Courage Dares (21 page)

Connor glanced back to where the avalanche thundered down the mountainside. The dragon had roared, carrying two lives with it.

Judd and Ramone stood at the edge, staring down at the boiling snow, their captives momentarily forgotten.

"Blast it all, Mary. Move!" Every second cost them.

"But...."

"Go!"

"I can't. Judd won't know where to dig," she cried, wringing her hands, looking forward, then back, then forward again. "Ira saved my life."

"And killed your neighbor."

He saw her uncertainty intensify. Sometime along the trip she had "bonded" with Ira. Connor had noticed it growing stronger as the days passed.

"You go," she cried. "Get out of here."

He shook his head. "Not without you.”

"I can't let Ira die— even if he is a murderer. Not when I'm able to save him." She began to cry.

“Oh, Mary!” Her tears cut him in half, wrenching through his love for her and their need to escape. "I'm not leaving you." He spoke flatly, his decision final.

"Please," she begged.

"No. We both go or we both stay."

The decision made for her, Mary spun around and ran for the deep woods. Connor ran after her, staying far enough behind not to step on the ends of her snowshoes.

A shot sounded behind them. He didn't stop, but Mary did, and he almost ran over her.

"Keep going!" he yelled.

"Get back here!" Judd roared, running toward them. "On the double." He fired another shot for emphasis.

In a split second, Connor assessed their chances. At the sound of the first shot, Mary had frozen, losing her momentum. If she’d have continued, they might’ve made it.

They had had their chance and blown it.

Failure upon failure. It was enough to make anyone want to give up, but Connor couldn't. Wouldn't.

She turned and slowly walked back.

"Well, you get your chance to save Ira," Connor said, walking beside her. "Go to it."

Her face straining under the tension, Mary picked up the shovel and hung it back on the side of her pack. "I'm sorry. I should’ve run when you told me to."

He started to agree, then simply shrugged and followed her. She was a tender, caring woman. It was the part of her nature that appealed to him most— and it wouldn't allow her to willingly leave a person to die.

He couldn't blame Mary. Just because he didn't feel any compunction over wasting these thugs— especially if the mountains were going to do it for him— it didn't mean she had to feel the same way.

She walked past Judd as if he didn’t exist, moving out to where the cornice had disappeared. Once there, Mary stepped out of her snowshoes. She thrust first one and then the other into the side of the bank, alternating them to form handholds as she descended the steep ridge along the path of the avalanche.

Connor followed, wishing she’d gone the long way down. Then the two might be dead by the time they arrived.

"What’re you doing?" Judd bellowed.

"Digging them out!" Connor yelled back, feeling a surge of pride with the statement, knowing that Mary's decision lifted her well above the level of selfish men like Judd.

"Wait!"

"Forget you." Ignoring the possibility that Ramone might shoot, Connor worked his way down to where the broken snow had stopped in a small bowl-shaped area. Mary had discarded her pack and was shoveling away the snow.

"How can you tell—" he started to ask, then saw the tip of a snowshoe protruding out of the broken crust. "Here, let me. You search for the other one." He took the shovel from her and scooped away the snow, packed surprisingly tight. He’d uncovered enough to know it was Wes, when Mary shouted, her voice filled with elation.

"Here's Ira. He's alive. A tree stopped him."

"Good. You want the shovel?" He could finish digging Wes out by hand. The thug was upside down and quite helpless.

"Not yet. I've got his face clear. Finish over there first."

Connor grunted. He’d rather not. Taking his time, he dug out Wes' face, noticing it was already blue. Was he alive?

Connor's left hand hit Wes' Baretta, and he stopped digging to yank off his right glove, using his bare hand to find the snap that secured it in its holster.

This would even the field. With both Wes and Ira incapacitated, he and Mary could get away, especially with the AK-47 now buried under tons of snow.

"Don't even think about it." Judd's voice startled Connor with its closeness.

He looked up into the barrel of Judd’s gun, pointed at him. Connor straightened, pulling his hand carefully away from the Baretta.

"Step back. I'll finish here."

Connor climbed out of the hole he had dug and walked a short distance away. He was shaking with rage and the aftermath of reaction. Suddenly he realized he had been digging while still wearing his pack. He undid the waist strap, dropped the load in the snow, and sat on it, momentarily defeated.

He had gotten the gun unsnapped and halfway free before Judd spoke. A split second more and he’d have had it out. He swallowed back the bitter taste of disappointment.

They had lost again.

Win some, lose some. By now he had become used to the pain of losing— but he had also learned that losing didn’t mean giving up. They’d try again.

He had about five hours left before they started whacking off fingers. He rubbed his right hand dry on his parka, wiggled all five fingers— he couldn't imagine one missing— then put his glove back on.

They'd still let him fly, wouldn't they? Douglas Bader, the World War II ace, had flown with two artificial legs.

Connor shuddered. If Judd cost him his career...!

The opportunities to escape were coming faster. He had to be ready to act. The dragon didn't win until it killed you.

Mary tore away at the snow around Ira's face. It shone pale but bloody, deeply lacerated from his tumble down the mountain. He was unconscious, but still breathing.

She had brought her pack along with her and now pulled out the first aid gear, applying a pressure bandage to the worst cut. As she wiped the blood off his face, he opened his eyes.

"Hello." Dazed, he blinked and looked slowly around. "What happened?"

"You took a ride on an avalanche."

He had a small amount of blood coming from his nose and mouth that wouldn’t stop when she wiped it away. Bright red. Frothy.
Lungs.

"Ah...yes. I did. It was like... like being in a cement mixer— tumbling loosely as I came down. It set up rock hard once I stopped. I didn't know which way was up.”

"Lucky you landed near the surface. Why did Wes shoot?" she asked, bandaging another gash on the back of his head.

"He thought he saw a bear."

"I told you to stay away from the edge." With Judd’s time limit pressing on her, Mary felt angry at Ira and Wes for causing the avalanche—and thus delaying them.

"I thought we were. But the bottom dropped out. There aren't any bears around here, are there?"

Mary shrugged. "Most are in hibernation. You get the odd one coming out, now and then." She uncovered Ira's arms and he moved them experimentally, nodding when he saw everything worked.

"How about your chest? Break any ribs?" Unzipping his coat, she checked carefully along his rib cage, worried about the frothy blood which continued to form at his mouth.

He gasped and she pulled her hands away.

"Ah... yes. I guess I did. How's Wes?"

"I don't know. Connor dug him out." She glanced over to where Connor sat, looking like the world had dropped on him, and raised her voice to call. "How is he?"

"Okay."

"Then why—" She didn't bother finishing. She’d ask later, tonight, in private. "Bring the shovel. Ira's legs are buried."

Ira pushed the snow away from his hips. "Maybe I can pull free—"

"No!" Mary cried, wanting to check them first. Too late. One tug brought forth a gasp of pain, and Ira slumped back onto the snow, unconscious.

As Connor retrieved the shovel from Judd, Mary pawed away at the snow, dreading what she’d find. She wasn't equipped for a serious accident.

"Here it is,” Connor said, bringing the shovel over. “What's wrong?"

"His leg's injured." She met Connor's gaze, as grim and depressed as her own. "You'll need to dig him out, but be careful. His legs could be in any direction."

"Okay." Connor started shoveling. "You know what this means."

"Yes." She pressed the bandage harder against Ira's facial wounds, trying to stop the bleeding. "Further delay. Oh, Connor, I'm sorry!"

"What about? You didn't cause the avalanche."

"But if I'd have gone when you wanted—" She shook her head, rocking back and forth on her knees.

Connor paused, then dug faster, throwing the heavy snow off to one side as if to release his frustration and her remorse. "You wouldn't have been able to live with yourself. You made your decision, Mary. I made mine."

"I know. I know." She covered her face, exhausted with the burdens she carried, the choices she’d been forced to make. "It's all too much.... I can't stand it."

Connor paused again before moving to Ira's other side. "One of the officers I served under— a good man— once told me that you make a decision based upon experience and the information you have at the moment. Right or wrong, you make it. You have to."

"But if it's wrong—"

"You find that out when you face the consequences."

She looked up at him, wanting to accept his words, but unable to at this point. "As we’re doing now."

"Correct."

"And if the decision is wrong? Injures someone? Takes a life?"

He set the shovel aside as he looked at her. "You learn to live with the consequences— and to do that you have to accept that you made the best choice at the moment. Period. It's what taking responsibility is all about. Making a decision and living with it, right or wrong."

"Easy to say, but—"

"Hard to do. But remember, it was my decision, too."

But made, Mary knew, only because of her. She stared down at Ira's pale face. After she’d come back for him, he had better survive.

"What's wrong?" Judd stumbled heavily across the rough surface to where Ira lay, half buried from the avalanche.

"We don't know yet," Mary said, anxiously watching Connor as he finished digging a crescent-shaped hole around Ira's legs. They scooped the remaining snow away with their hands. The right leg lay straight out, then sideways.

"It's broken. Badly." Mary shuddered as she got her first good look. Trading places with Connor, she unzipped the bottom of Ira's ski pants to reveal his jeans. They were frozen stiff. She glanced up at Judd. "I need my knife."

"Here." He handed it to her and she cut Ira's jeans from the hem upwards to his injury. Even though she had seen wounds like it before, her stomach turned at the sight—jagged bones protruding through skin, the blood turning his leg a bright red.

Judd leaned forward to see. "Is it bad?"

"Very bad." She check upwards. "There are several breaks. The worst is an open, compound fracture, just below the knee. I'll splint it while he's unconscious, so we can move him."

"Move him? Why? Leave him here."

"You can't do that."

"We can't carry him."

"It's better than leaving him. Why, anything could happen." She turned toward Connor. "Tell him. He can't be left."

"She's right. He needs medical attention, or don't you believe in that?"

"Later. Leave him water for two days. We'll go to the cabin, get a sled or something for a stretcher and come back."

"We could rig a makeshift sled,” Mary said. “It’d be better to take him." She glanced down at the unconscious man. "Unless you want to send in a helicopter. They might be able to lower a basket to him. They couldn't land here."

"Then we'll do that," Judd said, but Mary no longer believed him. If she protested too much, Judd would simply shoot Ira. Like Connor said, they shot horses.

She swallowed back the bitter taste rising in her throat and stated simply, "We have to move him, he's in an avalanche path on this slope. Look at the way the trees are pushed over.”

"Where shall we put him, then?"

"Over there. That rock formation will protect him."

Connor collected several sticks from the tree which had stopped Ira's fall. He helped Mary secure the splint and then wrap Ira's ribs. The murderer regained consciousness as they finished and watched as Mary got him ready to move.

"We’ll put you in a safer place," she told him. "We'll send help."

"Sure." He didn't sound too convinced. Mary decided he had no illusions about Judd.

Ramone joined them and the three men carried Ira to the rocky area. Wes followed slowly, still shook up. As they placed Ira in his sleeping bag, Mary looked overhead. The low, racing clouds could mean another storm moving in. More storm meant more snow. She pointed it out to Judd.

"He must have shelter. His sleeping bag won't be enough."

"Why d'you care?" Wes demanded.

"He's another human being. Of course I care," Mary snapped. "Aren't you glad we dug you out?"

"Huh!" Wes scowled and turned away, kicking at the snow.

"He needs a tent," she said, gazing down at Ira's closed expression. He displayed no reaction to Wes' selfishness.

"Not mine," Wes protested, making Mary angrier than before. Didn't he have any feelings at all?

"Leave him mine with the wooden pole," Judd muttered. "That'll be good enough. He won't be moving around inside."

It took a half-hour to set up the tent and place Ira inside. Then the men stepped out—their presence threatened to knock the tent down— and walked a few yards away, discussing the avalanche danger among themselves. Inside, Mary set out the bullion cubes and the hand-sized emergency stove she carried.

"This burns butane. I have only two cartridges, but—"

"You keep it, Mary," Ira said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"I won't need it. It's a back-up."

"They won't return. Judd's glad to be shut of me. One less to divide the jewels with."

"Jewels? I thought you wanted an antique chest?"

He laughed, gasped at the pain. "One and the same. The jewels are in the chest. We lifted them during a robbery of a high-priced jewelry store. A cop saw us through the window. Wes shot him and Judd shot his partner. I killed the store clerk to eliminate witnesses."

"Just like that. You killed them for no other reason?"

"It was good enough. Life's cheap to me, Mary. Don't make me something I'm not."

"And Ramone? What did he do?"

"Ramone drove the car. He's a killer too, especially when they can't shoot back. He's vile."

"And the chest? How does it come into this?"

"Some of the jewels were unique— traceable. We were suspect, so we stuffed the jewelry inside the padded lining of the chest and left it with Judd's grandfather.

"We got caught doing another job. Served our time. Meantime, Ms. McLarren bought the chest at an auction of the old man’s estate. Judd wants them now that he's found a man willing to buy the lot for three mil.”

She stared at his pale face, tinged with blue. He was still bleeding from the mouth. Did he realize how bad off he was?

"You're telling me all these things.... Why?"

"I'm dead. Judd won't come back. He'll kill you both."

"But why...?"

"Witnesses. The jewels tie him in with the murders at the store. He can't let you live.” He coughed and winced from the pain. "He'll also kill Mrs. McLarren."

"
Connor's mother?
"

"Right. Judd won't overlook her.”

"She's hidden."

"She better stay that way. Good-bye, Mary. Watch out for Ramone."

He held out his hand and she took it, then gasped as she realized he had palmed his knife and was pressing it into her hand.

"Oh!" She jerked away from the smooth handle—as if she had unknowingly grabbed a snake and felt it coil against her hand.

Ira pushed it back into her grasp again.

"Take it. Until you came, I had forgot what a decent woman could be like. My younger sister was like you— sweet and innocent and saw good in everyone. She even wore her hair like you."

"Like this?" She fingered the long strands falling over her shoulder. They bore chunks of ice on them, weighing them down like beads on a string.

He nodded. “The first man I killed had molested her. He claimed she had consented and the judge let him go. I didn't. I heard him bragging and offed him. I served three years for that."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm not worth it. I've watched myself go from bad to worse and hated every moment— yet done nothing to stop. I know I could have, if I'd have made the effort. But it was easier to drift. I never liked this gig from the start. Kidnapping a woman." He spat out the last with disgust.

Mary stared down at the double-edged blade, honed to razor sharpness. "If we get away, we can send someone back—"

"Don't bother." He undid his belt and worked off the knife's sheath. "Here. I wouldn't wish Ramone on anyone. Stick the pig if he tries anything."

She shuddered as she pushed the knife into its sheaf. "I don't think I can."

"Then give it to Connor. He won't hesitate."

"But, you'll die—" A tear fell. Another followed.

"I like it here. Peaceful. If the cops come, they'll send me to prison. I can't stand being locked up any longer. Not after this. I love these mountains. I'd never been in them before."

Strange. Mary felt the ordeal had diminished her love of the mountains, while for Ira it was the opposite. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. Leave me be. And, Mary...."

"Yes?"

"It's been a long time since a woman cried for me."

Self-conscious, she wiped away the tears, but more came.

He continued on. "I don't deserve it. You're a good woman. Rare. Not many like you, that I've known."

"I... I don't know what to say."

"Get out of here. Maybe at last I can get some peace."

"I don't understand."

He extended his hand, palm upward, as if showing her something. "Ghosts. The people I killed. Their faces won't let me sleep. Maybe now, they'll leave."

"I... I..."

"Go on. Take your stove with you. I won't use it."

"Then I will." She picked up the items and returned them to her pack. "Good bye."

Using the back of her hand, Mary wiped her face before she emerged from the tent. The hidden knife poked her in the ribs.

Ira was the only one worth saving. He wouldn't last the night. He’d make no effort to keep alive— probably not even drink the water she had left.

The others stood in a group several feet away, packs on, ready to leave. Connor's arms were again bound to his side.

She stared bitterly at the Velcro straps.

What had she done? Her indecision could cost their lives— and the life of Connor's mother. She should’ve let Judd dig them out.

Except Judd wouldn't have gone down to rescue them, she thought bleakly. He’d have let them die while he chased Connor and her and caught them, somehow, even if he had to shoot them. If Judd ever got the jewels, the rest of them were dead.

With Ira gone, Ramone's threat became real again. She could already see the calculation in his eyes as she walked past him to take the lead.

Grim-faced she motioned them forward. They only had about an hour until dark and they had hardly made any progress today.

Dropping down this slope had put them closer to the cabin than the van. If she went left instead of right, she could lead them close enough to the cabin that she and Connor could make it tonight.

Wearing mittens on their feet would hold back frostbite. Once there, she could dig out an old pair of boots and run to the highway for help. Connor might have to wait— she didn't think any of her father's boots were still there.

Another decision. Left or right? It could cost them their lives or save them. She was leading. She had to decide.

Dear Lord, help me make the right choice.

As they entered the tree line, Mary swung toward the cabin. If Connor wished to try for the van, she had just added more time to the trek.

The sun set in less than an hour, but Mary pushed on forty-five minutes longer until the last edge of twilight remained. She stopped in a small clearing surrounded by trees on three sides and a twelve-foot drop-off on the fourth.

She felt like they had been traveling all day instead of just a few hours. The constant strain sapped her energy, her mind, her will to resist. She had to force herself to focus on the possibility of escape.

Walking around the clearing to check it out, Mary looked over the edge of the bank. Too steep to climb, but the snow was over four feet deep. If she and Connor managed to leave tonight, the jump down shouldn't hurt them. It would put them immediately out of hearing from the tents.

Removing her gloves, she stared down at her hands, red and rough, chapped from the many days in the open. When would Judd cut off Connor's finger? Tonight? Tomorrow morning? She dreaded stopping, as it meant bringing that awful moment closer.

Dropping her pack about ten feet from the bank, she motioned Connor over. As she stripped off the Velcro straps, Ramone walked over and stood guard close to them, too close to allow her to slip Connor the knife. Ramone's dark eyes followed Mary's every move, devouring her with intent.

She’d pass Ira's knife to Connor inside the tent. Then maybe he could get Ramone's gun. She opened the tent and placed her camping supplies inside. As she reached for Connor's pack, Ramone stopped her. "Leave it. He's sleeping outside tonight."

"Who changed the arrangements?" Connor's voice grew quiet.

"I did."

"That's not—" Mary said.

"Stay out of this, Mary," Connor said.

"But he can't—"

"Stay out!"

"Don't fight him, Connor. Avoid trouble," she cried. How could she give him the knife? She looked quickly over at the others. Wes was undoing his pack while Judd had started to walk out to gather firewood. Judd stopped for a minute, then turned and walked into the woods, saying nothing.

No help there.

Ramone laughed, the sound destroying Mary's stability. "I make the rules, now, McLarren. And I say you sleep outside tonight, tied to a tree like a dog, while Mary and I get all cozy. Thanks to her, we're short one tent, or didn't you notice?"

Connor didn't speak, his rage expressed in his stance.

Her mouth dry, Mary pointed toward her things already in the tent, hoping to get Connor to enter. "You'll need a stove. Come inside. I’ve an extra one in my pack."

"He won't need it," Ramone said, "although I'll be generous and let him have his sleeping bag."

But I need to give him his—"

"Shut up. Move. Over there." He indicated a young fir growing by itself just above the drop-off. Another tree had fallen next to it at some time and scraped all the branches off one side, leaving it as bare as the soul of the killer.

"It's bed time for you. Play time for me."

"Mary...." Connor's gaze seemed to burn through her. It wasn’t reproachful, as it should’ve been. After all, she had cost them their freedom. Instead it was a gaze of dark desperation, as if he was pushing himself toward a decision.

Even as she watched, it changed, subtly, into a resolution so fierce his eyes seemed to glow. It frightened her. What had Connor decided?

To fight? With the men armed? Surely he’d not try anything that suicidal. She spoke quickly, hoping to prevent a futile attempt to rescue her.

"Go on." Already her mind was closing down on reality.

The two men paced slowly over to the young fir tree, Connor carrying his pack in his arms, their snarling voices coming as from a far distance, the volume rising as they neared the tree.

Don't provoke him.

Her thoughts came too late. Connor threw his pack at Ramone and jumped toward him, knocking him over. The shot came, as she had expected, with the sudden violence of an avalanche.

The two figures separated, the taller one falling to the ground, staggering, then tumbling over the twelve-foot drop-off out of Mary's sight. The other figure strode to the edge and fired five shots downward before straightening, turning, coming toward her. Eyes bulging with evil.