Going Once (Forces of Nature) (18 page)

Her heart skipped a beat. “I thought your name was Bill Carter. So you’re not only crazy, but you’re also a liar? Well, that’s just perfect.”

Hershel yanked her to her feet, then slapped her.

“Shut the hell up,” he snapped, then threw her over his shoulder and carried her to the boat. He dropped her unceremoniously into the standing water that had collected in the hull.

She screamed as something slithered beside her arm.

He glanced down at her and frowned.

“There’s a snake in here. Get me out! Get me out or you can’t make it right!” she screamed.

Hershel panicked, and before he realized it, he was following her orders. He dragged her out of the boat, then used an oar to find and flip the snake out into the river.

“You better make sure there aren’t any more in there or you’ll die out here, too,” she said.

Hershel stirred the paddle through the water several times, and then went back to the truck and began digging around in the junk in the truck bed for a bucket. As he did, he realized there was a bag of garbage from the Red Cross center still in there that he’d missed dumping in the bins. All of a sudden the sudden appearance of the vulture made sense. It had smelled the rotting food. He laughed again, relieved to have deciphered the mystery, and threw the trash out into the woods.

“You were wrong, Louise! That vulture wasn’t an omen. It just wanted the garbage in the back of my truck.”

He found the bucket, then went back to the boat and began bailing out the water until he was certain there was nothing else in it. Then he tossed the bucket into the boat and Nola after it.

She was lying in several inches of water, which was stretching the cotton even more, and pulling as hard as she could as Hershel crawled into the boat. He took the oar and pushed them out into the current, then started the engine. The moment it roared to life, Nola could feel her life grow shorter.

She could see very little from where she was lying other than birds, blue sky and the occasional jet trail. With no way to judge where they were, she didn’t know how much longer she had left to try to get free. Besides, she realized, even if she’d been sitting up in the boat, whatever landmarks she might have recognized were either washed away or under water.

The outboard motor was a roar in her ears, blocking out all other sounds, and the floor of the boat was vibrating against her back as it sped through the water. She glanced at his face, trying to judge his demeanor. He didn’t appear panicked or particularly deadly. If it wasn’t for the pistol on his hip and the Taser beside him, she might have thought they were simply out for a leisurely ride.

Knowing she might never see Tate again was heartbreaking. They’d lost precious years of their past because of his father, and now they were going to lose their future because of a madman.

Although she couldn’t hear him, when she realized the man was talking to himself again, her panic increased. Despite the raw and bleeding flesh around her wrists, she continued to struggle with the cords, pushing and pulling, pushing and pulling, repeating the process over and over until all of a sudden one hand slipped free. Relief was physical, but brief. Now if she could only get her ankles free, she would have a fighting chance.

When he began to slow down, she panicked. They must be getting close. If she was going to make a move, it was now or never. She began working her ankles as hard as she had her wrists.

He saw her moving around in the boat and yelled at her, but she couldn’t hear what he said. To hide what all her movement was about, she raised herself up to a sitting position and screamed a curse at him.

He laughed and pointed the Taser at her again, and when he did, she finally noticed it wasn’t ready to fire. Seconds later she felt the cords beginning to give around her ankles. It wouldn’t take much more than a kick or two and her legs would be free, as well, so she stopped, waiting for the right moment to make her break.

* * *

Hershel eased off on the gas and began scanning the area, looking for landmarks. He remembered what the water had looked like before, but everything had changed. After the second round of storms that had fed into already flooded areas, even trees that had been there before were gone. He remembered coming around a bend and seeing the three people on the roof of a house, and then about a hundred yards or so farther down there had been a stand of trees, which was where Nola Landry had taken refuge, and where she’d witnessed what he’d done.

“They’re gone,” he muttered. “Everything is gone.”

It’s a sign, Hershel. It’s a sign from God that you need to stop. You have to turn back and let her go.

“Louise, can’t you see I’m busy? I’ll talk to you later, after I’m done with her.”

I’m telling you, stop! Stop now!

Hershel began hitting his fist against the side of his head, trying to pound the sound of her voice out of his ears. “Shut up! Quit yelling!”

Nola could see he was freaking out. If Louise was yelling at him, then it was now or never. She kicked the cords loose from around her ankles and jumped up.

Hershel was so shocked to see her untied and upright that he froze, and when he did, she leaped at him, grabbing for the gun around his waist. All of a sudden the boat was rocking from side to side, and he was struggling to keep from falling out.

She grabbed the gun out of the holster at the same time as he grabbed her hand. Now they were wrestling for control of the pistol. She kicked at his ankle, knocking him sideways against the outboard motor. The boat was still rocking back and forth as it began to turn in a circle, with both of them fighting for control of the gun.

Nola’s hand was on the trigger as Hershel pushed the pistol up into the air. The first shot went off so close to his ear that he thought he’d been shot. He screamed in rage, but she didn’t turn loose, and her grip never wavered. As their boat swung back around again, he saw another boat bearing down on them with the other two Feds inside.

This was where a man had to know when to cut and run. He doubled up his fist and hit her on the jaw, then threw her over the side. He palmed the pistol, and opened the throttle as wide as it would go, leaving a rooster-tail of water flying up behind him as he fired off one shot after another at the boat behind him.

Seventeen

T
ate thought the river smelled like death.

Whatever had flooded and floated away was mixed up into a dark, muddy stew as they raced upriver from Queens Landing.

Wind tore through his hair, burning his eyes and blurring his vision, but his gaze didn’t waver as he searched the roiling water ahead for signs or sounds of another boat.

Wade was sitting behind him, watching the riverbanks in case the killer might be moored, while Justin ran the motor at full throttle, keeping an eye out for submerged logs and gators.

They passed a flock of egrets roosting in a tree, and then an old rusted school bus that had become caught on something below the water. There was a gator on the far shore sunning itself, and another partially submerged nearby.

Tate wanted to go faster, but they were already pushing the engine to the max. Every mile they put behind them put them closer to the Landry homestead, but anything he might have used as a landmark was gone.

Come on, you bastard. Show yourself. Where the hell are you?
At the same time he was cursing the killer, he was willing Nola to fight.
Stay alive, baby, stay alive until we can find you.

They had been on the water for almost ten minutes and were coming around a bend in the river when Tate suddenly shouted and began pointing at a boat circling in the water. Two people were standing up and fighting, and the only thought going through his head was that they’d found them and Nola was still alive.

No sooner had he thought that than the killer swung a fist and hit Nola on the jaw. When the killer tossed her body over the side, Tate screamed and began firing as the killer gunned the engine and headed upstream.

Tate shouted at Justin and pointed in the direction they needed to go.

“She’s there! Get me closer!”

Justin swerved, and the boat skimmed across the water toward her body.

“Wade! Aim for the engine!” Tate yelled, because his own focus was on Nola.

She was still afloat, but barely. He could see her beginning to sink, and he began tearing off his jacket and kicking off his boots. He stood up and went over the side after her just as Justin cut the engine. By the time he came up, she was already gone. Only her long dark hair was still floating on the surface, and even that was going down fast. He lunged for it, frantically wrapping it around his wrist as he began to pull. She popped out of the water like a cork on the end of a fishing line, limp and lifeless. Her head lolled against her shoulder as he lifted her out of the water, and then he began to shake her, treading water as he waited for the boat to circle back.

“Damn it, Nola! Don’t you die. Don’t you dare die!”

Wade was shooting at the killer, but the boat was moving out of range. All of a sudden Justin shouted, “Use this!” and tossed a rifle at Wade.

He caught it and spun, took aim at the big engine on the back of the boat and fired, then fired again.

The explosion sent birds into flight. Gators were sliding into the water as flames shot skyward. The river was on fire.

Justin was already circling the boat. He pulled up beside Tate as Wade leaned over the side and pulled Nola’s lifeless body out of Tate’s arms. Moments later Tate was in the boat with them and Wade was on his knees performing CPR.

“Let me! Let me!” Tate yelled, and took over breathing for her as Wade did chest compressions.

They worked silently and in perfect unison while time seemed to stop. One minute passed into another and another, and when she finally gasped and then choked and coughed and began spitting up water, Tate rolled her onto her side.

“Thank you, Jesus,” he mumbled, and then rocked back on his heels and kept thumping her back, helping her cough up the water she had swallowed.

“She’s gonna make it!” Justin yelled, and then let out a whoop.

Wade was still on his knees and considered it a proper position for a moment of silent thanks.

She coughed again and again, until at last she drew breath without a struggle. When she finally opened her eyes, Tate took his own first easy breath.

“Tate?”

“I’m here, baby.”

“...saved me,” she mumbled.

Tate began checking her body for gunshot wounds or broken bones, but he found nothing. Her danger was going to be infection and pneumonia. The river was toxic, and she’d had a big drink.

“The boat blew up,” Wade said.

“Did you see the body?” Tate asked.

“No, but I saw the gators.”

Tate looked up at Justin.

“Take us past the wreckage for a look, then get us back to Queens Crossing as fast as you can.”

“Is she gonna be okay?” Justin asked.

“God, I hope so,” Tate said as he picked her up and settled her into his lap, then put his jacket around her and held her close.

Nola was cognizant of two things: Tate had found her, and she was safe. Beyond that, she asked for nothing. The stench of burning fuel was in her nose as they cruised past the site of the explosion, but she wouldn’t look. She didn’t need to. He was dead, and that was all that mattered.

Tate scanned the surface of the water and the shoreline with a steady eye. If there was even a piece of the killer left, he wanted it. It would be physical proof this bloody chase was over.

Wade pointed to a piece of the boat as it floated past them.
Gator Bait.
The boat had been aptly named.

A gator swam away as they passed. It appeared the man had died in the explosion and the gators had gotten what was left.

“Justin! Take it back!” Tate yelled.

Justin waved an okay, circled the boat and headed home.

Nola couldn’t quit shaking, but she was holding on to Tate’s shirt with both hands. When the wind began to tear through her hair, she turned her face to his chest and closed her eyes.

* * *

Hershel never knew how he got there, but when he came to he was on the shore, lying half in and half out of the water. He was in more pain than he’d ever felt in his life. When he touched a hand to his cheek and came away with pieces of skin stuck to his fingers, he gagged. The stench of burning fuel and scorched flesh was in his nose, and his eyes burned almost as much as his face. As he rolled over, he saw the fire out in the water and another boat a hundred yards downstream, and just like that, memory surfaced.

“Oh, my God, oh, my God,” he mumbled, and began crawling on his belly out of the water, up into the grass and into the woods.

He didn’t move so much as a muscle until the sound of the outboard motor had completely disappeared. Added to that, his head was throbbing and he couldn’t blink without wanting to throw up.

You have a concussion, Hershel. It’s a miracle you’re even alive. You’ve got to get back to your truck and run. They know who you are. You waited too long. I told you. I told you to stop, but you wouldn’t listen.

“God in heaven, Louise, stop talking. Just shut the hell up. I don’t even know where the truck is from here.”

You have to go upriver to find the truck, because you were coming downriver in the boat.

Hershel shuddered. For once Louise was actually making sense. He tried to stand up, but when he did, everything went black.

* * *

The next time he came to, the sun was only a couple of hours from setting. He dragged himself upright, and began the long and painful journey back to where he’d left the truck. Every step he took was in pain, every breath he drew an agony and what was left of the right side of his face was in shreds. At least he was on the right side of the river.

He couldn’t go back to the motor home, and once they began looking into his life, they would know everything, but he couldn’t let that matter. What he needed now was time, and a place to heal.

* * *

Wade made a call from the river, requesting an ambulance at the dock, and when they arrived there were several news crews with it. Once again Nola Landry had made the news. As they were loading her up on a gurney, the reporters descended.

“What about the Stormchaser? Did you kill him? Did he get away again?”

“This is yours,” Tate said to Wade. “I’m going in the ambulance with Nola. Come get me later.”

They loaded up and left the scene as Wade began fielding the reporters’ questions.

“What happened to the Stormchaser?” someone yelled out.

He went into agent mode and answered as briefly as possible without giving anything away.

“The boat he was in blew up as he was making his escape.”

“How did that happen?”

“He was shooting at us. We returned fire.”

“Did you recover the body? Do you know his identity?”

“We did not recover the body and at this point have not made a positive identification, although that will come in time.”

“Why didn’t you look for the body?”

Wade frowned. “We did look, but there were alligators in the water around the wreck, and we had Miss Landry’s welfare to consider. She was unconscious and had stopped breathing when we pulled her out of the water. She was resuscitated on scene and transported here.”

“Who’s the man with you?”

They were pointing at Justin Beaudine.

“He’s the real hero of the moment,” Wade said. “He’s the man you need to be talking to. If it wasn’t for his help, we would never have been able to catch up to the killer or save Miss Landry.”

When the crews began focusing their attention on Justin, Wade waved and grinned. Justin looked a little nervous but willingly answered their questions.

Everybody deserves their fifteen minutes of fame,
Wade thought, and headed to the hospital.

* * *

Nola came to again in the ambulance and mistook the siren for the roar of the outboard motor and the straps holding her onto the gurney as the cords she’d been bound with, and began fighting to get free.

A paramedic was trying to calm her as Tate quickly grabbed her hands.

“Nola! You’re okay. You’re on the way to the hospital, baby.”

She heard his voice but couldn’t see him.

“Tate?”

“I’m here,” he said, and leaned over from behind her so she could see his face.

“Is he dead?”

“We think so.”

She moaned. “But you don’t know?”

Like her, he longed for proof.

“Not yet. The boat he was in blew up. There was fire, and gators all over the place. I don’t see how anyone could live through it.”

“He was crazy like you said. He was intending to take me back to where he made a mistake by leaving me alive. He kept talking to someone named Louise, like he could hear her voice and was having an argument with her. His name is Hershel, but he said he was Billy Carter at the gym.”

“Nola, honey, that’s great. We’ll find out all the details soon enough, but right now, you’re the one I’m worried about.”

When the ambulance took a sharp turn to the left, she moaned as the gurney shifted with it.

“My chest hurts...hard to breathe.”

“We did CPR.”

Her eyes widened as his meaning sank in.

“Was I dead? I didn’t see any light. I didn’t see Mama anywhere.”

“That’s because it wasn’t your time to go. Just relax, Nola. Listen, the siren’s winding down. We must be there.”

When the ambulance stopped and the doors flew open, they rolled her out so fast Tate had to run to catch up.

Doctor Tuttle was on duty when they came in, and he was visibly shaken to see that the patient was Nola. The paramedics briefed the staff and then left her to them.

“Tate! What on earth! They just said drowning patient,” the doctor said as Tate followed them into the examining room.

“It’s a long story, Doc, but she was in the river, and when we pulled her out, she wasn’t breathing.”

“Nola, can you hear me? Can you tell me where you hurt?” Tuttle asked.

She opened her eyes. “Arm hurts. Chest hurts. Hurts to breathe.”

“Those stitches will have to be redone,” Tuttle said as he eyed the ripped flesh of her arm, and then he began issuing orders to the staff. “Clean up this wound, and be thorough. She was in the floodwater. Prepare for stitches. I want a picture of her lungs. Get a portable x-ray here, STAT.”

Nola closed her eyes. There was too much going on to deal with, and all she wanted to do was sleep. But the moment she closed her eyes, they popped open again.

“Tate? Where’s Tate?”

“I’m here,” he said, and patted her foot beneath the sheet. “Just lie still. You’re going to be fine.”

Someone was swabbing her arm, bringing fresh tears to her eyes, and her voice was thready when she asked, “Will you be here when I wake up?”

“Always.”

She was beginning to shake. “I’m cold,” she mumbled.

Doc Tuttle brushed a hand across her forehead.

“She’s going into shock. Start an IV.”

It was the last thing she heard as she realized Tate was there. It was safe to give up control.

* * *

Hershel found the truck after dark just by walking along the shore until he saw the dark hood gleaming in the moonlight.

The pain was his only companion, because Louise had been silent ever since she’d told him how to find the truck, and he was wondering if it was possible for her to die twice. She never had been as strong as he was, but he’d stayed with her through their ordeal, right to the bitter end and beyond. The only reason he could think of to explain why she would abandon him in his hour of need was if she had died again.

When he finally crawled into the cab and reached for the key, his heart nearly stopped. It wasn’t in the ignition. Then he remembered putting it in his pocket and wondered if, by some miracle, it was still there. He patted his pocket, and when he felt the bulge of keys beneath his fingers, he started sobbing with relief.

The truck started, but at first he didn’t hear it. It was only after he felt the vibration and put it in gear that he knew it was running. He didn’t know whether it was a temporary thing from the explosion, or if he’d truly lost his hearing, but it scared him. He turned the radio up as loud as it would go just to reassure himself he wasn’t deaf, and drove out of the cove and back onto the old blacktop, then headed east, putting as much distance between him and Queens Crossing as he could manage.