, I might trip over a wire that would detonate a shotgun blast to my chest.

As I ran, I tried to get a feel for the terrain, to see where the elevation began to fall—to find a chasm that might be a deluge of water in a hard rain. I jogged downhill, almost stumbling into what appeared to be gorge between two mountains. It was very muddy. The ravine apparently carved from rain and storms through centuries. Water was covering my shoes. Moving faster.

“Sean, can you hear me?”

Dave was back. His voice scratchy, like it was coming over poorly insulated copper telephone wires. “Yes, I hear you.”

“You’re less than one hundred feet from Courtney.”

“I’m in a ravine. It’s filling with water. If it’s been raining hard back wherever the canyon begins, there might be a flashflood any minute.”

“Keep going in the three o’clock position.”

“Okay.” I trudged through the rising creek. Lightning flashed and I saw something odd entrenched in the side of a large oak tree adjacent to the ravine. I switched on my flashlight, panning the rushing water, looking for any sign of Courtney. I panned over to the giant tree and saw an old logger’s double-blade ax embedded in the tree. It was as if someone had started to chop the tree down years ago, but walked off and forgot about the ax.

The rain pelted the surface of the rushing water with the intensity of millions of drumsticks splashing in water. I slogged through the water, shining the flashlight beam across the surface.

There it was.

The end of the pipe was less than two inches above the surface of the rising water.

I didn’t know if running over to the pipe would be the last run of my life. I pointed the flashlight beam around the creek-bed, looking for signs of tripwires or shotguns mounted in trees. Nothing but pouring rain and rising black water. I approached the exposed pipe carefully, reaching below the water and feeling for wires. It seemed clean. Then I took a deep breath, aimed the light into the pipe, and looked down the hole.

An eye stared back at me.

It was a frightened but beautiful eye, matching the captivating depth and colors I first saw in Courtney’s eyes. I knelt down and shouted into the pipe. “Courtney!”

“Sean! Help me!”

“I’ll get you out.” I glanced around the outskirts again. There was nothing but a torrent of rain. I looked back down at the pipe. The water had risen another quarter inch. I reached under the water and felt at the base of the pipe. The rushing water had eroded loose dirt. The entire top of the wooden box was exposed. I used my hands to remove mud around the sides of the box. I needed a shovel.

I ran to the tree, propped my rifle against the trunk and grappled with the end of the ax handle. I pulled. It was deeply embedded, the old oak had a powerful hold on the blade. I didn’t want to break the handle so I gripped the head of the ax, on either side of the blade and pulled. Suddenly, the hair stood up on the back of my neck. Lightning exploded somewhere at the top of the massive tree, limbs and leaves falling like confetti around me. I was blinded for a moment, closing my eyes and pulling with every ounce of my strength. The tree let loose its grip, and the ax was free.

I ran back to the box that imprisoned my niece. “I’m here! Hold tight, Courtney.” I used the ax blade to as a trowel to shovel mud from the edges of the box, working as far down as my arms would reach. The water was now less than an half inch before covering the end of the pipe. I straddled above the box, planting one foot on either side, reaching down in the water, slowly pulling. The box came up about three inches, almost buoyant. I squatted down, planted my legs in the mud, and slowly pushed the box into a higher position, using my shoulder to give it the last heave. It stood upright in what was fast becoming a white water river.

I reached for the ax and yelled. “Courtney! Keep close to the back of the box.” I raised the blade and tore through the lid, ripping away splintered wood. I used the blade to cut through a half dozen nails and tore off the remaining wood. Courtney stepped out and fell into my arms. She sobbed. I held her closely rocking her gently, stroking her wet hair. I said, “You’re safe now. Everything is going to be fine.”

She nodded and looked up at me, and then past me, her face melting into absolute horror.

“No, little brother. Everything is not going to be fine. At least not for you and our adorable niece. She was even sweeter at age twelve.”

Dillon Flanagan stood less than six feet from me, pointing a .44 magnum pistol at my chest.

Dillon wore a black Australian bush hat, rainwater pouring off the brim. A burst of lightning nearby illuminated his face. It was a face I’d seen before—and one I hoped I’d never see again. I saw nothing of my mother in him. I did detect features of Father Thomas Garvey—the flame-blue eyes with the powerful compelling intensity. His eyes seemed to capture and hold the streaks of lightning for a few seconds after the light faded in the night sky. Arched dark eyebrows. Cleft in his chin. He wore a Van Dyke beard.

Dillon grinned and said, “But you didn’t know her at twelve. As a matter of fact, you knew nothing of the family until you stumbled into us.”

“Put the gun down. We can talk this out. No more need for violence.”

“God often saw the need for violence. It’s in our genes, inbred in us by the competing forces of nature, of good and evil. The human race is a race of disgrace—a lineage of mongrels.”

“Just let Courtney, our niece, go. If there’s something you feel that needs to be said, to be settled between us brothers, we can settle it.”

“Our niece? You didn’t know the girl existed until recently. Brothers? What does that really mean? We had the same mother. Quite different fathers. That’s one of the reasons I’m standing here with a gun pointed at you. I spawned from a superior gene pool, directly linked to ancestors who were some of Ireland’s most feared and respected leaders. We fought, killed, and ate the flesh of Roman soldiers. Caesar feared us.”