Scream (44 page)

There was a pause while both of them listened again. The
chatter had stopped, and the silence of the night air was now
only broken by the soft warbling of the creek.

"Cheryl?"

"Yeah" She had lowered herself to her rear and sat with her
legs extended. Mark could just barely make out the features of
her face. Soft light played off her high cheekbones and smooth
jawline. Her hair glistened like strands of honey.

"I need to tell you something. I-"

"Mark, don't." There was a hint of irritation in her voice.
"This isn't the time for that."

Mark leaned toward her and lowered his voice. "It has to be
the time. Let's be honest, Cheryl. Neither of us knows for sure if
we're gonna make it out of these woods alive. I need to tell you
this... there might not be another time."

She stared ahead quietly, lips drawn tight, flexing her jaw.
It was her "look," the look she had whenever she was contemplating how best to dismantle one of Mark's arguments. And
she was a master of it-both the "look" and the dismantling.

When she let out a deep sigh, Mark knew he had the floor
again-her way of saying, OK, go ahead.

Mark scooted closer to her so he could keep his voice low.
"Cheryl, first, I know you-I mean I deserve it and all, but I
know you probably hate me for what I did. And I know... " He
stopped and rubbed at his eyes with his fingers. "Cheryl, I'm
sorry. I was wrong and I know it, and I don't expect you to ever
love me again, but there's something I need you to know."

She turned her head and looked at him, and there were tears in
her eyes. He'd hurt her more than he could have ever imagined.
He knew that. But regaining her trust would take more than a
simple apology; it would take time, months, maybe years, if they
both lived that long. The only thing he could do right now was
deal with the screams.

"You probably don't-"

"Mark," Cheryl said. "Stop assuming you know how I feel.
You don't. You can't. And let's hope to God you never do."

Mark dropped his eyes away from her. "I'm sorry."

He waited a few moments, and when she said nothing more,
he continued. "If we-I mean, if we don't make it out of here
tonight ... alive, I need to know you're going to be all right."

"What do you mean? That doesn't even make sense."

Mark took another deep breath, wiped at his eyes again, and
listened to the darkness. Still no sound of footsteps. All was
quiet. Help me, God. "I mean, if we die here tonight, in these
woods, if you die ... then what?"

Cheryl looked straight ahead again and pursed her lips. By
the light of the moon, Mark could see her Adam's apple bob
once; then, a single tear spilled out of her eye and, glistening
like a diamond, ran a straight course down her cheek and
dripped off her jaw.

After a few seconds, Cheryl swallowed again and shrugged.
"I don't know." Her voice was tight and raspy, and Mark knew
it was all she could do to say those three words without opening
the floodgate and letting the tears pour out. He could see the
inward struggle etched in the tight lines of her face.

Mark leaned a little closer to her. "I need you to know, Cheryl.
OK? It really is a matter of life and death. I need you to know."

Cheryl's chin began to quiver. "How?"

"You have to give your life to Jesus. You have to surrender it
all. There's no other way."

Cheryl snorted a sarcastic laugh. "That sounds great coming
from a man who cheated on his wife. Doesn't God condemn
adultery?"

Mark paused and wiped a tear from his own eye. "Yes, He
does. And I know I've been a hypocrite, been one my whole life.
I know it. But standing outside that barn back there I realized
how helpless I really am and how much I need Jesus. I called
on Him, Cheryl. I surrendered to Him. Cher, I love you. I do. I
know I screwed up, but I do love you. And I want you to make
sure you're going to heaven. Please, consider it. I know you're a
strong woman; you more than proved that tonight. But you're
helpless when it comes to life and death. That's in God's hands.
Everyone has an appointment with death. You need to be ready
when it comes due. Please, Cheryl. Please. Trust Jesus. Do it
now before it's too late. You-"

Mark's cell phone rang in his pocket-The Dukes of Hazzard
theme. In his panic, he'd forgotten all about it! He slapped at
the pocket, reached in, and grabbed the phone, flipping it open
just as the tune started over.

The digital screen displayed a number he did not recognize.

He put the phone to his ear. "Who is this?"

"Stone?"

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"Sheriff Hickock. Where are you?"

Hickock. Did Amber find help that quickly and call the police?

Mark's heart jumped in his chest. He looked at Cheryl and
forced a smile, then mouthed the word police. They might make
it out of here alive, after all. Both of them.

"We're in Buchanan State Forest, I mean. In Maryland. I
took-"

"I know where you are, Stone. Mann and Grisham are with
me. They told me everything. I need to know where you are
exactly. Where in the forest?"

Mark looked around. "By a creek. I fell down a steep embankment, and we're on the bank of a creek, by a big boulder. That's
all I can give you."

"Is Deputy Foreman OK?"

"She's alive, but I don't know anything more than that. Her
pulse is weak. We had to ... we had to hide her in a safe place. I
know where it is."

"OK. Listen, Stone. I'm coming in with a SWAT team. I think
I know where you are. Hold tight, OK? Are you armed?"

"Yes."

"What do you have?"

"A shotgun."

"How many rounds?"

"Five. Six. I'm not sure."

"OK, here's what I want you to do so none of my men get
shot at. Set your weapon-"

Screams drowned out Hickock's voice, crawling out of the
phone and into Mark's head, boring a hole in his brain. The
same screams-wailing, moaning, crying, gnashing of teeththat he'd heard with Jeff and Jerry and Dad and Andrea and
Cheryl. His skin crawled with a million tiny bugs, and a chill
blew down his back.

Then the phone went dead. Silence. Except for the tumbling
water behind him.

Mark shut the phone and stared at its silver casing.

"What was that?" Cheryl asked, her voice trembling. She
reached out and grasped Mark's arm.

Mark looked at her. "The screams."

"What was it? I heard the same thing in the barn when we
talked. When Judge came in."

"The sounds of hell, Cheryl. I heard them before. Right before
Jeff died, and Jerry the parts guy, and my dad. Hickock's gonna
die soon. Maybe tonight."

Cheryl's grip tightened on his arm. He knew what she was
thinking. It was written on her face. She was doing the math.
Two plus two. It was ludicrous, yes, but she was buying it.

"I'm going to die, aren't I?"

Tears filled Mark's eyes, blurring Cheryl's face. He wiped at
his eyes with his wrist, set the phone on the ground, and put
his hand over hers, looking her right in the eyes. "I don't know
that. No one does. But that's why you need to make sure you're
right with God."

Cheryl didn't say anything. She just sat there, tears making
tracks down her cheeks, lips slightly parted.

Mark shifted the gun to his right hand and placed his left
hand on the back of Cheryl's neck. Her skin was smooth and
cool. He pulled her head toward him until their foreheads
touched. "Cheryl, baby. I love you. I'm so-"

"Well, well, well." A man's voice-Judge's?-broke through
the still air.

Mark released Cheryl and spun his head to his right. A buzz
shot over his skull and down the back of his neck, making the
hair on his nape stand up like a bristle brush.

There, no more than ten yards down the creek's bank, was
Judge. And in front of him, hands bound behind their back,
mouths gagged, were Amber and Ginny. Ginny's right arm was
interlocked with Amber's left, binding them together. Judge
stood behind them, his rifle resting on Amber's shoulder, the
barrel pointed at Mark.

Mark looked from Amber to Ginny to judge. Judge's Stetson
was pulled low, shading his face from the moonlight. Amber
and Ginny looked like they'd been roughed up a bit. Amber's
right eye was almost swollen and shut; dark blood was smeared
across her forehead and cheek. Ginny was hunched over, bent
at the waist, whimpering softly.

Mark slowly moved his left hand toward the shotgun in his
right.

"Don't do it, Stone!"

It was Hickock! He recognized the voice.

"Put the weapon down and get up."

Hickock shoved Amber in the back, and she stumbled
forward a few steps, pulling Ginny with her.

Mark started to rise, pushing himself up with his left hand
and leaning on the boulder behind him. He still held the gun
in his right hand.

"I said put the weapon down. Now!"

Hickock gave Amber another push in the back, and she
stumbled forward again, almost losing her balance.

Mark brought his left hand to the action and raised the gun
to his shoulder. He couldn't get a good look at Hickock; he was
almost totally concealed behind Amber and Ginny. If Mark had
the shot, he would have taken it right then.

Coward. Hiding behind two helpless women.

Hickock laughed. "What are you going to do, Stone? Shoot
the ladies here first?" He moved the barrel slightly to his right.
If Mark wasn't watching closely, he would have never even
noticed the slight shift. But he had noticed. And now the rifle's
barrel was trained on Cheryl.

"Put ... the gun ... down."

Whether out of fear or resolve-he wasn't sure which-Mark
didn't move. Was this how it was going to end? How Cheryl
would die? Mark saw himself pulling the trigger, Amber
slumping over, and Hickock putting a bullet in Cheryl's head.
It would never work. Hickock had him cornered. Game over.
Checkmate. But still he held the gun against his shoulder. His
pulse pounded in his ears, like a whitewater river of blood
rushing through his head. A droplet of sweat broke from his
brow line and ran down his forehead. His finger rested on the
trigger, the fat pad barely depressed. If he only had an opening.
He could pull the trigger in a fraction of a second and put a
hole the size of a baseball in Hickock's chest.

"Stone, I'm giving you one more chance. Put the gun down
or wifey goes."

No way. As long as he had the gun he had a chance. Without
it he was dead, and so were Cheryl and Amber and Ginny and
probably Foreman.

A thought struck him and sent a wave of heat over his face.
Had he pumped the action since shooting the dog? He couldn't
remember. His cheeks flushed hot, and beads of sweat popped
out all over his brow. He didn't. He was sure of it. But did
Hickock know that? Apparently not. Even if he didn't, the gun
would do Mark no good unless a shell was in the barrel. It was
a useless toy. He made up his mind then; he'd have to do it.

With one quick motion he slid the action forward and back.

What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion
and fast-forward at the same time. Amber lunged to her left,
knocking Ginny over. Mark saw his opening and in that fraction of a second squeezed the gun's trigger. It was more reflexive
than volitional. The barrel exploded in a blast of light, and the
stock kicked back against his shoulder. At the same time, he
saw a flash of light jump from the end of Hickock's barrel, then Hickock's Stetson flew off his head. He grunted and hit
the ground like someone had punched him square in the chest,
knocking his feet out from under him.

Time seemed to stand still for several endless seconds. Amber
and Ginny were both lying on the ground, facedown and motionless. Hickock was flat on his back. He lifted his head slowly,
looked at Mark, then let it fall as if it were a bowling ball.

Mark turned and looked at Cheryl. She had fallen backward
and lay motionless facing the sky.