Chapter 22
Something wet dripped onto my face. Very annoying. Did Mom know her roof leaked? Dad would never have allowed such a thing. My bed must be under a hole in the roof. Strangely, someone, somewhere, was groaning. Pain twisted my mid-section. Slowly, I raised my heavy hands and felt the seat belt stretched tightly around my waist. Horror gripped me as memory returned. I was the person groaning and my head, as well as my stomach hurt. This nightmare was real and I was not waking up safe and secure in my childhood bedroom.
With a huge effort, I opened my eyes. As my blurry sight cleared, I saw that a large, leafy limb encircled the front of my Passport. Odd! Were we in a tree? And why was my seat belt biting into my stomach? Fumbling for the catch on the belt, my fingers felt cold and stiff. Where was that buckle?
I remembered the sound of the guardrail snapping and then darkness closed in. We must be at the foot of Deertrack Hill. We had survived! My heart turned over. At least, I survived, but where was my mother? Twisting around, I saw that she was not in the front seat nor the floorboard. Had she been thrown out? Was she dead? My heart beat so hard in my throat, it nearly choked me.
Moistening my lips, I croaked, “Mom? Where are you?”
From the back seat, a faint voice asked, “Darcy? Darcy, are we alive?”
Relief washed over me, leaving me limp. I would have laughed but my face hurt. Mom’s hands touched the back of my head. “I landed back here,” she said. “I’m sort of wedged in but I don’t think any bones are broken.”
“Thank God,” I breathed. Tears slid down my face. “I’m going to try to unfasten my seat belt. This good little car protected us. It didn’t roll. It stayed upright.”
Mom’s voice shook. “It wasn’t the car that protected us; it was an angel.”
Pushing and tugging at the belt, I finally had enough slack to unbuckle and shrug out of it. Why hadn’t my air bag deployed? Did the drag from the thickets on the side of the hill slow us down enough to cushion our abrupt stop against a tree? My driver’s side window was completely broken out, but that was a blessing because my door wouldn’t open. This window would have to be our escape hatch.
Feeling for my mother’s hand behind me, I asked, “Can you crawl to the front?”
“I think so,” she said.
“Good. I’m going out of this window, then I’ll reach back in and pull you through if you can push with your feet.”
Three minutes later we stood on the ground beside my wrecked Passport. Rain dripped off the leaves of the giant oak which had stopped our downward slide. Wet, bleeding, and shaking, Mom and I hugged each other and tried to breathe normally.
My mother’s face was scratched but she seemed to be all right. “Are you sure you are okay?” I asked.
“After surviving that, I don’t think I’ll ever be afraid of anything again,” she said. “I must be a pretty tough cookie.”
“And a pretty brave one,” I said.
Mom touched my face. “Oh, Darcy, your poor head is bleeding.”
Gingerly, I felt of my forehead. My hand came away red and sticky. “It’s okay,” I said. “It probably looks worse than it feels. Believe it or not, it doesn’t hurt much.”
Shaking her head, she drew a deep breath and said, “At least we got away from that rat in the other car. Why on earth would anybody want to run us off the road?”
“Why indeed, Mom? Why do you think?”
She sat down on a wet, gray rock. “It’s the same person who killed Ben and Skye, isn’t it? The same one who sent that poison gas trap yesterday?”
“It has to be. And it isn’t one. It’s two. I saw inside their car.”
An alien sound broke the stillness. “Shhh,” I whispered. “I hear something.”
At first, all we heard was the drip-drip of rain, then through the woods came the unmistakable murmur of voices.
“Maybe somebody saw us go over the guardrail,” Mom whispered. “Maybe they are coming to help.”
“Or maybe they are the guys in that thug car. Quick, we’ve got to get out of here.”
Any attempt to run would be futile. Neither of us was fit for a fifty-yard dash. Tugging at Mom’s hand, I urged, “Let’s see if we can find a hiding place, something to cover us.”
We limped downhill as fast as we could, until a dense sumac thicket blocked our way. I held my finger to my lips and pointed to the bushy clump. Sinking down to my knees, I crawled in as far as I could among the stalks. Mom followed. I motioned for her to lie down and spread some dead leaves over her, trying not to think of the ticks, chiggers, and possibly snakes who might call this thicket their home. At the moment, natural dangers dimmed in the light of deadly humanity.
A man’s voice came clearly to my ears. “I tell you, there’s no use in tramping through these miserable woods looking for their bodies. Nobody could survive going down this hill at the speed they went over. Come on, let’s go.”
The crashing in the underbrush grew louder. From my hiding place, all I could see between sumac stalks were the feet of the approaching men. One wore scuffed brown boots; the other, black lace-ups. Afraid to move so I could see better, I tried to breathe silently.
A rough laugh and then a second voice asked, “What’s the matter? No stomach for a little blood? Help me open this car door. We’ve got to make sure they’re dead.”
The door of the Passport creaked as the men wrenched it open. I heard a muffled exclamation. “Not here! Then, where —”
“They must have been thrown out somewhere. Like I said, they’re dead. Come on, we’re wasting time. We’ve got to get out of here before somebody stops to examine the broken guard rail and alerts the police.”
My stomach clenched. That guttural voice sounded familiar. It sounded like Ray Drake! So, he hadn’t been working alone but who was his partner? Jim Clendon? The second voice wasn’t Jasper’s—I was sure of that much.
“Stop whining! You’re a big city boy and you’re soft. Me? I was born in these hills, know them like I know my own face. I’m going to look around. Go on back if you want, but I’m going to make sure those two didn’t survive.” He laughed, not a pleasant sound. “I don’t know how you’re going to go far, though. I’ve got the car keys.”
Holding my breath, I heard footsteps nearing our hiding place. Mom’s hand on my arm shook. Trying not to blink, I saw through the thicket, rain-stained boots step ever closer. The owner of those boots must have bent over to shove aside some low-hanging branches. His hands were inches from my face. In his right hand, he held a big, black gun. On the third finger of his left hand, he wore a gold ring, a ring whose replica now resided in my mother’s recipe box.
Feeling more than hearing my mother gasp, I knew that she saw the ring too. I prayed that she would not give away our hiding place.
At last, these two moved away. Standing, I helped my mother to her feet, half expecting her to collapse from fright.
However, another emotion gripped her.
“That rat!” she hissed. “He’s wearing Ben’s ring. He cut it off Ben’s finger and now he’s wearing it! That low-down, dirty . . . .”
Never had I seen my mother so furious. Through these past weeks, she had been sad, worried, frightened, and very stubborn, but now, I feared she was going to race after the killer and attack him with her bare hands.
Holding to her arm, I cautioned, “I agree with your description, but we’ve got to get out of here. I don’t think we are able to climb back up the hill to the highway and if we try, we will probably run into those two. I don’t know where we are, but going down will be easier than going up.”
Leading the way, I broke through briers and pushed aside saplings. Never again would I fear that the birds and animals were losing their natural habitat. Nature’s greenery was alive and well and most of it seemed to be growing on the lower slopes of Deertrack Hill. Tree limbs slapped our faces and thorns grabbed our hands and clothes as we slid, slipped, and fell through an entangling wilderness on our way down t
o the Ventris River.
Finally, the hill ended in a dry stream bed. Sinking down on a large limestone rock, I tried to stop panting and breathe normally. My mother lay down on a bed of moss under one of the cottonwood trees.
She groaned. “I’ve got to catch my breath.”
I dabbed my bloody forehead with the hem of my shirt. “Same here. Looks like the rain is getting harder. The only good thing about that is it’ll wash away our footprints.”
My mother rubbed her scratched arms. “I don’t think we can leave footprints in flint rock and that’s what most of this is.”
She sat up and put her finger to her lips. “Darcy! Listen! Do you hear that?”
I froze. Something moved through the trees above us. A deer ambled out of a thicket and I started breathing again.
“Whew! Scared me to death. Mom, do you have any idea where we are? Should we go right or left here? I’m guessing this was once a creek on its way to the river. I’m surprised there’s not water in it after all the rain we’ve had.”
She pushed a wet strand of hair from her eyes, stood up, and looked around. “Oh, I’m so upset, I can’t think straight,” she said.
“Hurry, Mom. Where would Ben’s house be from here?”
She looked down at me, “Well now, Darcy, if I knew that, I’d know where we are, wouldn’t I?”
With my head on my knees, I mumbled, “I’m sorry. We don’t have any time to waste. Those two are probably still after us. If we could get to Ben’s house, we’d be close to the road and civilization. And help!”
My mother grabbed a low-hanging limb for support and stretched up on her tiptoes. With her other hand, she shaded her eyes from the rain and peered into the woods.
“Let me think—I am pretty sure that our old home place and Ben’s, across this creek, would be in that direction.” She pointed to her right. “This little stream would be running into the one that divides our land, I think. It really looks different with no water in it. It must be dry because of the rancher who was damming the creek farther upstream. The law made him stop but he hasn’t removed the dam.”
Standing up from my rock, I gazed in the direction she pointed. In this weather, among identical trees, how could she be sure? One thing was certain: we couldn’t stay where we were. Doubtless, those two men who ran us off the hill would not give up until they found us, and it didn’t sound as if they’d hesitate to shoot us.
Looking down at my ragged outer shirt, I had an idea. Slipping out of it, I tore off a strip at the hem, then another.
“Darcy!” Mom’s voice was sharp. “Have you lost your senses? What are you doing?”
“Creating a false trail,” I muttered. “I saw Captain Kirk do this once to mislead some aliens.”
With the strips in my hand, I ran in the opposite direction from which Mom had pointed. Hanging one strip on a wild rose bush, I trotted a little farther. Wiping that strip across my bloody forehead, I hung it on the low branch of a tree. Below the tree was a patch of mud. I pushed my shoe down in it, the toe pointing opposite our direction.
Mom actually smiled as I rejoined her. “Good job, Captain,” she said.
“This ruse might fool them for a while, but not for long, I’m afraid. We’ve got to get going.”
“Your poor head, Darcy. We need to put something around it. It’s bleeding quite a bit.”
“No time. Let’s go.”
“Let’s stay in this dry creek bed,” Mom said. “They won’t find our trail quite so fast if we don’t leave any more footprints.”
This time, she led the way and I followed. Running was nearly impossible. Stumbling after my determined mother, I tried not to think about my throbbing head. When she stopped abruptly, I bumped into her.
“There!” she said, pointing to an overhanging bluff. “I know where we are now! That is the old river channel. It used to run right against that bluff before the dam went in and changed it. If we can climb that cliff, we can make it to the road. It should be about a mile farther that way, as the crow flies.”
Lucky crows, not to have to bother with sharp rocks and limbs that reached out to grab us. Limping after my mother, I scrambled up a bushy rise toward the outcrop of gray rocks. I could see the old river channel, curving snugly around the bottom of the bluff.
Mom stared at the dry bed. “It always had water in it; now, it’s as dry as a bone. Anyway, it’s easier to cross now that it’s dry. I hope that hill isn’t as steep as it looks from here.”
We hurried to the foot of the bluff and began to climb. “I’d prefer Mt. Everest to a bullet from that ugly-looking gun,” I said between gritted teeth.
Finding an overhang on the bluff, we stopped to catch our breath, if only for a moment. The rock that jutted out gave us a brief respite from the rain but we’d soon have to leave its shelter. We couldn’t rest long.
Something brushed past me and an eddy of wind fanned my face. I jumped and clapped my hand over my mouth to muffle my yell.
Mom caught her breath. “It was only an owl,” she said. “We must have disturbed his resting place.”
“Only an owl? What is it with these owls? I cannot believe they were once my favorite bird. Remember all those owls I’ve seen lately? Something always happens right after I see one.”
I was babbling, I realized, and not making a lot of sense.
Mom patted my arm. “I know, but an owl is only a bird, not an omen. There have always been lots of owls in these woods. Oh, I wish I knew if we are actually close to Ben’s farm and our own land. I think we are, but I can’t be sure.”
I gripped my mother’s arm as a sudden thought struck me. “Remember what Emma said, Mom? She said that map of Ben’s had the Cherokee word for owl on it. Do you think that owl might mean we are close to Ben’s treasure?”
She shook her head. “Darcy, your hand is as hot as fire. You’re burning up with fever.”
“I’ll be fine, but we’ve rested long enough. Come on, we’ve got to climb the rest of the way up this hill.”
As we moved from under the protection of our limestone ledge, rain and wind battered us. The storm seemed to be in league with our pursuers, making our escape as difficult as possible. The only good thing was that those two men were battling the same storm. Of course, they didn’t have to contend with a scalp wound and cuts and bruises.
Wind-driven rain rushed at us with such force that we could not see where we were going. Groping blinding from one rock to the next, I crawled over rotting logs and sharp rocks, Mom right behind me. I prayed that we would not disturb a cottonmouth or rattlesnake. Probably, our hands and knees were a bloody mess, but there was no time to worry about abrasions.
We must have been halfway up the bluff when I realized that I no longer was being rained on. “What—what is this?” I croaked.
My mother crawled up beside me. “It another ledge, Darcy. I think it’s a small roof over an opening in this cliff. It looks like we’ve found another shelter.”
“A shelter?” I stuck my arm into the indentation under the rock. “How far back does that hole go?”
Pushing matted tendrils of hair from her face, Mom squinted into the dark space. “I can’t tell. Can’t see very far with no flashlight.”
“Unfortunately, the flashlight and our purses are probably strewn somewhere between the top and bottom of Deertrack Hill,” I said.
Sinking to her knees, Mom sighed. “Oh, it feels so good just to get out of that rain and rest a minute. I’m bone tired.”
“I know,” I muttered. “So am I. We’ve got to keep going, though. If those two thugs catch up with us, they’ll think nothing of adding us to their list of victims. Surely, we are almost at the top of this bluff. Maybe from there, we can see some familiar landmarks.”
Taking the hem of her shirt, Mom dabbed at the blood trickling down my head. “This overhang juts out so far, Darcy, we’re going to have to backtrack to find a way around it. We’re kind of blocked from climbing up this way.”
The thought of leaving our small protection and going back into the rain did not fill me with anticipation. Going down would only put us closer to those men stalking us. Waiting here, though, we would be like fish in a barrel, just hoping that Drake and his friend would not find us.
Mom’s face began to look hazy and a strange blackness crept around the edge of my vision. Leaning back against the rock, I felt the pain in my forehead begin to engulf me.
As if from a great distance, Mom said, “Darcy! Don’t pass out. Hang on.”
Forcing my eyes open a slit, I saw her bending over me. Once again, she was wiping my face with her shirt. “Are you going to be all right?” she asked.
“I think so,” I whispered. But, I felt cold and very, very weary. I had no strength left to continue and I had no idea what we should do next.
The Cemetery Club Page 22