“They decided to hurry back home to report on their findings, when one of them—Vince—stepped into a trap that had been set near the cabin. Jerry was able to free Vince’s leg, but he was too injured to hike back out. Jerry bandaged Vince’s leg as best he could, set him up in a hiding place, and rushed back. The incident happened this morning. I have an injured man who needs rescuing and a possible bombmaker hiding at the cabin.”
“I’ll pack supplies,” Sahdev said, heading back into Mac’s room.
I held up a hand. “What are you asking us to do?”
“We’re ill equipped to deal with a dangerous criminal. My men have guns, but they’re hunters, not soldiers.” He pointed at the tattoo on my forearm, a skull and dagger surrounded by the words Death before Dishonor. “You were an Army Ranger. And I assume you developed some additional offensive skills during your time with the Janissaries.” He paused, smirking, a gesture totally at odds with the situation and one that raised my hackles. Offensive skills. The words carried a host of meaning. The fucker was too clever by half. “I’d like you to rescue Vince and then check out the man who lives in the cabin. As Kyle suggested, he could be the bomber.”
“Where’s Jerry now?” I asked.
“I just sent my deacon to tell Jerry to ready additional supplies, food, and gear for four men. He’ll be ready to leave soon.” He hesitated, eyes wide and a puzzled expression crossing his face. “I assumed you’d want to help capture a man who set bombs that killed so many innocent people.”
Of course, I wanted to capture the person responsible for destroying the dam, but something about this situation felt off. Too damned convenient. I blew out a breath. Shit. I was probably just being paranoid, letting my dislike for the man color my judgment. I didn’t like the idea of leaving Mac alone, but what’s the chance that he set this whole thing in motion simply to get me away from Mac? That he arranged for Jerry to come pounding on the door with some bullshit story about an accident and a bombmaker? And when exactly could Pastor Bill have set this up? We met the man yesterday. What would be his endgame? If the story proved bogus, he had to know that—man of God or not—I’d come for him. And Pastor Bill didn’t strike me as a man stupid or brave enough to risk pissing off a man like me.
“All right,” I said slowly. I caught Kyle’s eye and tilted my head toward Mac’s room. “We need to talk.” Kyle followed me into the bedroom. I shut the door and leaned against it. “You’re staying here with Mac.”
“No. I’m not.” Kyle crossed his arms over his chest. “No way I’m staying behind if you’re going after the bomber.”
“Somebody should stick around to keep an eye on her,” I said.
“Why?” Kyle demanded. “Sahdev said there’s nothing we can do except watch and wait. Nicole will keep an eye on her while we’re gone. Won’t make a bit of difference to Kenzie if I’m sitting at her bedside or if I’m helping you capture the bomber. And with any luck, we’ll be back within twenty-four hours. Kenz will probably sleep through the whole thing.”
“A week ago you were flat on your back with the flu,” I reminded him, trying another tack. “You think you have the endurance to hike miles through the woods? To confront a bombmaker?”
Kyle’s jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. “You think I’ll slow you down?”
“It’s nothing personal,” I said. “Not an insult. Takes time for anybody to get their strength and stamina back after the flu.”
“Is that right?” Kyle asked. “Some people might say that it takes time to get your strength and stamina back after crashing a motorcycle and somersaulting up the road. We’re in the same boat, buddy. Neither one of us is functioning at one hundred percent, but it doesn’t matter. We’ll both do what needs to be done, the way we did with the arsonist back in Portland. We’re a good team, Ripper, and you’re not going to leave me behind.”
Intuition urged me to argue, but I couldn’t think of a single rational reason to keep insisting that Kyle stay behind. Nicole might have found religion after her family’s deaths—done a 180 in her attitude—but there was no reason to believe that I couldn’t trust her to watch out for Mac. And bringing Kyle along might speed up the rescue.
My cynicism runs deep, but even I couldn’t realistically believe that Pastor Bill had managed to set up such an elaborate scheme in just twenty-four hours, that he positioned all the pieces on the chessboard and set everything in motion. Did I think the man was an evil genius? Fuck no. I didn’t wanna give the asshole more credit than he was due.
“While we were racing away from the dam, I saw a woman’s car flip over in the water,” Kyle said, interrupting my ruminations. “We couldn’t stop to help. I know she drowned. The bomber killed her. Lot of other people, too. I need to be there when you catch him.”
Shit. I understood. Sometimes a man’s got to do whatever it takes to make things right, to restore justice to his corner of the world. Despite being dinged up, I’d no doubt my body would do whatever I demanded of it. Maybe Kyle shared a similar confidence. And if he over-estimated his endurance, I’d ditch him on the trail and come back for him later.
“All right.” If we had to do this, I wanted to be quick and efficient. “You got what you need, Doc?”
“Yes.” Sahdev held up his backpack filled with first aid supplies.
“All right. I’ll meet you and Kyle in the jeep in a couple of minutes. Wanna say goodbye to Mac first.”
Once they left, I crossed the room to Mac’s bedside. Her pallor and stillness—her fragility—made me swallow hard. Lips parted, she drew in shallow breaths. Her eyes moved beneath her closed lids, like she was dreaming, or trying to fight her way out of the stupor that held her prisoner. Hard to reconcile this frail, passive figure with the feisty woman who’d attacked me with pepper spray the first time we met. I dragged my knuckles across her cheek, willing her to open her eyes.
“C’mon, darlin',” I whispered.
No response.
I bent over and spoke in her ear, then pressed my lips against hers, willing her to return the kiss.
Nothing.
Squaring my shoulders, I whirled around and walked to the door. Hand on the knob, I glanced over my shoulder for one last look. I’m not a superstitious man, but I pay attention to hunches, to my back brain trying to punch a hole through my consciousness to tell me what I need to know. Primal dread crept up my spine. Logic and reason warred with instinct. My trepidations made no fucking sense, so why couldn’t I shake them off?
EIGHT
Kenzie
Hot breath tickled my skin and a deep voice rumbled in my ear. “Hate like hell to leave you, Mac. We’ll get back as soon as we can.”
He kissed me, and his mouth lingered over mine, as if by force of will he could compel me to respond to his touch. He sighed, and I sensed his frustration when he pulled back from my flat and seemingly indifferent lips. Frustration boiled in me, too. Why couldn’t I harness that powerful emotion to command my eyes to open, to coerce my limbs to move? If only I could tell him that I heard him, that I felt him, but I lay as inert as a mannequin.
His footsteps retreated from my bed. A door snicked open and closed.
Ripper. Wait. Don’t go.
A tear welled up in my eye, trickled down my cheek and slid over my chin. I was lost, trapped in a nightmare. Where was I? What had happened to me? Why couldn’t I move?
Damn it. Say something. Sit up.
I absolutely could not browbeat my feeble body into obedience, and the effort sapped the last of my energy.
No.
I lost the battle against the darkness.
Someone laid a hand on my cheek, pushed my head to the side, then swept my hair back.
“See. Just like I told you,” the strange woman whispered.
Ungentle fingers poked the bite mark on the side of my neck.
I winced, inwardly at least.
“Poor child,” a deep, unfamiliar voice said. “Clearly, she’s suffering abuse at the hands of t
hat man. You were right to bring this to my attention, Nicole.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Poor child? Abuse? I struggled to piece together the meaning of their conversation, but my addled brain was firing at half speed.
“Would you bring me a glass of water, please?”
“Of course.” The woman—Nicole—shuffled from the room, leaving me alone with the stranger.
A heavy, damp hand descended on my forehead.
“Heavenly father,” he intoned. “Your wrath is mighty, but your blessings abundant. I thank you for the bounty that you have seen fit to bestow upon your faithful servant as we create a new Eden.”
He continued to pray, but his words lost their meaning and I fell, once again, into insensibility.
NINE
Ripper
Hector bounded up the trail ahead of us. His head whipped from side to side as he spied squirrels, birds, and other critters. Tongue lolling from his mouth, he kept looking back over his shoulder, like he couldn’t believe he was running free, like he expected me to call him back and clip on a leash, the way I always had when we’d hiked in the national forest.
Times had changed. Far as I could tell, there was nobody left to enforce law and order, no police, no government, no military. Sure as shit no park rangers. Just survivors, guided by nothing more than the quest for survival and whatever passed for their own moral compass. Hector was free to run, no kids or grandmas to scare, no citizens with sticks up their butts to bitch me out about keeping my dog on a leash. Yeah, times had changed and a man could ignore laws and regulations with impunity, but my moral compass—sketchy as it was—wouldn’t allow me to walk away from the man who might have blown up The Dalles Dam.
I took point, with Jerry behind me, followed by Sahdev, with Kyle on our six. We’d left the jeep and Jerry’s pickup at the trailhead, then hiked several miles into the wilderness, past tall Douglas fir and red cedar trees. A slight haze filled the midafternoon sky, probably from the fire consuming Portland. I’d gone noseblind to the smell of smoke, but my eyes itched, so it had to be fine particles of soot and ash discoloring the air.
Portland gone. A major city a smoldering heap. How many flu survivors had perished in the flames, unable to escape the conflagration? I had suspected that Caleb, the preteen pyromaniac, had started the fire, but maybe the same man who blew up the dam torched the city. I stumbled over a tree root, then cursed myself for my inattention, for losing focus during a mission. Got to stay on task and not let my mind wander. We’d haul Vince to safety, check out the cabin, then capture and interrogate its inhabitant.
“Cabin’s about a mile up ahead,” Jerry said. A heavyset man who looked to be in his fifties, he was red faced and huffing from exertion. Man better not have a heart attack. My knees protested at the prospect of slinging him over my shoulder and carrying him back to his pickup.
I signaled the group to stop, and we gathered in a small circle.
“Where’d you stow Vince?” I asked Jerry.
“Less than a quarter mile from the cabin. That’s as far as he could hobble, and no way I could carry him out by myself.”
“Tell me how he got hurt,” I asked.
“Vince stepped on some brush and fell into a hole filled with sharp sticks. One of the sticks went clean through his foot. I managed to haul him out, staunch the bleeding, then help him walk away from the cabin and hide behind a fallen log.”
“A Punji stake trap,” Sahdev said. “They were used against the British Indian Army in the late 1800s, and later by the Viet Cong.” He shook his head. “It’s a vicious and effective way to slow down an advancing army.”
I nodded. “If a man has the skill to build a Punji stake trap, who knows what other nasty surprises he has in store for us. We gotta be vigilant. Watch for tripwires as we get closer to the cabin.” I glanced at Kyle, whose face was as pale as Jerry’s was red. “How you holding up?”
“I’m fine.” Despite the pallor, he looked steady on his feet. Good enough.
The trail followed along a creek before it took an abrupt turn east, forcing us to splash through the shallow water.
“Almost there,” Jerry said. He pointed to a rotting log twenty feet or so off the trail. “Let me talk to him first.” He tromped through ferns and wood sorrel as he approached the hiding place. “Hey, Vince. It’s me, buddy.”
Jerry dropped into a crouch behind the log. My hand automatically went to my weapon, my suspicions flaring to life. If this was a setup—if Pastor Bill was trying to get rid of us—Jerry and Vince might jump up from behind the log with guns blazing. Instead, Jerry put one hand on the log and hoisted himself to his feet, grunting from the exertion. If I was devising an evil scheme, Jerry would not be my minion of choice.
“Doctor,” he called.
I held a hand up to halt Sahdev. “I’ll go first.”
I led the way to Vince’s shadowy hiding place under the tree canopy. He sat propped up against the log, his skin chalky white, and his face twisted with pain. His left boot was missing, and what looked like a blood-soaked man’s T-shirt was tied around his foot. Binding a wound with a dirty, sweat-drenched tee. Yeah. No potential problem there.
“Stand back and give me room to work,” Sahdev ordered, dropping to his knees by the injured man. For a polite, easygoing man, Sahdev sure got bossy when he switched into doctor mode. He slung the backpack full of first aid supplies onto the ground and pulled out a flashlight. “Ripper, hold this.”
My lips twitched. “Yes, sir.”
I directed the beam at Vince’s foot as Sahdev unwrapped the tee, exposing the injury. The sight killed my flash of humor. Puncture wounds were ugly, especially a through-and-through like this one. Jerry had yanked Vince’s foot off the stake, but God knows how much dirt and debris had been embedded into the wound. Fibers from his socks or bits of leather from his boot—ordinarily innocuous enough—could contaminate the wound. Heard stories of stake tips being coated with poisons or even feces, upping the chances of killing the victim. Vince could be facing one hell of an infection.
I’d get the man who did this. Even if he was some survivalist nutjob and not the bomber, unless he was under attack, it was careless and irresponsible to set potentially lethal booby traps. Self-defense against enemies was one thing, rampant disregard for the lives of hapless strangers was another.
“Are you allergic to any antibiotics?” Sahdev asked Vince.
“Nope.” Vince clenched his teeth.
Sahdev pulled tweezers and a bag of sterile saline from the backpack. I handed the flashlight to Kyle and knelt down next to Vince. Somebody would have to hold his leg still while Sahdev cleaned and irrigated the wound. Soon as the doctor started to dig splinters out of the puncture, Vince turned green. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, then he passed out, a mercy under the circumstances.
“Get antibiotic ointment and gauze from the pack,” Sahdev ordered. I handed them over, and he finished dressing the wound.
“Good thing you had a first aid kit,” I said.
Sahdev glanced up, meeting my eyes. “We can thank Miles for that. He had go bags of emergency supplies ready in case he had to evacuate the compound. Including antibiotics.”
Pain lanced my chest at the mention of Mac’s cousin. The flashlight beam bobbled, and I turned my head toward Kyle, whose hands were shaking, either from fatigue or the reminder of Miles’s death.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“Not a problem, man.” I took the flashlight from him and returned it to the pack.
Sahdev stood up. “We’ll need to keep the dressing dry and weight off his injured foot. Over the next few days, we’ll watch for signs of infection: redness, swelling, fever.”
“I’m on it, Doc,” Jerry said.“I took a Red Cross first aid class at the church. If you guys help me get him to my vehicle, I can drive Vince back home. I’ll keep an eye on him till you and your friends get back from dealing with the bomber.”
“I was planning on
coming back to the cabin with you,” Sahdev said, frowning.
“No need. Listen, the bomber is smart and knows how to set traps.” He nodded toward Vince. “You saw what he can do. If anything goes wrong, your friends might need a doctor. Besides, with any luck, you’ll be back tomorrow. I can handle Vince till then.”
“All right,” Sahdev said slowly. “Perhaps I’d be of more use here.”
He glanced at me, and I nodded. I’d always assumed that the soft-spoken doctor would be useless in a fight. Truth was, I didn’t know whether he had any fighting skills or not, but what he undoubtedly had was courage and heart. Whether he could fight or not, I suspect he’d find a way to help out.
Vince was a short man with a slight build—thank fuck—so hauling his ass the four miles back to the trailhead would be a helluva lot easier than carrying Jerry. I found a straight, sturdy tree branch, stripped off the twigs, and crafted a carrying pole. Sahdev and I stood side by side, then slid the branch under our backpacks, so that the pole rested on top of our hip belts. Kyle and Jerry hoisted Vince onto the pole and propped him up with his limp arms draped around our necks.
“Kyle, I want you to stay behind and try to get some rest while we carry Vince back to the road,” I said. Kyle opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. “By the time we get back, it’ll be evening. We’ll need to lay low tonight, then we’ll start looking for the bomber at first light. Might need to take turns keeping watch. Be a good idea if you could catch some sleep now, so you can take watch later.”
Kyle nodded, reluctant acquiescence on his face. Good. He’d be no use to me if he depleted all his energy on an unnecessary hike.
Once again, Hector led the way, nosing the undergrowth and alerting to any animal movement. Sahdev and Jerry switched places halfway through our trip back to the road. By the time we reached the trailhead, Vince had regained consciousness, although he was in a lot of pain. After getting final instructions about changing the bandages, pain pills, and antibiotics, Jerry and Vince headed back to Nicole’s cabin. Sahdev and I turned around and marched back to Kyle. Had less than an hour of daylight left by the time we reached the fallen log hideaway, definitely not enough time to safely scope out any booby traps that lay between us and the cabin.
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