Run: An Emma Caldridge Novella: The Final Episode (4 page)

Consalvo nodded. “Call the electric company to kill the lights,” he told Steinberg, “and ask the phone company if they can block transmission to the nearest towers.”

Sumner stepped to the side and dialed Banner.

“What do you need?” Banner said without preamble.

“A helicopter,” Sumner replied.

“
R
YAN, YOU THERE?”
Emma said. She crouched down and started moving toward where she’d seen him. Before he could answer, she made contact with his arm, and she ran her hand down to his wrist until she felt his fingers close around hers.

“You came for me.” Ryan’s voice was hoarse, whether from emotion or disuse, Emma wasn’t sure.

“You left me ten thousand dollars, why wouldn’t I?” She kept her tone light, but it was difficult because she was also doing her best to control a wave of emotion.

“Sorry for that. It’s not enough. I don’t think I properly calculated the risk.”

That comment, so Ryanlike, made her smile.

“We need to get out of here fast. The FBI has surrounded the building, and Shaw’s not giving up.” She gave him a rundown of the situation, then asked, “What’s the schedule? Do they let you out to use the bathroom? When do you eat?”

“A woman comes with food in the morning and after that I’m allowed fifteen minutes to use the facilities.”

“Does she come alone?” Emma asked. From what she’d seen of the women in the compound, they were all too weak to fight for themselves. She figured she could jump whoever came with the food and gain her freedom that way.

“No. She’s always escorted by Carl or another one named Johnson.”

That wasn’t good. Emma discarded the idea of jumping the woman. They’d have to find a way to overpower the guard.

“I’ve seen enough of Carl to tell that he’s pretty tough,” she said, “but not too much of Johnson. Is he stupid?”

“Carl’s smarter, if that’s what you’re asking, but Johnson is a real country boy. What he lacks in brains he makes up in brawn. I don’t think either would be easy to overcome, if that’s what you’re thinking. Besides, they’re always armed.”

The air in the room was close, and Emma fought down a sneeze. It seemed as though it was growing hotter, but perhaps it was just her imagination.

“Does it feel like it’s getting hotter in here?”

“Yes. That door is solid and there’s no crack underneath it to get air. I think they altered an old root cellar to make this prison cell. It warms up a lot each day just from my body heat alone, and now with yours added to it, it’s going to become stifling. The only relief is when they open the door to bring the food.”

The rising heat worried Emma, as did the lack of ventilation. She told Ryan about the FBI’s presence and Shaw’s armed response.

“If they start shooting at each other anything could happen,” Emma said.

“My biggest fear is fire. If something goes up in flames, we’re not going to make it out of here. The smoke will kill us long before the flames get to us,” Ryan said.

Through the wood Emma heard the faint sound of boot heels on the plank stairs.

“They’re coming,” she said. “Get on either side of the door. Fast.”

“Don’t do anything rash. It’s too risky with them having a gun.”

“I agree, but if there’s any opportunity at all I’m going to take it. And if not, then I’ll talk him into letting me see Shaw.”

Emma worked her way to the entrance by holding her hand out in front of her and stopping when she made contact. Ryan bumped into her and muttered “Sorry” before taking up a position on the other side. She placed her back against the wall next to the opening and listened as the padlock rattled. The door creaked open and the pale light from the bulb illuminated the interior once again.

The woman with the angelic face, which Emma now thought of as evil, stood in the entrance, holding a small tray. Four feet behind her stood Carl with a gun in his hand.

“Give them the food and get out,” Carl said. The woman took two steps into the room and the light went dark.

“What the hell?” Carl said as the woman gasped.

Emma slid past the frame, moved left and dropped to a crouch. She knocked into the rake collection and a hard wooden handle hammered her on the side of her head. She pushed it away and it clattered onto the cement floor. She grabbed the portion of it she could, but in the pitch-black was unable to determine its dimensions.

“I’ll shoot you!” Carl screamed in the enclosed basement.

Emma grasped the handle, picked up the rake and swung blindly in the direction of the voice. It connected with Carl’s leg with a satisfying smack and the handle vibrated with the force of the blow. He screamed again, this time incoherently, and Emma hauled the rake back for a second swing. This time she hit something softer, perhaps his torso, and a gunshot echoed in the enclosed space. She used the muzzle flash to aim her next hit and felt the prongs of the metal rake dig deep into soft tissue. Carl groaned and was silent.

Using the handle of the rake as a guide, she scuttled up next to him, found his head at the working end and moved her fingers down. A warm substance covered his face and she followed the prong of the rake until she reached slimy contact with his eye socket. The rake had removed the eyeball. Carl didn’t move.

“Ryan, you all right?” Emma said.

“I’m at the stairs,” Ryan said. From above came the pounding of feet.

“They heard the shot.” She ran her hands along Carl’s right arm, stopping when she felt the wrist. He still clutched the gun. She pulled it free of his fingers and stood up. The basement was quiet, and she paused, trying to discern where the woman was, but could hear nothing over the thudding noises coming from above. In her mind’s eye, Emma visualized the basement and headed toward the stairs. She bumped into Ryan at the bottom.

“I have Carl’s gun,” she told him.

The door at the top of the stairs opened, sending a shaft of daylight into the basement. A man stood in the entrance. Emma shot him and he crumpled.

“Get behind me, I’m heading up,” she said, then started climbing the narrow staircase with Ryan behind her.

Reaching the top, she paused. Several voices clamored in the kitchen. Someone said “Shh!” and the room fell silent. Then she heard, next to the entrance, a soft inhalation and exhalation in a rapid rhythm. Presuming he had his back pressed against the wall and was waiting to pick them off as they emerged from the stairwell, Emma reached behind her and gave Ryan the signal to wait, and then waved him farther away. He nodded and retreated a step.

She checked the weapon in her hand. It was a Beretta pistol. She turned, taking care to move slowly in order to keep the tread beneath her feet from creaking. She put the gun’s muzzle against the drywall, hoping the spot she’d chosen wasn’t directly behind a stud, and fired.

Drywall projectile bits sprayed into the air and a man shrieked. She heard an uneven series of steps as he lurched away, turned to Ryan to tell him to follow her and saw the woman directly behind him. She held the heavy bush pruning shears in her hands and swung the pointed end at his head. Emma straight-armed Ryan against the stairwell wall and hammered her foot into the woman’s sternum, knocking her off balance. The woman tumbled down the stairs on her spine and stopped when her head hit the cement floor.

Emma didn’t stay to see if she was alive, instead plunging through the doorway into the attached mudroom.

Johnson turned into the hall holding a shotgun, took one look at her and jerked back into an adjoining room. Emma shot in his direction, which did nothing more than take out a window at the end of the hall.

She didn’t see the hit coming, only felt the pain explode in her head as something metallic and heavy knocked her to her knees. She started to crawl away but winced at the repeated blows that rained down on her back and shoulder blades.

When the pummeling stopped, it was replaced by the tip of a rifle muzzle, and she heard Shaw say, “Get up and walk to the back door. You’re going to be my second human sacrifice.”

T
HE HELICOPTER HOVERED
over the nearby butte, making a massive racket as it started its descent. Consalvo, Steinberg, and Sumner stood nearby and watched it maneuver itself onto a clear area. It was a Bell, not fancy and not armored. It settled onto the ground and the pilot cut the engines. Sumner breathed a sigh of relief at the reprieve from the racket.

The pilot leaped out and jogged, with his head down, toward them. It wasn’t until he had cleared the rotors that he straightened and Sumner got a good look at him.

Wilson Vanderlock slowed to a loose-limbed walk. When he reached the three he locked onto Sumner.

“Where is she?” he said.

Sumner waved a hand at the compound. “In there, I think.”

Vanderlock took in the gathered and cordoned off FBI official vehicles and the tactical van with multiple antennas.

“I heard that there’s a boy with a bomb attached to his body. He still okay?”

Sumner nodded. “For the moment.”

Consalvo stepped forward. “I’m Agent Consalvo and this is Agent Steinberg. I understand that you were sent by Mr. Banner?”

Vanderlock reached out and shook the men’s hands. “Yes.”

“I heard Banner is former military. Are you?”

Vanderlock shook his head. “I work freelance. For Banner and others,” he said.

Consalvo grunted and gave the Bell a hard look. “You willing to fly that thing to Canada with a maniac onboard?”

Vanderlock nodded. “If it’s required to save the boy, absolutely.”

“Good answer. I think I’m going to like you, despite the hair.”

Vanderlock’s shoulder length hair was tied in a ponytail. This time Vanderlock smiled outright. “Why thank you, sir.”

Consalvo gave him a quelling glance and waved at the compound. “Shaw wants to board it in the backyard. Sumner tells me that patch is big enough to land the machine. You agree?”

Vanderlock squinted at the compound. Steinberg walked up and handed him some binoculars. Vanderlock checked out the area and handed them back.

“Piece of cake,” he said.

“Then let’s get to it. Give me five minutes. I’m going to give Shaw a chance to rethink his position. “

Consalvo waved at Steinberg and headed to the tactical van. Vanderlock walked up to Sumner.

“They going to just let me fly this guy to Canada and let him go?”

Sumner shook his head. “I don’t think so. Earlier, Consalvo said that he wouldn’t get approval to let Shaw off the hook. I’ve got to think they have a team on the Canadian side ready to track him as he leaves.”

V
ANDERLOCK GAZED DOWN
at the compound. “You think she’s alive?”

Sumner inhaled and let it out, slowly. Vanderlock had said what he’d been afraid to say out loud.

“I hope so.” He shook his head. “I think so, absolutely. I would know if she were dead. I’d feel it.”

Vanderlock returned his attention to Sumner. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

A rustling in the bushes behind them made Sumner swing around and aim his gun. Two men on horses rode out from the trail. The first was older, about fifty, with a weather-beaten face and a rifle in a holster attached to the saddle pommel. The second was younger, in his twenties, and he had a young girl, about twelve, riding behind him with her arms wrapped around his waist. A third horse emerged, this one ridden by a young woman, also in her twenties, with a clean scrubbed face and long hair tied in a braid down her back.

“Mr. Sumner?” the older man said. “Banner sent us. I’m Leon and this is Brink and his little sister Carrie. That young lady over there is Samantha Yoder. We came down to get close to the FBI. We think we need their protection. Sheriff Tarnell paid us a visit.”

“That the guy who has my gun?” Sumner said.

Leon shrugged. “I don’t know about that, but I can tell you he’s no good. I encouraged him to leave and he hightailed it back to Sunrise.”

“Mr. Vanderlock? Showtime,” Consalvo’s voice blared over the bullhorn.

Vanderlock waved his consent. He turned to Sumner.

“Once I get that loser on the chopper, you going down to get her?”

Sumner nodded. “You bet I am.”

Vanderlock put out a hand. “Good luck.” He nodded to the three assembled on horseback and jogged toward the Bell.

“Why don’t you head to the FBI van,” Sumner said to Leon. “There’s an agent named Steinberg who’ll take care of you.”

Sumner watched the four head down to the clustered vehicles before moving into position on a high rock overlooking the compound. He stretched onto the dirt, opened up the tripod legs on his sniper rifle, pressed his eye to the telescopic lens and waited for Shaw to appear.

E
MMA LET
S
HAW
push her out of the mudroom and into the daylight. The morning sun was bright, but there remained a snap to the air. While she wasn’t thrilled at being on the receiving end of Shaw’s rifle, she was glad about one thing: he hadn’t seen Ryan hovering in the stairwell.

“Stop here and wait,” Shaw said.

“Wait for what?” Emma replied. Above her head she saw the black form of an approaching helicopter. The chop-chop sound increased as it flew toward them.

“That’s my ride,” Shaw said. Emma heard satisfaction in his voice. To their left she saw a boy, not more than ten, with what looked like a bomb strapped to his chest. Her heart constricted as she saw his terrified face streaked with tears and dirt.

She watched as the helicopter lowered into the yard, and squinted when it got so low that it began kicking up dust. It settled onto the grass, the engine quieted, and she saw Vanderlock jump out and stroll toward them. He wore battered jeans and black cowboy boots, and his tee shirt was clean but faded. She almost sagged in relief out of overwhelming gratitude, because if Vanderlock was flying the chopper, that left Sumner free and somewhere above them with a rifle in his hand. There was no one better with a rifle in his hand than Sumner.

“Stop!” Shaw said.

Vanderlock stopped.

“Turn around and get back in that chopper. Why’d you turn it off? We’re leaving.” Shaw’s voice was harsh.

Vanderlock flicked a glance at Emma and then the boy. “I turned off the engine because I have a message to deliver that you need to hear. Hard to hold a conversation with a helicopter roaring.”