Deadfall (29 page)

Genuine fear crept into the girl's eyes. Her lips moved to say something, then stopped. Finally she said, “If I knew I would tell you, but it doesn't matter because they would find you anyway.You have no idea what you're up against.”

“Then tell me.” Laura jabbed again, harder.

Cortland flinched and her eyes grew moist. Not from fear or even an insincere attempt at sympathy, Laura knew, but because Laura had shoved the barrel that hard.

The girl said nothing; she blinked, spilling one tear.

“Hey!”Terry called. He had wandered to the corridor on the right, the one opposite where Laura and Dillon had been held. “Come here. You've gotta see this.”

Cortland rolled her eyes. Laura kept the barrel pressed to the girl's nose but bent her elbow in order to grab her by the shirt. She tugged her back toward Terry.

“If you try to get away,” Laura said, “I'll shoot you. And if I don't,
he
will.”

“You bet,”Terry confirmed.

Laura arrived at the corridor and followed Terry's gaze down to the end where the undamaged fire door stood closed. Positioned in front of the door, as though in preparation for a quick getaway, was a dirt bike.

Laura smiled. “Keys?”

Terry jogged the length of the corridor, leaned over the bike, and called out, “They're in the ignition! Can we use this in this weather?”

Laura said, “Terry, I'd find a way to use a skateboard.”

Terry squeezed past the bike and pushed the bar that opened the door. Rain fell outside. No alarm. He said, “We're good to go.”

“Wait a second,” Laura said. “Terry, come here.” She pushed Cortland back into the vestibule, never releasing her grip or changing her aim.When Terry stepped in, she said, “Can you get those open?” She jerked her head toward the chained auditorium doors.

He walked toward them.“We should see what else we can get from this place.What about the satellite phones?”

Cortland closed her eyes and kept them shut.

Terry squatted in front of the padlock. “I can shoot this off.”

Car engines revved outside. Brakes squealed.

The girl's eyes flashed open. “Hah!” she said.

Terry darted for the front door, stopped. “This won't work,” he said. “We can't shoot it out with these guys. Not with that weapon they have.”

Laura said, “We got Declan's girlfriend.”

“I don't think that matters.”

“It doesn't,” Cortland said flatly.

Laura looked into the girl's eyes and believed she was telling the truth this time. She pulled her gun away from Cortland's face and swung it, hard, into the side of her head. The girl collapsed.

“Let's go,” she told Terry, who was staring down at the girl, stunned. “Terry!”

She ran down the corridor toward the bike. Before she was halfway there, she heard Terry fall in behind her.

40

Kyrill pulled the Jeep Cherokee
into the circular pull-off in front of the community center. Behind it, the headlights of the Bronco cut through the grey haze, ignited the rainwater on the Jeep's back window into a bright medallion, and winked out.When he reached for the key, Declan stopped him.

“Keep it running,” Declan said. “I'm going to the B&B for a shower.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Not you. Me.”

Kyrill frowned, resignedly. He opened the door, gazed into the downpour, then back at Declan. He reached between the seatbacks and pulled his rifle through. He seemed ready to plead his case for a shower, thought better of it, and slipped off the seat. The long barrel clanked against the doorframe, and the door slammed shut.

Declan lifted his left leg over the center console, followed by his butt, then his right leg. Settled into the driver's seat, he hitched an arm to get a better look at Julian in the back. He gestured with his head. “You too. Out.”

“Dec . . .” he started. He stopped when Declan raised his right eyebrow. He climbed out and jogged around the front of the Jeep, the rain and headlamps momentarily turning him spectral and otherworldly.

Declan pulled away, glad to be separating himself from the others for a while. Their constant neediness was sapping him.
An hour alone
, he thought.
Half of that in a hot shower.
Just the thought of it made him feel stronger, ready for more.

Kyrill splashed up to one
of the community center's heavy wooden doors. He banged his fist against it, waited, then pounded harder.

“Come on!” he yelled at the door.

The others moved up behind him, their heads lowered against the downpour.

Pruitt had it the worst. He had removed his jacket to cover the camera. Even in the gray light of the overcast day, his skin had taken on a bluish hue. His bottom lip, arms, and shoulders quivered, as though he were a bed in a cheap motel and someone had fed him a quarter. “Cortland!” he yelled.

“Cort! Sometime today!” Kyrill called and continued pounding on the door.

“Maybe she's in the bathroom,” Julian offered. He was squeezing his collar tight and raising his shoulders to keep the water from finding his jacket's neck hole.

Kyrill squinted at him. “She should hear us even in there.” He looked at the door as though expecting an answer from it.

Bad pushed him. “Go around,” he said. “Check the back door.”

“Why me?” Kyrill complained.

“Just do it. And keep the barrel down so water doesn't get in.”

Kyrill lowered his head and adjusted his weapon. He jumped off the concrete landing onto the grass. A few fast steps revealed how slippery the ground had become. He slowed to a walk and cursed Cortland all the way to the corner.

As soon as the Kawasaki
250's rear tire cleared the back door, Terry climbed on.

“Wait! Wait!” Laura called to him. She pushed the door tight, leaning close to hear the click of the latch. She moved to Terry's side. “Don't start it yet. Let's get it over to a side street and up a ways first.”

“But I thought . . . With those guys showing up . . .”

“That's why I cracked the girl on the head.To give us time. If you start it now, they'll be on our tail in thirty seconds.”

Terry climbed off the bike. He leaned over it so Laura could hear through the rain. “If they're locked out, they'll come around to these doors.” He pushed the bike through the muddy parking lot. She tried to help him, but her pushing and tugging made moving the bike more awkward. She let go and concentrated on watching for Declan's gang.

They were still approaching the first house behind the parking lot when someone came around the front of the community center. She could not tell who it was through the rain, but the rifle in his hands was unmistakable.

Neither of them moved. As the figure approached the back of the building, she recognized the teen boy, Kyrill. He held the rifle diagonally across his torso. His head was lowered against the downpour.He had not seen them yet. He rounded the corner and walked carefully to the first rear door, from which she and Terry had exited with the bike. He tried the handle, started banging on the steel door.

Terry back-stepped toward the corner of the house, pulling the motorbike with him. Laura followed.When it appeared that Kyrill was about to look their way, they stopped. He was once again nothing more than a misty silhouette in the rain. Had she not known of his presence, he would be all but invisible. She reasoned that he would have as hard a time spotting them.

He was darting for the damaged second rear door when they wheeled the bike past the corner of the house, and the community center disappeared.

Getting from one place
to another had never been so difficult, so exhausting.

Hutch was convinced the clouds above were as impenetrable as trees to Declan's eye in the sky, so he and Dillon beelined it for the cabin, straight through the wide-open span of fields and meadows. The drencher hammered mercilessly on their heads and shoulders and backs. The ground became slick with mud and grasses; even the slightest inclination sent his and Dillon's feet out from under them. No matter which part of their bodies hit the ground first, they would wind up twisting and turning and rolling in the slop before regaining their feet.

The terrain had become nearly impassible faster than Hutch would have thought possible. It was as though the entire countryside was made out of soap. Something about the soil, the foliaged groundcover, maybe the cold, cold temperature of the water, combined to knock bipeds low. He knew caribou possessed uniquely scooped and sharp-edged hooves that allowed them to maneuver on steep and icy slopes; he now realized it was also for this type of terrain in this type of weather.

He slipped again, and Dillon smacked down beside him. They rolled on their sides, facing each other. Dillon's hair was plastered against his skull. Mud painted one side of his face. It washed away in quick, heavy rivulets as the rain continued to hammer, hammer. Somewhere in the struggle with the weather and the impossibly slick terrain, the wound on his face had opened up. Blood oozed out and was instantly washed away. It was difficult for Hutch to gauge the amount of blood or the severity of the laceration. Since it had been scabbed over when he had met the boy, he believed that it wasn't as bad as it appeared. He touched Dillon's face and said, “Does it hurt?”

Dillon looked puzzled.

“The cut,” he explained.

Dillon's eyes opened wide, remembering. He shook his head.

Hutch surveyed the sky. Gray clouds formed a low ceiling from horizon to horizon.

“We need to get out of this,” he said, shouting over the water's incessant pounding against the earth. “As soon as we get back into the trees, I'll make a lean-to out of cut branches. It won't be perfect, but it will be better than this.”

“I don't mind,” Dillon said.

Hutch smiled.The kid's resilience impressed him.Then he noticed Dillon's expression; he had missed something. He leaned closer and said, “What?”

Dillon drew closer still.Their noses were almost touching when he repeated, “How about a mine?”

Hutch drew back. “Mine?”

“An old uranium mine. Pretty close.”

“Abandoned?”

Dillon nodded.

“Where?”

Dillon pointed, only a few degrees off their intended direction. “Over that hill.”

Hutch had not seen a mine on the map, but many man-made changes to the terrain took longer to appear on topos. If the mine had operated for only a few years, the cartographers may have overlooked it or deemed it unimportant.

“Dillon,” he said, “you are a brilliant guide and navigator. Let's go.”

41

Declan,s skin was pink
from long minutes of hot water. He was patting his shoulder with a thick towel when he heard the door downstairs bang open.

“Dec! Declan!” It was Pruitt. He sounded excited or panicked or something Pruittish.

Declan lifted his foot to the cushion of a settee. He began drying his leg. Below, doors banged and Pru continued calling out to him. Declan shifted the towel to the other leg. He stood, tossed one end of the towel over his shoulder, grabbed it near his opposite hip, and buffed his back. Pru's heavy footsteps stamped up the stairs.

“Declan!”The knob on a door down the hall slammed into a wall. A few moments later another door crashed open.

Declan had not bothered to shut either the master bedroom door or the door to the adjoining bathroom; when Pru appeared, it was with considerably less banging but no less drama. His shoulder hit the bathroom doorjamb.

“There you are.”

“Here I am.” Declan brusquely moved the towel over his hair. “Did you see the dryer downstairs? Did you notice if my clothes are dry?”

“Uh . . . I didn't notice. Sorry.” In a rush Pru said, “We couldn't get in the community center. Cort didn't answer.”

Declan's hands stopped. The towel draped over his head like a boxer's hooded robe. “That was twenty-five minutes ago, dude.Why are you just now—”

Pru held up his hand. “We kept knocking.Tried all the doors. She finally opened up. Somebody broke in and
knocked her out
.Two people, they had guns.That woman with the kid, Laura, and some other guy. She thinks it was the one who shot at us after that fisherman—”

“Did they release the cattle?”

“No. They took the bike, the motorbike. You know the one we had—”

“That's it?” He looked up at the ceiling, thinking it through. “They break in. Knock out the only person we have there. And all they do is take the dirt bike?”

“Yeah, but that's not all . . . I mean that's not it . . . I mean . . .”

Declan pulled the towel off his head. “What?”

Pruitt stepped fully into the bathroom. He lifted his camera, angling it to show Declan the monitor. The crushed and burning Hummer was frozen to the screen. “While we were waiting for Cort, I went back to the car to review this new footage. Look.”

He pushed a button.The flames and smoke on the monitor sprang to life.The focus was on the interior, seen through six-inch-high gaps that used to be the side windows. Pruitt had circled the car. A shortened, accordioned windshield pillar blurred past, and they were viewing the interior through the now-glassless windshield opening.

“So?” said Declan, losing patience.

Pru's eyes widened. “So . . . what's missing? What's not there that should be?”

Declan raised his head away from the monitor. “I know what the word
missing
means. Are you going to tell me, or do you just like sharing the bathroom with my naked self?”

“Declan, there are no bodies. Nobody's in there. The Hummer was empty.”

Declan squinted at the monitor. “That can't be.We followed them the whole way.”

“Did you see their heads before targeting them?”

Declan didn't look up from the monitor. “The windows were too dark.You know that.”