by Dave Bowman
Soon, he heard her stomping through the woods with her head down. He pounced on her, grabbing her rifle and covering her face with the rag. When she went limp like a rag doll, he let her fall on the ground.
He slung the second rifle over his shoulder, then turned toward the tent.
He was ready to meet his new family.
21
Mia was exhausted.
She fell asleep as soon as she lay down in the sleeping bag.
But she hadn’t been asleep long when she felt herself being grabbed by rough hands. They were dragging her by her legs. In her sleepy confusion, she didn’t know what was happening. When she finally opened her eyes, she couldn’t see who was grabbing her. He flipped her on her belly, and he was tying her hands together behind her back.
She screamed and kicked, tried to twist out of his grasp. Bethany was still asleep, and she was such a heavy sleeper that not even Mia’s screams woke her.
The man set her back down in the tent, and she finally could get a look at him. He had a long beard and glasses, icy blue eyes and light brown hair, a flannel shirt and jeans. But something was wrong with him. She saw it instantly.
He was insane.
“No one can hear you scream,” he said, grinning at her.
He blocked the tent door and wouldn’t let her out. He grabbed Bethany’s feet and shook her, jostling her until she awoke. Bethany’s eyes were slow to open, and when they finally fell on the strange man, they opened up in terror.
She kicked at him and he lunged at her, tying her hands behind her back as well.
“No! Let me go!” Bethany screamed, thrashing wildly. “Charlie! Trina! Help!”
Her crazed eyes caught sight of Mia shaking in the corner.
“Run, Mia!” she screamed.
But the man had them both trapped. He had two rifles on his back and Mia was afraid one might go off as he struggled with them.
Soon, he backed out of the tent and looked at his two captives.
“Your friends are unconscious. There’s no one to save you. We’re leaving. Get up and start walking.”
Mia peeked at Bethany, who looked fierce and angry. “We’re not going anywhere.”
He picked up a third rifle from the ground outside the tent and pointed it at them.
“Get out,” he said evenly, with narrow eyes. “Now. If you want to live long enough to see your baby, that is.”
Bethany’s shoulders began to shake as she wept. Mia watched as she scooted on her knees to the tent door. The man jerked her up to her feet, holding on to her arm.
In a flurry of frantic activity, Bethany tried to wrestle her arm free and bolt, but the man had her tight.
“You’re not getting away from me, so there’s no use in fighting it,” he said. “This is your destiny.”
He glanced at Mia, who was huddled in the corner of the tent, trapped like a wild animal. He motioned with his head for her to go to him.
“Come on out, girl.”
Mia stared at him, panicked. Where were Trina and Charlie? And when would Nick and the others return? She had no idea how long they’d been sleeping. Maybe she could stall long enough until Nick returned.
He pointed the gun at her and her hands went cold. Suddenly, her ideas about stalling or running away vanished. All she could see or think about was that barrel aimed at her.
With her hands still tied behind her, she moved her bottom across the tent floor, stopping when she got to the door. Shaking, she looked up at him.
“That’s a good girl,” he sneered. “Now get out and stand up.”
Mia stepped out and stood beside Bethany, who was breathing fast. Her face was red as she scowled at the man.
Mia’s eyes searched frantically for any sign of Trina and Charlie. She gasped when she caught a glimpse of a body sprawled on the ground.
“Charlie!” she yelped.
Behind the man, she saw Charlie slumped over against a tree. His eyes were closed, and he lay motionless.
Mia hated the sight of Charlie lying helpless on the ground. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not, didn’t know if he was alive or dead.
“Trina! Trina, where are you? Help us!” Bethany called out, twisting around to look for her.
When she stopped screaming, the silence of the forest returned.
“Where’s Trina?” Bethany asked angrily. “What did you do to them?”
“Don’t worry about your friends,” the man said. “You’ll never see them again.”
“You won’t get away with this,” Bethany hissed.
He laughed.
“Start walking.”
Bethany stared at the man for a moment. Finally, to Mia’s surprise, Bethany moved as if to begin walking up the hill. Instead, she lunged at the man, kicking at him between his legs and trying to wrench the gun from him with her shoulders. But he was too fast and stepped back before she could make contact.
He charged at Bethany, rearing back his hand and slapping her face hard. The sound of his hand hitting her cheek made Bethany flinch.
For just a brief second, Mia was back at her old home in Albuquerque, watching her dad raise his hand at Mia and her mother.
Mia squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath for a moment.
Make it stop!
Mia opened her eyes and parted her lips to take in air in a gulp. Bethany’s head was turned to the side from the force of the slap. She tried to catch her breath, panting.
Slowly, Bethany lifted her face and stood up straight, staring the man in the eye. Mia cringed, worrying her defiant posture would provoke his wrath again.
Instead, he laughed.
“Walk. Now,” he ordered. He motioned up the hill with his rifle.
Bethany scowled at him a moment longer, her eyes narrowing to silently express all the disgust she had for the man before her. Finally, she turned and began to walk in the direction he indicated up the hill. Mia paused a moment, looking at Charlie again before she turned and followed Bethany.
The man set out close behind them as they trudged up the hill into the forest. Mia snuck nervous glances at Bethany, who cried quietly as she glanced down at the girl.
They scaled the top of the steep hill and looked at the vast expanse of forest before them. Mia darted her eyes around, looking for any trails or landmarks in an attempt to locate where they were headed. But everything ahead of them looked the same: a dense, mixed forest of spruce and pine. Mia looked over her shoulder at the distance they had just crossed. She could only barely make out the road below.
“Help!” she called out at the top of her lungs over the forest below.
The man gave her a push forward. “Try that again and you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
The crazed look in his eyes convinced Mia that he was serious. Besides, no one seemed to be around to hear her screams.
She turned and again started through the woods. He directed them to turn slightly to the left, and they continued on, leaving the dead-end road where they had been sleeping behind. They veered a few minutes later to the right, then cut across a gentle slope in an arc. Soon, Mia had lost track of her orientation. With no idea of where they were in relation to the tent and the truck, she wouldn’t know which way to run even if she could.
They came to a small muddy patch. Mia veered just a bit to the left so that she’d walk through the wet earth. The man with the gun didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he stared intensely at Bethany.
“I don’t know why you would fight me,” he said as they trudged through the woods. “Don’t you recognize me?”
Bethany scoffed. “We’ve never seen you before today. How could we recognize you?”
He stopped walking. Mia and Bethany, aware of his pause, stopped as well and turned around to face him.
“I’m Garrison. I’m your husband,” he said, looking at Bethany. Then, to Mia, “And your father.”
Bethany stared at him for a moment, then burst out in laughter.
“Are you serious?”
He looked hurt. “Of course I am. This is meant to be. This is our shared destiny.”
Bethany laughed again. “You’re crazy.”
He watched her brown ringlets bounce as she shook her head.
“Bethany,” Mia muttered. “No.”
Mia wanted her to stop. The laughter made the girl nervous. Mia could sense the man’s rage bubbling inside him, growing in strength. His eyes grew steely as he watched Bethany laugh.
“You’re not my husband,” Bethany spat. “Or her father. You’re just some weak, deranged man. You’re a psycho!”
Garrison stood unmoving until suddenly, a look of fury swept over his face.
He snapped his arm up in a rage. He lifted the rifle and aimed at Bethany. Bethany flinched, closing her eyes.
Mia felt dizzy. It was all happening too fast, until the sound of her own voice made everything stop.
“Daddy, no!” Mia shouted. “Don’t shoot!”
The words caused the man to freeze. He shifted his gaze toward Mia. He looked confused.
“Don’t shoot, Daddy,” Mia repeated, her lips trembling. “Please don’t hurt her.”
With shaking hands, Garrison lowered the gun. He stared at Mia, blinking as the rage subsided.
“Sorry, sweetie,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. Or your mother.”
Bethany was terrified, looking first at the gun, then at Garrison, then at Mia.
Mia exhaled. She was still shaking. Her attempt to defuse the situation worked, but it turned her stomach to call the man Daddy.
“Go on, Judy,” the man said, looking at Bethany. “Let’s go home.”
Bethany frowned at Garrison. It took her a moment to realize that Judy was, according to this psychopathic kidnapper taking her deep into the woods, her new name.
22
“My baby! They shot you!”
Anne cried. She leaned over to get a look at the wound on Daniel’s shoulder.
“I’m okay, Mom,” Daniel said instinctively. But the truth was, he felt woozy and was in terrible pain.
“Pull over,” she said. “I need to stop the bleeding. I can’t even see the wound from over here.”
Daniel shook his head.
“I’ve got to get us out of here. I don’t want those people following us.”
Anne saw the blood spilling down Daniel’s shirt and gasped. “You’re losing a lot of blood, Daniel. You need to let me look at your wound!”
He ignored her, pressing the truck onward as they sped down the road.
“I can’t stop now, Mom. Let me get just a little farther away.”
Anne’s belly twisted in worry. The shot had gone through his left shoulder, and the back seat was splattered with blood. But she couldn’t get a good enough look at it to see just how bad it was.
She spotted some plants growing off the side of the road with clusters of tiny white flowers.
“At least pull over for a second so I can get that yarrow,” she said. “I’ll need it for your wound.”
He sighed, pulling the truck over. “Hurry.”
She jumped out of the vehicle and picked a handful of the wild plants, then climbed back in. As Daniel drove off, she began to pick the flowers and leaves off the long stems, pressing the material into large poultices. They approached an intersection with another state road.
“Turn here,” she said.
He started to object, but she interrupted him.
“Daniel, just do it. I’m not going to let you die out here.”
He turned down the road, drove a bit more, then pulled over. Anne hurried over to his side and looked at him.
“Oh my God, Daniel! It’s worse than I thought.”
The bullet had gone through the top, outer section of his left shoulder. She lifted the short-sleeved T-shirt over his head so she could see better.
The good news was that the injury had been restricted to his upper shoulder and was nowhere near any vital organs. The bad news was that the exit wound was nasty and gaping, and he was losing blood quickly.
Anne pressed the leaves of the yarrow against the entrance and exit wounds.
“What is that stuff?” he asked groggily.
“Yarrow. It stops bleeding and is an antiseptic,” she said, fighting back the panic in her voice. She gently pushed his back against the seat to keep the yarrow in place while she moved to the bed of the truck.
She moved his right hand to the yarrow compress on the front side. “Hold this here and press hard.”
She shuffled to the back of the truck and began to dig through her suitcase.
“Mom, we need to get out of here,” he called to her frantically as she found her first aid kit.
The adrenaline in Daniel’s veins was wearing off, and he was starting to speak more slowly. His pain receptors kicked in as she returned to his side and looked at his shoulder again.
“I’m sorry,” she said, moving him gently as he grimaced. “I’ve got to stop the bleeding. And we’re not leaving until I do. If those people find us down here, I’ll shoot them myself.”
Anne pulled out a small vial of ibuprofen and handed a few pills to her son.
“Take these.”
He gulped them down. “I’m starting to feel this thing now. It hurts like hell.”
She put on some gloves, then she applied pressure with the yarrow, pressing some clean gauze against the wound to stop the bleeding.
She had one water bottle left. She had saved it in her bag just for an emergency like this. Slowly pouring the water on the wound, she flushed away any debris. Then she opened a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and poured that on the wound.
Daniel yelped and pounded his fist in the seat, but she worked on, mumbling to herself.
“I almost lost you in the woods when you sliced your leg open. I’m not going to lose you again,” she said.
The wound was gaping and wouldn’t close on its own. She would have to give him stitches. The thought terrified her, but she made herself keep moving. She didn’t want to have any time to think about what could go wrong. She just had to keep working before the doubt crept in.
Taking the scissors from the first aid kit, she tore open the package they were in and removed the tool. She trimmed away a tiny bit of jagged flesh from the wound so that the border would be smooth.
She took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. She had seen someone give stitches a few times, and her brother, a nurse, had shown her the basics. But she had never actually done it before. Much less on her own son.
“Daniel, I have to give you stitches,” she said.
He shut his eyes and clenched his jaws. Sucking in air through his teeth, he nodded. “Just don’t let me see the needle.”
“Okay, then turn your head away,” she said.
She spread out her supplies on a clean bandage on the dashboard, then sterilized the needle with a lighter. Using the curved needle, she drove it in his skin.
He cried out in agony.
She took the needle out and sterilized it again. “Sorry, I think I went too deep.”
Anne took a couple of deep breaths. She had to get her hands to stop shaking. Blowing a breath out through her lips, she tried again. She stayed closer to the surface this time, and pulled the line through.
Daniel was gripping the steering wheel and turning his knuckles white.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I know this must be excruciating.”
She went on to sew him up with five stitches, tying the line off after each suture. When she was finished, she examined her work. The sutures were holding the skin together, and it looked fairly neat and uniform. Maybe it would work.
Anne looked at his face. His eyes were clamped shut.
“Are you all right, Daniel?”
“Is it over?” he asked.
Anne nodded. “Yes. I just need to patch up this wound on your chest.”
The entrance wound was smaller and didn’t need stitches. She dressed both wounds and he exhaled in r
elief.
“Let’s go,” she said, gathering up her supplies and slipping a clean shirt over Daniel’s head. “I’m driving.”
Daniel slid out of the driver’s seat and his forehead crinkled in pain.
“Wait!” Anne said. “Let me make you a sling.”
She looked in her suitcase and grabbed a thick wool shawl, tying it around his arm and securing it behind his head.
“This will keep your shoulder from moving so much. It will heal faster this way.”
He felt cool. She wrapped a blanket around him to keep him warm, and helped him sit on the passenger side. Anne started the truck quickly and took off without any time wasted.
The flurry of activity had exhausted Anne, but she didn’t want her son driving with a bullet wound. She pushed herself to stay strong and press on.
As she sped down the road, she reached over to brush Daniel’s hair out of his eyes.
“I’m sorry we had to stop in that town,” she said. “If only I hadn’t gotten sick, this never would have happened.”
“It’s not your fault, Mom,” he said between pained breaths. “But you should at least admit I was right.”
“About what?”
“That there were no spirits. It was just those crazy people the whole time.”
Anne smiled. “What do you think made them crazy?”
Daniel chuckled. “Ouch. It hurts to laugh.”
Anne looked over at her son as he watched the scenery blur by.
I hope it’s enough.
The bullet wound could have been much worse. A few inches down and to the side, and it would have been deadly. He seemed to be doing fairly well for having just been shot, and the stitches had at least prevented any traumatic loss of blood.
But Anne’s worries were far from over. There could be arterial damage, nerve injury . . . she didn’t even know what more could go wrong. Not to mention that he would need antibiotics. Once the ibuprofen ran out, she could give him willow bark for the pain. But she didn’t know of any plants that would be strong enough to fight infection in this kind of injury.
She knew the regional medicinal plants well, but in cases like Daniel’s injury, she had always been grateful for trained medical practitioners. She felt confident her brother would be able to look at Daniel’s shoulder and recommend the best course of action.