Nowhere to Run (38 page)

“If it’s okay with you,” Joe said, “we’ll come on up there and get those horses and saddle them up for you. You can ride down with us.”

Diane Shober stepped out of the cave opening. Her dark hair was tied into a ponytail. Her clothing was more formfitting than it had been before, and she looked younger than she had as Terri Wade, he thought.

She said, “What if I don’t come with you?”

Said Joe, “Let’s not find out. The truth is, this mountain will be crawling with law enforcement within the hour, I’d guess. We know where you are, and they’ll find you. They might not be as sympathetic as us.”

“Sympathetic?” Diane said, laughing bitterly. “Like you were sympathetic with Camish and Caleb there?”

Joe’s voice held when he said, “They gave us no choice. You’ll have to believe me when I tell you that. They must have decided they’d rather die up here than take their chances in court.”

Diane nodded. “Yes,” she said, “that’s what they told me they might have to do.”

“Then come with us,” Nate said. “We’ll do our best to protect you.”

Again, Diane laughed. It was a high, plaintive laugh. “You think you can protect me, do you? From the government? From the press? From my father and the kind of people he works with?”

Joe said nothing.

Diane said, “Have things changed, then? Can we be free people again? Is that what you’re saying?”

Nate said, “I know people who could help you. You aren’t the only one who’s gone underground.”

Diane studied Nate for a long time, as if trying to make up her mind about something. Finally, she withdrew back into the cave. Joe waited without moving for five minutes, then turned to look at Nate. Nate looked back at him as if he were thinking the same thing.

“Damn,” Joe said, and quickly tied his horse to a stump. Nate did the same. They ran up the slope, breathing hard.

Joe threw himself through the opening. The sudden darkness made him blink. It took a moment for his eyes to begin to adjust. He and Nate stood in the entrance of a surprisingly large cavern. There were beds, a stove, handmade tables and chairs, fabric and hides on the interior walls. It smelled damp, but the food odors made it surprisingly comfortable. It reminded Joe of where Nate hid out, and he wondered how many others there were in the country in hiding. How many people had gone underground, as Nate said?

On the table was a knife.

Diane Shober looked up from where she was packing items into a large duffel bag. “What, did you think—I wasn’t coming out?”

Joe said, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t live with the prospect of more blood on my hands.”

 

AS THEY RODE DOWN the mountain, Joe said to Diane, “I’m glad you’re coming down. I’ll be eternally grateful you saved my life, but this isn’t any way to live.”

Her mouth was tight, and she stared straight ahead. When she talked, her lips hardly moved. “It’s crude and lonely, I agree. Growing up, this is the last thing I would have wanted. But when I was running, I went a lot to Europe. I got to experience socialism firsthand. At first, it’s seductive. Free health care, free college, all that. But nothing is free. And anything that’s free has no value. Zero means zero. I saw it close-up. So yes, you’re right. This is crude and dirty. But it’s my choice. There’s no one here to tell me what to do or how to think. The trade-off is worth it.”

Joe had no response.

“Will my mom be down there?” Diane asked.

“I’m not sure.”

She hesitated, asked, “My dad?”

“It’s possible,” Joe said. “But we’re in a pretty remote location. It would be hard for them to get here so fast.”

“If he tries to talk to me, I might have to kill him,” she said, tears welling in her eyes.

 

JOE LISTENED as Diane Shober talked to Nate.

“I’m an Objectivist,” she said. “You know, Ayn Rand. It’s the only good thing I got from Justin.” She laughed. “I’m a freak, I know. Most of my friends drank the Kool-Aid. But you know how you used to see those RVs on the road with bumper stickers that read, WE’RE SPENDING OUR CHILDREN’S INHERITANCE?” That always used to piss me off, just because of the attitude. I mean, ha-fucking-ha.”

Joe watched her lean toward Nate on her horse and reach out and touch his arm. “Now every car in America should have that bumper sticker,” she said. “Thieves like my father are stealing from me and my children, if I ever have any. He’s politically connected, and the money flows to him downhill.

“You know,” she said, “we’re the first American generation to expect less than our parents. I’m talking smaller houses, smaller cars, smaller families. It makes my blood boil. I want no part of it.”

Nate nodded, said, “Did you know the brothers were up here before you went on your run?”

She took a minute, then said, “Yeah. We’d been in touch. I felt really awful for all the people who donated their time to come looking for me. I really did. But yes, I was in communication with the brothers. After all, we had a common enemy.”

“Your father?” Nate said.

“Yeah, him too,” she said.

 

AS THEY RODE DOWN the switchback trail toward the trailhead, Joe got glimpses of what was below. As he’d predicted, it was a small city. Dozens of vehicles, tents, trailers, a makeshift corral, curls of smoke from lunchtime cooking fires. Satellite trucks from cable television news outlets. And the ashes of his father, still in his pickup. He had no more idea what to do with the old man in death than he had in life.

Nate walked up abreast and handed the reins of his gelding to Joe. “Time for me to go,” he said.

Joe nodded.

“I’m taking her with me,” Nate said, gesturing toward Diane Shober. “I know of people who are with us. They’ll put her up. They’ll treat her well.”

Joe opened his mouth to object, but Nate reached down and touched the butt of his .454 with the tip of his fingers. He didn’t grasp, draw, or cock the weapon. But the fact that he did it told Joe things had changed between them.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Nate said. “You’re thinking there’s no way I can take the victim with me before she’s interviewed. That it wouldn’t be procedure. And you’re right, it wouldn’t. But Joe, I shoved everything I believed in to the side to help you out up there. Now it’s your turn to help me.”

Joe studied his saddle horn. He said, “You promise me she’ll be okay? I have these visions of the underground that aren’t so good.”

Nate smiled. “The underground isn’t underground at all. It’s not about people in caves, really. They’re all around us. Everywhere you look, Joe. Real people, good people, are the underground. Believe me, Diane will be fine.”

“I understand.”

Nate reached out and touched Joe on the back of his hand. Then he gave Joe the reins to Caleb’s horse, so Joe now had both brothers behind him.

Nate said, “You know where to find me.”

Joe nodded but didn’t say anything.

The last glance he got of Diane as she followed Nate into the timber was when she turned in her saddle and waved. There was something sad in the gesture. Thanking him for letting them go. He waved back.

Joe tied the ropes for Caleb’s horse and Camish’s horse together into a loose knot and wrapped them around his saddle horn with a tight dally and a pointless flourish. He smiled to himself in a bitter way and clucked his tongue. All the animals responded, and started stepping down the mountain trail. No doubt, Joe thought, they sensed some kind of conclusion when they reached the trailhead. If only he felt the same, he thought . . .

 

DAVE FARKUS had been astonished by the number of cars, pickups, SUVs, and equipment trucks that overflowed the campground below at the trailhead. He’d never seen so many vehicles—or so many people—in one place up in the mountains before. And when they’d seen him, as he broke over the timbered ridgeline and rode his horse for ten minutes through a treeless meadow, he saw them scramble like fighter pilots getting the nod to mount up to go out there and bomb something.

The high whine of all-terrain vehicles split open the morning quiet. He watched with interest as two, three, four ATVs shot across the stream below and started up the mountain to meet up with him. There were multiple people on each vehicle, as well as electronic equipment.

Not just electronic equipment: cameras.

He pulled the reins on his horse and jumped off. He wished he could see his face in a mirror, but he couldn’t. But he did his best. He spat on his hands and scrubbed his face, then dried and cleaned himself with his shirttails. Judging by the gray smudges on the fabric he tucked back into his jeans, it was a good idea. He wanted to look rugged, but not dirty.

The ATVs were getting close. He found an extra horse bit in his saddlebag and shined it under his arm. Farkus leaned into the bend of the metal and the reflection, and he patted down his hair and made himself look weary and sympathetic.

And before the ATVs cleared the timber, he remounted, clicked his tongue, and got the animal moving again. The first ATV stopped just outside the trees, and a disheveled man jumped out and set up a tripod and put a camera on top of it under the arm-waving direction of a blonde who—no kidding—was the best-looking woman Farkus had ever seen in real life. She was tall, slim, coiffed, with large breasts and wore cool boots that she’d tucked her tight jeans into.

He thought,
Whoa
.

Although she was a long way down the mountain and other TV crews were making their way up, she took a second to look up and meet his eyes. He felt a jolt of electricity shoot through him.

He thought,
I’m from Baggs, but I’ve watched television. Hundreds of fucking hours of television. I’ve seen hundreds like you. You’re stuck in Wyoming, trying to claw your way up. You need something spectacular for your audition tape. I can give that to you, darling. I can give that to you.

So when she reached him on her ATV, he began to smile. He thought,
I know a hell of a lot more about you than you will ever know about me. . . .

And the first thing he said was
,
“I’ve been in the heart of the right-wing crazies. I was there for everything and I saw everything. Remember the Cline Family? Diane Shober?”

Her eyes lit up. He pressed on. “But before we talk, I want to negotiate a deal with you. I want to be on TV. I want to be an expert on right-wing fringe groups and the anger in small-town America. I want to get paid and stay in nice hotels. And if we can work it out, you get the exclusive.”

She smiled at the word “exclusive.” She said, “I need a sign-off from the suits, but I can pretty much promise you a deal. Now, let’s get out of here before anyone else can talk to you.”

Farkus thought,
I may have just found my calling.

 

BEFORE THE MOUNTED RIDERS from the trailhead could reach them—dozens streamed up the trail—Joe reached back and got his satellite phone and called the governor’s direct line.

Rulon’s chief of staff, Carson, came to the phone.

“The governor’s in an emergency meeting,” Carson said. “He asked me to talk with you. We understand you killed those brothers and rescued Diane Shober. That’s outstanding.”

Joe grunted.

“And we’ve got good news of our own,” Carson said. “Senator McKinty of Michigan announced this morning he’s not running for reelection. We don’t have a reason. He’s been our biggest impediment for years now. The governor’s ecstatic.”

“Interesting,” Joe said.

“Look, you need to be available this evening. The governor’s planning a press conference about the rescue and he wants you here. He’s going to make you a hero, Joe.”

“Nope,” Joe said.

Carson coughed. “But you
are
a hero. We want the state to know. We want the
country
to know.”

As Carson talked, Joe glanced over to make sure there was no sign of Nate. They were gone. He didn’t know if he’d ever see Diane again, and wondered where Nate would take her. And how would he and Nate go on?

Finally, he said, “They aren’t with me.”

After a long pause, Carson said, “Who isn’t with you?”

“Diane Shober. I let her go.”

Carson stammered, “I’m not sure what to say. The governor is going to be very disappointed in you, Joe. Very disappointed.”

He shrugged, even though Carson had no idea what he was doing. Joe said, “He’s not the only one.”

He rode down the trail to meet the throng of law enforcement personnel, media, and hangers-on who waited for him. At the side of the crowd he saw Brent and Jenna Shober. They looked anxious.

Something flashed in his peripheral vision as he rode and he cocked his head. The lone wolf again, bidding him good-bye. He wondered how long they’d been tracked.

He turned in the saddle to make sure the bodies of the brothers were still tightly bound to the packhorses.

He thought: They were under control, at last. McKinty, Brent Shober, and Bobby Mc Cue would be pleased.

The sun doused as massive black thunderheads rolled across the sky. Storm coming.

 

 

 

 

The author would like to acknowledge the people who contributed to this book, most of all Wyoming game warden Mark Nelson, who first encountered a set of twin brothers in the Wind River Mountains and lived to tell the tale. Also Sherry Merryman, Brian Kalt, Brian Lally, Becky Box, Laurie Box, Molly Box, Don Hajicek of
cjbox.net
, and my stellar agent, Ann Rittenberg.

As always, a tip of the black hat to the team of pros at Putnam, including Ivan Held, Michael Barson, Summer Smith, Tom Colgan, and the legendary Neil Nyren.