by Ellen Clary
Randall sounded mystified. “What about it?”
“Ever considered selling data?”
“Too abstract. And I have no idea how to sell such a thing. You’d need a whole company to pull that off.”
Amy considered this. He might be playing me, but he sounds sincere. They always do.
“What do you mean company? Just a group of people, or an actual company?”
“There are companies that have a legit business, but also steal hardware and data to sell, either to the highest bidder or to someone who contracted with them in advance.”
“You mean like hackers?” Amy asked, stepping over a series of loose rocks, trying to sound casual, but very intrigued. Learning something while on the run with a kidnapper, who’d have thunk?
“More basic than that. Hacking takes a lot of effort these days, so sometimes it’s just easier to steal the thing that is holding the data. Go this way,” he said, holding a branch for her. Amy thought that was an admirably low-tech approach.
“Do you know the names of these companies?”
Randall paused for a second. “They always seem to have these completely generic, forgettable names. United this, or Allied that, or Strong this. Sometimes they have a bland set of names like law firms do, but that’s less common.”
AS THEY climbed up a different ridge, the firs grew smaller and more spaced out, and when they reached the top, they could see across to the other hills. On the very next ridge, working their way across, was another two-person team and a dog. The dog was light colored, and after looking carefully Amy could see that one of the people was large, yet moved with a certain grace. It had to be Steve, Pearl the lab, and the much smaller female ranger who was paired with them. She inhaled nervously. Carefully, she resisted calling out to them, though she wanted nothing more.
“Get down!” Randall said, grabbing her arms and pulling her down behind a couple of granite boulders, his fingers clenched and digging into her bicep, nearly breaking the skin.
She tried to pull her arm back. “Ow, ease off.”
Randall got back in her face. “Don’t argue. Stay down and don’t try anything stupid. Don’t. Say. Anything.” Putting special emphasis on each word, he clenched harder with each word and gesticulated with the pistol in the other hand.
Amy almost said “okay,” but caught herself.
“Did they see us?” Randall asked her, glancing just over the rock. His voice was gaining an edge and he was starting to sweat more than he had been when climbing the ridge.
“Naw, they’re too far away.” Amy leaned back against the rock and tried to think soothing thoughts. How did I ever get into this situation? Oh, it was me or Lars. It all made a weird sort of sense then.
Randall glanced back at her and then looked back at the ridge. “But they might have.” Amy noticed that his hair was starting to poke out in more directions than it had before.
“No, they didn’t see us.” She attempted to channel Catherine, their director, at her most calm and convincing.
Randall kept looking over the stone. “I think they’re coming this way. They must have seen us.”
She worked on her most placating tone of voice. “Randall, there’s no way they saw—”
“Shut up.” He nearly spit with vehemence and almost panted with nervousness.
“They’re coming. They’re coming.” Now he really was panting. Then he aimed the gun at them.
“Randall, no!” Amy grabbed at his arm and he elbowed her back.
“They can’t take me.”
“Randall, they don’t see you.”
“They’re coming for me.” He aimed the gun again.
“Randall, you can’t hit them from this distance.”
Randall paused, seeming to consider. Then he bent down, riffling through his pack. Amy was trying to decide whether to worry or not, when he produced a small handgun telescope. It was about the same length or a little longer than the pistol and it looked like one of those high-tech ones that Harris had described to her once. Dread hit her all at once. Handguns were usually not reliably accurate at a distance, but if this was the same type of scope, it could self-calibrate by just sliding it onto the barrel and it could guess at the distance to a target and adjust for that. The accuracy went up tenfold, and now the theoretical threat was shockingly real as he pushed the scope into place.
No more playing along. Amy stood up and grabbed his forearm with both hands. “I can’t let you do this. Randall, you haven’t killed anyone so far, don’t screw this up permanently for yourself.”
“Too late,” he said with that distant, unreachable look that never turned out well. “Let go.”
“No!” She grabbed at the barrel and jerked back, pulling Randall from a crouch over onto his knees. Nearly growling, he struck at her with his left fist, but she was standing. She kept turning her body and the blow glanced off. Randall stood up during the turn and Amy was now between him and the searchers. They paused for a second and Randall resumed taking aim. Realizing that she only had a couple of seconds and regretting being too close for a solid kick, Amy bent down and charged into Randall, hitting him in the belly with something like a tackle.
The gun went off; distantly she could hear the shot ricochet off something, and vaguely hoped it wouldn’t hit anyone. Then she realized if she heard a ricochet, the point was probably moot. Their bodies crashed onto the coarse, gravelly scree and started sliding and rolling down the escarpment.
“You crazy bitch! I’m going to kill you.”
Amy, who remembered Tom training her that being closer to a gun was better than far away, hung on to him as they continued to roll. Their bodies scraped over the stones, which turned into dirt and then shrubs and more sturdy limbs. Then everything stopped with a thunk, and Amy looked up to see that they were semi-entwined in a line of younger pines.
She realized that Randall was still yelling and hoped that the gun was elsewhere.
Full of adrenaline, she tried to scramble to get out of the trees, only vaguely noticing that her body was not quite doing everything she asked it to.
“STOP!” It was Randall’s voice.
He still had the gun and was waving it in her general direction.
How the hell did he manage that?
“Get me the fuck out of this tree.”
Amy limped over to him, her body only now starting to tell her it really hurt.
Things seemed a little fuzzy and she realized that her left leg was bleeding. She tried to help him up as best she could.
“Tell me why the hell I shouldn’t kill you right now.”
Amy couldn’t think of a response and just shrugged. She just wanted to lie down, and she didn’t really care what this crazy-ass guy did.
“Well, you got us down the hill fast, I’ll say that much. Get into the trees.” Amy started to sink to the ground, but she then hauled herself over to one of the larger trunks before crumpling on her right side.
“I’m not moving anymore.”
Randall was rummaging in his pack and was pulling out what appeared to be gauze and tape. Amy stiffened, worrying that he was going to tie her up and leave her bleeding in the woods.
Almost as if reading her thoughts, Randall said, “I should just leave you here, but you’re my ticket out of here.”
“How, Randall?”
“Because they want you back in one piece, and not with holes in you.”
“Yeah, that sounds nice,” she said weakly, “though I think I already have something of a hole in me.”
He knelt down by her leg, put some water on the gauze and touched the torn skin.
“Ouch!”
“Quiet, it’s going to hurt.”
“OWWW!”
“Shut up or I put this rag in your mouth and tie it there. Here, yell into this cloth.” He tossed her a rag that maybe one day had been clean.
Amy did yell into it.
Then she heard him tearing tape and looked up to see him bandaging her knee wi
th a fresh gauze pad and some cloth tape.
He said, “This is going to soak through, but it will staunch the bleeding and keep it clean.”
“Thanks, I think,” said Amy. “Hope I’m not lying in poison oak.”
“No poison oak here, but plenty of cat claw and other things to scratch you up nicely. I’m going to let you rest here a minute or two and then we have to get going.” Amy realized through her brain fog that Randall seemed different than he was at the top of the ridge when he was intent on shooting her friends. She was wondering about that when the fog of the trauma overtook her.
More than a minute or two must have passed when Amy came to. She was outside, and she could feel a breeze. The sky was partially cloudy and peaceful, but she really couldn’t remember where she was and all she wanted to do was close her eyes and rest. There was someone lying beside her caressing her side. The other person leaned in further, the stroking intensifying. It must be John, her boyfriend.
“Not now, John, I’m too sore.”
“Who’s John?”
Suddenly awareness of her situation came flooding in. She was kidnapped in the mountains by an unstable fugitive who smelled of dirt, sweat, and nasty body odor, and not the soap and seawater smell that she associated with John.
“He’s my boyfriend.”
“I remind you of him?” The voice sounded pleased.
“Only his bad sense of timing is reminding me.”
“We could share a moment before we have to move on.” The hand was continuing to massage her side. “You do feel nice.”
Amy thought of all of the rape defense maneuvers she had been taught and was trying to work up the energy to give a damn enough to do something about it when she heard a hovering sound not far away. Adrenaline shot through her. Opening her eyes fully, she saw it. “Drone!”
Randall rolled quickly, pulling Amy on top of him, his gun pointed at her head. That must have looked ridiculous with the scope on it, Amy thought.
Peering out to the open sky she could see a small, black, armed drone about two feet wide hovering there.
“Drop the weapon,” a drone voice said.
Drone–gun negotiations never seem to turn out well, Amy thought.
Randall, stiffening predictably, said, “NO!”
Amy, her face frozen in a horrified expression, tried to give the drone a go-away signal, but finally got her mouth working well enough to yell desperately, “Person. Send a person. Please.”
“Shut up,” Randall said to her.
Amy worked on her pleading look and kept making small waving-away motions with her hands.
She could feel his arm tensing around her neck and she had to focus to breathe.
Then, without any further posturing, the drone flew away. Randall’s arm relaxed and she inhaled quickly.
Yanking her to her feet and shoving her forward, he grunted, “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Down the hill. Stay in the trees.”
AS THEY moved, Amy could hear a couple of search drones in the distance but they didn’t seem to be coming any closer. Randall told her to stop walking often so he could take a look. “I don’t think they know where we are, but let’s keep moving.”
This happened at least three times, though Amy was sore and losing count.
She did notice that the drones could have covered a lot more ground and they weren’t coming close, but seemed focused on the area behind them. What could that mean? Do the searchers really think we’re back there? It just doesn’t make sense. Unless … Her brain cells felt like they were in a faraway marsh. Amy tried to get an idea of where they were going. Down and they would be walking in a valley soon. They’re herding us here, she realized. Oh, this could be bad. She was glad she wasn’t facing Randall. Clueless. I can do clueless right now. That’s too easy, and she stumbled down the incline.
When they hit the bottom of the hillside, they were standing at the edge of a meadow. Randall directed her to walk along the edge of it. “We can get water up here in this stream,” he said, pointing to it just a few dozen feet away.
“Stop right there, Randall Curtis,” a voice boomed.
Randall grabbed Amy by the arm and dragged her back to him, holding her in front of him, the gun aimed at her head.
“Back off! I will kill her.”
“You are surrounded, Randall,” said a familiar voice.
Detective Beth Hanscom appeared at the other edge of the meadow.
Amy was terrified, but she had to stifle a laugh—Beth was no outdoors person. Helicopter and even drone use were highly limited in the mountains, so while this drama probably rated helicopter use, Amy got a brief vision of Beth being toted around on the back of someone’s horse. The absurdity nearly made her laugh, until she noticed people with rifles on the edges.
“She’s not kidding, Randall.”
“Shut up,” he yelled in her ear. “Do you want to die right now?”
Amy refrained from saying: “No, I’m in no hurry. Take your time.”
Randall said, “We need safe passage out of here.”
“We can talk about that, but please let Amy go. She hasn’t hurt you, and she needs a doctor.”
“We need a helicopter out of the area, and cash.”
“Okay, but please, I need you to release Amy so we can discuss this.”
“No, I love her and she’s coming with me.”
Dread crept its way into Amy’s chest. Trying to think of something to say, she said, “Randall, it’s okay. I can help you out, if you let me go.”
“No, you can’t.” The stubble of his jaw scraped against her ear.
Beth said, “Randall, your mother misses you terribly. She wants to see you.”
Randall started to weep. “She’s not getting better, I can’t help her.”
“You can’t, standing here with a gun on someone, in the middle of the Montagues,” Beth said. Amy could see her say something over her shoulder.
Continuing, Beth said, “Amy already has a family here that she loves and wants to go back to. Don’t you want that for her, Randall?”
Randall, who was still weeping, said, “Yes.” Then he held her tightly and said, “No, she stays with me.” His arm tightened on her throat putting pressure on the veins in her neck. The world started to change colors.
“Rrr … ran … dell,” she wheezed. She started to focus inward: Come to peace. Now. Whatever will be, will be. Peace. Be at peace. I love you John and Mom and Dad and Lars and all my friends.
One shot cracked the air, throwing Randall’s body backwards, his gun firing wide. Thrown to the side, Amy rolled up partially, only to see Randall had a hole where his right eye was. Her vision cleared immediately, and she wished it hadn’t.
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” she shouted out. Uniforms were running at her. “What happened? WHY?”
She hurled herself face down. “Why!? He was going to give up.”
Hands were on her shoulders. “Amy. Amy. Amy, it’s Steve. I’m here.”
He rolled her over and she grabbed onto his arm, crying into his shoulder. “Why?”
“I don’t know yet. Just hang on to me. We do have his DNA now.”
Beating on his shoulder, she said, “I don’t care about his flipping DNA.”
Steve hugged her. “That’s me, master of saying the completely wrong thing.”
She sank into him, sobbing and shaking, her tears dampening his shirt, and he sat and rocked her back and forth.
Amy looked up to see Lars dragging Amy’s mother, Mary, by a leash that Mary was trying to hang on to.
“Mom!”
Amy, through tears, tried to hug all three of them.
Mary said, “Oh, Amy, honey. You’re okay. Thank heaven.”
“They shot Randall. They didn’t have to.”
Mary grabbed Amy’s shoulders and shook her a little, then thought better of it and just looked at her. “Amy Callahan, you listen to me. That gun went off. He was starting to pull the t
rigger when they shot him.”
“They don’t know that,” Amy said to the ground, rocking while still gripping tightly on to first Steve and then Lars.
“Yes, they do,” said Steve. “They have a sensor in the rifle sights that can tell when someone’s finger is starting to pull.”
Trying not to yell, and wiping a tear off her own cheek, Mary said, “Amy, please. I know you’re upset and scared, but you need to know that I nearly watched you get shot and killed, and I guarantee you that is every parent’s nightmare.” Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed a medic right behind her. “I am so happy to be having this conversation with you, but now I want this nice man to have a look at you because your eyes don’t look right.”
The medic, a guy in his late twenties with an earnest face bent down in front of her. He first asked if she knew the date, and she could remember that it was Saturday but not what day. He then asked if she could subtract seventeen from one hundred. After some thought, she answered eighty-three. Then he asked her to subtract seventeen from that. She told him that would be difficult under normal circumstances, but she was able to figure it out by subtracting ten from eighty-three and then seven from seventy-three, but it took quite a while. She asked him to stop there. Then he shone a light into her eyes and asked her to look up and left and right and then follow his finger with her eyes.
It was harder than she remembered the test being before.
“You have evidence of a concussion.”
“Amy, we’re going to put you on a stretcher and carry you out. We’ll be right here,” Steve said.
“But I’ve come all this way on foot so far.”
“And I think you’ve done quite enough,” he said.
“Where’s Beth? Who ordered the shot?”
“She’s going to talk to you after you’ve seen a doctor.”
“I want to see her now.”
“I want you to lie down on this nice stretcher that they brought here for you,” Steve said.
“Why did they already have a stretcher?”
Steve said, “Standard procedure, you know that.”
“Body bag at the ready?”
“Not for you.”
“They knew they were going to kill him,” Amy said disconsolately.