by K. E. Warner
She took in her surroundings and considered calling someone to let them know where she was. But who should she call? And how would she explain her circumstances?
Another few steps and the outline of a small cabin became clear. Sheltered under giant cedars, its roof a luscious mass of moss, the cabin perched beside a running stream. Small windows remained intact, a surprise to Magda given the disrepair of the rest of the roof.
The door was closed and she limped to a window to peer inside, wiping grime with the side of her fist. It was dark and she pulled out her cellphone flashlight once again.
Light bounced off the filthy window, but a dull yellow filtered through the haze and a brightened small area of the cabin. She moved the phone from one corner to the next. There were pots on a wood stove, dishes on the table, and beer bottles stacked beside the walls. It was hard to tell when the place had last been used.
She scanned the floor, light creating shadows on a narrow mattress in one corner. It appeared to have a pile of blankets tossed on one side. She followed their shape with her light, finally recognizing the form of a person. She shut off the light, sucking in breath, and stumbled back to the forest to consider her options.
Was it Chris? If it was, how would she explain what she was doing? Tell him the truth, she supposed. Why was he here? His father supplied a lovely, clean bed at his home. Hiding from the police?
And if it wasn’t Chris? Worst-case would be the person was some serial killer. Or a random criminal hiding out. She chuckled. Her job was getting the best of her imagination now.
She went with a best-case scenario of a tired kayaker choosing to stay the night, and climbed onto the porch. She knocked hard on the wood door.
“Chris. It’s me, Magda. Are you in there? Funny story to tell you.” Even if it wasn’t Chris, the story would be funny to someone – well, maybe not a serial killer.
No answer. She knocked again, repeating her call. She pushed the latch-handle down and pushed. The door swung open with a groan. The form on the bed didn’t flinch.
Forgetting her aching foot, she hobbled toward the mattress, the floor groaning to announce her approach. Mice squeaked and scattered as she crunched over whatever was on the floor. Still no movement from the body.
She lowered herself beside the mattress and stared. A snake tattoo poised ready to sink its fangs into his neck. It was Chris, but barely recognizable. His eyes were swollen, blood dried on his cheeks, and his lips puffed and cracked. A two-inch gash sealed in on itself across his left cheek, leaving an indent that would scar.
Magda shook his arm. “Chris! Chris!”
She touched his cheek. It wasn’t cold, not yet. She brought two fingers to his throat, caught a faint pulse and saw one eye flutter.
“Chris. Chris. It’s Magda. Can you hear me? It’s Magda. Chris.”
His mouth moved and a low moan rolled from his chest. She wished she brought water. Her eyes ran through the cabin. Beer bottles lined a wall. Maybe there was beer in a bottle.
She stumbled over to the bottles and shook one, a second, a third. The fourth bottle seemed to have something in it. Pulling a pot from the stove, she emptied the bottle into the pot. Beer poured out, as did rotting tobacco and a cigarette filter. She gagged as she dropped the pan, and searched for other options. Two bottles, both capped, sat on the window ledge.
“Didn’t learn this in Girl Guides.” She tucked one lid under the other, levering it off the bottle. She gulped a mouthful of warm, skunky beer, and knelt beside Chris, placing the bottle on his lips and tipping.
“Please swallow, don’t choke,” she whispered.
Beer dribbled down the side of his face, but his mouth smacked as his taste buds woke. He seemed to swallow, his lips searching for more. She touched the bottle back to his lips, tilting, and he swallowed, this time in a gulp.
His eyelids fluttered and she spoke a little louder. “Chris. Chris, it’s Magda. What happened? Can you tell me?”
No answer, but she could see his eyes search the room through narrow slits. Opening her purse, she dug through the contents and pulled out the packet of Advil. She pulled out two and pushed them into his mouth. Pressing the bottle to his lips again, she encouraged him to swallow.
“It’s Advil. It will help.”
His voice was barely audible. “Magda. Go. Help. Go.”
She grimaced as she deciphered his words. It was clear she needed to get help, but she couldn’t leave him lying here. She had to get him back to his boat.
“Chris, what happened? What are you doing here?”
No response. He was no longer conscious.
Chapter thirty-six
Raheem hefted his bulk into the windowless van and sandwiched himself between two equally bulky officers. He shifted on the bench seat, trying to find space. Till now he’d had little use for his Kevlar vest, but the lighter vests may not be sufficient for this operation. It wasn’t built for comfort. Raheem looked from officer to officer, searching the faces to commiserate, but each was taut with energy.
For the past hour, the special forces team from the mainland led eight island officers through a series of checks and double-checks of equipment, codes, timing, and roles. Raheem’s stomach sat in his throat. He wasn’t sure if his anxiety connected to the vest, the coming raid, or seeing Magda driving north on the Island Highway minutes after she’d told him she was heading home for the night. He’d passed her just as he pulled into the detachment parking lot, and he worried from that moment on.
He couldn’t think about it now. Maybe she was headed to Donna’s for a visit.
Moments earlier, the group had been briefed and the news was not good. The undercover officer embedded in the opioid ring for the past two years had gone dark – a week earlier.
Dark. No communication. It might have been normal at the start of the operation, where trust was being built and there wouldn’t be much to share, but not now. Not when they needed confirmation on details before a big bust. The agent might have determined it was a necessary precaution, but it might mean something worse.
Raheem shuddered and glanced at his watch.
When the van came to a final halt, and the team unfurled themselves from the van, he pulled his phone out and called Magda. It buzzed right to voicemail.
Hello, you have reached Mag…..he hung up.
He followed the group as they converged on the small commuter airport near Stey Cove, and called Donna.
“Hi Donna. How are you?”
“Raheem. So happy to hear from you. Did you hear about our trip? Does this mean you are coming for dinner? Salmon. Fresh caught. By Dave Connor. Can you believe…”
“Sorry Donna, I’m in the middle of something. Is Magda there?” He’d cut her off. He didn’t have much time to make this call.
“Magda? No. She was pretty exhausted - she went home to bed. You could reach her there I suspect.”
“Okay. I’ll do that. Thanks Donna.”
Getting Magda’s friends upset about her whereabouts wasn’t smart. He hung up and looked at the team of women and men in front of him. The officer in charge waved him over with a sweeping motion.
He tucked the phone in his breast pocket.
◆◆◆
Magda shook Chris’ shoulder. She couldn’t get him out of the cabin by herself. She brushed sweaty bangs from his forehead, the heat rising from his body in waves. It was cool inside the cabin, and Chris had nothing but a thin t-shirt to cover him; a fever was a bad sign. She flicked the flashlight app and searched the room for anything to help her move him.
“Hey, Chris, maybe we’ll stay here tonight.” She shone the light in his face, hoping to wake him, but sweat beading on his forehead was the only response she received. She placed the beer bottle next to his lips and tipped it, but this time it just dribbled from his mouth.
As she shook him again, muffled voices broke the silence. The words were indistinguishable; too distant, she thought. Throwing the phone in her purse, she tossed the
bag over her shoulder and peeked through a smeared patch on the dirty window. Three globes of light gave the impression giant fireflies were bobbing along the path toward the cabin.
They illuminated the area just enough for Magda to see four figures striding up the path. She could hear them laughing, as if sitting around a table telling jokes That laughter meant they weren’t aware there was an injured man in the cabin. Right? But what were they doing in the dark, on the island?
She made the split-second decision to err on the side of caution and dashed out the door and around the back of the cabin. She held her breath, hoping no one caught sight of her. Tucked into a blackberry bramble behind the cabin, she waited for the men to pass.
They didn’t, and the next sounds she heard were boots clunking on the porch, and then the cabin floor.
“Told you he wouldn’t be wandering off.” Laughter.
“Get up, you lying scum.” A soft thud echoed in her ears. The noises were hard to understand. It sounded like something being shuffled, or dragged, across the floor.
“Is he dead?”
“Better not be. They’ll look a lot harder for a cop-killer than they will for smugglers – even if it is fentanyl being smuggled.”
“Idiot. You think he hasn’t given them every bit of information he has on us already. They know exactly who they’re looking for. Killing him won’t make any difference, just give’em another reason to hunt us.”
A third voice, this one more calm. Lower. “I’ve thought about this a lot. There’s no reason to keep him alive now. We’re sinking him, and the boat. Tonight.”
Magda held her breath. Was this the drug deal Raheem had talked about? He suspected it involved Chris. But Chris was a cop? A cop? Did Raheem know that?
Her phone buzzed, two small bleeps, and she froze, unwilling to risk making more noise. A boat motor hummed from a distance, and she willed it toward their location. Someone else was coming – maybe they were looking for shelter; maybe they could help.
The motor grew louder and she prayed it was someone looking for shelter from the ocean. Voices inside the cabin hushed and the door opened. The thud of footsteps stomped across the porch.
“They’re here.”
Magda’s eyes teared. The boat wasn’t here for shelter. The boat was here to meet the men in the cabin. A light came from the upper path, bouncing over trees as a voice yelled.
“Dan. Dan. Hey man, you guys here?”
The calmer, low voice replied, but sounded anxious now. “Yeah. What the hell? You’re supposed to bring the boat around here to transfer the stuff.”
“Where’re the keys, man? Couldn’t find’em.”
“On the floor. Under the seat. Just hooked to the seat. Geez, it was obvious, wasn’t it? Big freakin’ snowflake attached.”
“Yeah, well, the snowflake was there, but the keys aren’t. Did he take’em?”
“Who? The cop? He can barely take a breath. He sure as hell didn’t hike back to the boat, take the keys, and come back here just to lay half-dead on that mattress. Geez. Okay, I’ll go to back to the boat, you get down to the shore with Devon and help him unload, I’ll bring the boat around. Devon, they’re almost here, get down there.”
“What about him?”
“Ha. He won’t wake in time to see the light of day.”
“Hey man, there was another boat there – near the cop’s.”
“What! Did you see anyone?”
“No. Maybe it’s campers – overnight.”
The calm voice didn’t respond before light bounced up the path toward the farm. As the glow from that flashlight briefly struck the man’s face, Magda thought she recognized him. Now they knew someone else was on the island. How much time did she have before they came back?
The two other men exited the cabin and headed toward the sound of the boat. She waited till she couldn’t hear anyone and made her way back into the cabin. She squatted by Chris and shook him hard. This time he moaned, and both eyes fluttered. “Chris, it’s me. Magda. Wake up, Chris. You have to. They’re going to kill you. Wake up.”
“Magda.” The word was barely a whisper.
“Chris. There are men here. One is going back to your boat to bring it here – only I have the keys.” She pulled them out from her purse and swung them in front of his face. His eyes followed them with a lazy, hypnotic gaze.
“Magda. No. Go. Hide. They’ll kill you.”
“Not if they can’t find me. But they’ll kill both of us if we’re here when they get back. Can you move?” She pulled his arm, and his chest rumbled, a scream stifled in his chest. She dropped the arm and watched it hang, a useless appendage draped from his shoulder.
He held out his other hand, and she pulled him up, careful not to put too much weight on her ankle. She led him in a slow shuffle to the door, across the porch, and toward the stream behind the cabin. When they reached the water, Chris dropped to the ground, and Magda cupped her hands, making a bowl to scoop water to his mouth.
“You need to drink something, or you’ll collapse.”
He slurped at the water and sat back. She repeated her gesture. He swallowed a few more sips and tilted his head back toward the sky. A short rest and he leaned into the stream and slurped water himself.
Progress, she thought and pulled out her phone.
“Oh no!” She watched the light from the flashlight app taunt her before fading away for good. Having earlier thrown it in her bag without turning it off, the battery bar was one short red stripe; battery drained. They might only have one shot at calling someone before the men discovered Chris’ disappearance.
She pulled up Raheem’s number, swallowed with a gulp, and pressed call. His voicemail responded and she whispered, “Jedidiah Island, small cabin by the north shore. Chris Ducharme is badly hurt. Guns and smugg….” that was it. The phone went black.
She looked at Chris, his eyes large as saucers, unsure what to do next.
“Sometimes if you shut it off a few moments, you can turn it on later and have some battery.” He was gaining strength, but he’d need a lot more than that to get himself out of there. He grimaced with every breath.
“We have to keep moving, Chris. They’ll be back soon.”
He fixed his stare on her and took a deep breath. Pushing his good arm against the bank, he stood and pointed up the stream toward the top of the hill. She nodded, and they trudged uphill.
“Your leg?” His words came slow and breathy.
“Twisted my ankle getting out of the boat. The tensor helps. It’s not that bad.”
They moved until they heard the hum of another boat approaching. The sound echoed off the shoreline. It had been long enough now that someone would have made it back to Snowflake. Any minute now they’d see someone tearing down the hill toward the cabin. They’d be certain someone else was on the island and destroy the place to find them.
The night exploded. Yelling from the path above them, screams from the shore. The boat engine cut abruptly and shouts bombed the night. Feet pounded up the path from the ocean to the cabin, and stormed across the cabin porch.
“Ducharme. Where the hell are you? We know you’re here, Ducharme. And someone’s with you. Where are you, you scum?” The words were accented by the smashing of the cabin door in its frame.
Magda gripped Chris’ hand and pulled him diagonally from the stream. Flashlights leapt through the forest, flickering near her feet, then up a tree. Another light was coming down the path now.
Fifty feet below, it was as if daylight illuminated the area. She watched six light beams sweep the forest below them, moving closer, foot by foot. Guttural threats and obscene shouts covered any noise she and Chris made, and Magda continued to struggle through the brush, her grip on Chris a vice. The surreal pop of gun-shots ricocheted around them.
She whimpered, then tripped, creating a barricade for Chris. As he crashed on top of her, the pounding of her heart throbbed in her ears. Pain shot through her arm. Had they shot her? The world
slowed to a surreal dream. This was the end.
She tried to raise her head from under Chris’ weight, but the forest exploded in white light and deafening wind, swirling and grabbing and throwing anything that wasn’t rooted. Magda buried her face in a moss mound of earth, Chris holding her as if they were one, his body shielding her from whatever force was about to overtake them. Hours, days, a lifetime passed as Magda inhaled the earthy smell of the forest, wishing she and Raheem could talk one last time.
Shouts, gunshots, more shouts. The sounds made no sense and only compounded her horror. Was she dead? Was Chris dead? His bodyweight forced air from her lungs till she could only gasp.