Now he never would. Tears burned her eyes as she remembered his last comment before he started up the mountain.
And then Jackson’s other words flashed through her fog.
“The plane was on top of the mountain? But how could it be? It landed in Denver!”
“See those lights? We’re almost there.”
“At least tell me what happened to Lee Pienaar. Is he . . . still alive?”
“He’s alive. That’s why we have to hurry!”
Then they were entering a small town and driving into the parking lot of a two-story stucco hospital. Lighted arrows in the cement pointed to the emergency entrance. Instead of parking, Fiona drove up the ramp.
Jackson leaned forward as if to stop her.
She braked with a squeal and began honking the horn. Two orderlies in pale green cotton suits came running out. By the time they got to the Explorer, Fiona had reached across and opened Rosa’s door. Then she opened her own door. She didn’t see where Jackson went.
“What’s the problem?” The first orderly was a grizzle-haired man in black-framed glasses.
“She was shot.” Her voice was hoarse.
“Okay.” The man stepped forward and put his hand on Rosa. “Oh boy.”
Oh boy? What did oh boy mean?
The second orderly had already bolted back into the hospital.
Fiona sank back in the driver’s seat. Greg was gone—was Dominick still alive, or had they gotten him too? Like shooting fish in a barrel. Rosa was—who knew. Half an hour ago she had been almost dead herself. The line between living and dying was fluid, as if you could cross it again and again.
As the men edged Rosa onto the stretcher, Fiona pressed her hand over her mouth. She had always thought of Rosa as tall, but that had probably been her personality. Her legs, slightly bent at the knees, looked thin in her black sweatpants. Her hair was matted, and she still wasn’t moving. As the canvas dipped in transit, one of her arms swayed and Fiona admitted the truth to herself: Rosa was the one she was most desperate to have live.
“They have a few questions, miss, if you’ll come inside,” the younger man called to her.
“Oh. Sure.” She picked up Rosa’s bag and followed him through the entrance. At the nurses’ station she handed over Rosa’s license and a pristine Medicare card.
“How did she get shot?” The nurse, a woman her age with curly brown hair, gave her a stern look.
Fiona hesitated but then told her the truth. “This crazy truck called the Death Squad rammed the back of our SUV. We tried to get away, but they shot into our car as they passed.”
“You’re tourists?”
“Um . . . ”
“And they shot at you?” She gave her head a shake. “Those two—their father founded this hospital. Just tell the police everything. Wait over there.”
But Jackson was shaking his head at her. “We have to go while there’s still time. When someone is shot, they tie you up for hours.”
“Won’t the police help us?”
“If you’re coming, come on.”
They moved rapidly out of the emergency room and to the Explorer, which was still on the ramp.
Inside, Jackson asked, “Where’s the phone?”
“There. In my bag. On the floor.” Fiona did not want to take her hands off the wheel. “Back the way we came?”
“No. Go right at that light.”
Jackson found the phone and was switching it on. “Miss Lee?” A pause. “No, this is Jackson. Will can’t come to the phone right now. He wanted me to call you to see what’s going on.”
He listened. “But you can’t do that!”
More talk from a woman’s voice that Fiona could not understand.
“You’re at Marysville now? Don’t do anything; we’re on our way.”
He pressed off. “Damn. Damn. Can’t you drive any faster?”
“I don’t even know where I’m going!”
“Go straight, and I’ll tell you when to turn.” He was pressing numbers in again. “There’s an emergency in Marysville. People are locked in the church—they’re going to be burned alive!” He listened. “Any minute now. That’s not important.” He ended the call. “She wanted me to tell her who was going to do it. If I’d said Ginger Lee, she’d have thought it was a prank.”
“She’s burning people alive? The passengers? Oh my God, oh my God.” Fiona knew she was wailing, but she couldn’t stop herself. “How much farther is it?”
“Three miles. Less. Stay calm and I’ll tell you about the plane.”
“O-okay.” She made herself breathe slowly and look at the field they were passing. Dark shapes of bison swayed like moving haystacks.
“The plane that landed in Denver wasn’t the one that left Taos. It was at the Ranch. We were headed there, but we didn’t make it; we ended on the mountain. They helicoptered out anyone who was okay and put them on that plane for Denver. It had the same numbers, so traffic control didn’t realize the difference.”
Fiona caught her breath but kept from interrupting him.
“Because of the nitrous oxide, no one remembered what had happened—a benefit they hadn’t counted on. Small planes land out on the tarmac and people are bussed to the terminal. When the first bus got out there, they said they weren’t ready. When the next came ten minutes later, a few people and Day Star staff got on, as if everyone else had been picked up.”
“How could they do it all so fast?” Fiona braked for a dark shape, but nothing was there.
“Everything was planned since the last time. They thought they could get our plane to the Ranch, but it crashed on the mountain. It was a hard landing, but most people didn’t die. Some did. Like the man visiting his daughter. He—”
“You mean Maggie’s father? But he did get there.”
“That’s what she told you?” Jackson laughed softly. “Money talks.”
“You mean she just said that? They paid her to say that?” A young woman will betray you.
“Turn left here.”
Chapter Forty-Five
IN THE SHINE of the headlights, Fiona could see the remains of a ghost town. The shell of a log cabin, other houses open to the sky, then several stone foundations where the wood had fallen away.
“Is this Marysville?”
“Turn the lights off,” Jackson commanded. His hand rested on her thigh, but there was no erotic current.
“But I—okay.”
She strained to stay on the road in the blackness, the dashboard lights the brightest thing to navigate by. Yet there seemed to be some light up ahead, an odd, not-quite-earthly glow. Her heart thudded—had they lit the fire already? Was Lee locked inside? To come so close to finding him—but she couldn’t think about that. As the road angled sharply, a Milky Way of sparks was rising into the sky.
“Stop here!” Jackson said. “We’ll walk. Take this.” He handed her Will’s gun. “You know how to shoot?”
Only tin cans. “What will you do?”
“You’ll have to cover me.”
Oh, God.
Jackson ran toward the lighted square, Fiona racing to keep up with him. The strongest light came from flames licking at the bottom of a battered white church, glowing upward like footlights. It took a moment for her to see the black truck with the frenzied, squealing horse’s head, outlined with white lights, a horror movie where the dead kept coming back to life, a hand reaching out to grab your ankle.
But it couldn’t be Will.
Then she saw Ginger Lee and the two men who had stopped them on the mountain road standing near the truck.
Jackson stopped between them and the church. “Are they inside?” he demanded.
“Leave it alone,” Ginger said. “They won’t feel anything.”
“Yeah, shut up, Indian,” the shorter brother yelled.
Jackson whirled to where she stood in the shadows. “Fiona, now!”
As the trio focused on her, startled, Jackson took off toward the church.
&
nbsp; Fiona braced herself and pointed the gun at them.
The taller one—she couldn’t remember his name—began to laugh. “Well, what have we got us here, Pocahontas?”
“Oh, for God sake,” Ginger Lee said, sighing. “Will was supposed to take care of her.”
Fiona startled at her voice and the dead weight of the pistol dipped in her hand. She righted it immediately.
I wanted you for my mother.
“For heaven’s sake. Mickey, take care of this.”
His hand moved toward the holster on his belt, and Fiona sucked in her breath. Then she fired and hit him in the thigh.
He howled and fell to the ground.
Say terlet, sucker.
She heard the bang of a wooden door from the church, but she knew she couldn’t look and see. “Like you said,” she yelled at Mickey. “Next time I’ll shoot to kill.” She felt like an animal trying to make herself look larger, fiercer, but her hand was shaking. How much longer could she keep them at bay? With Mickey on the ground, she had to keep watching everywhere. Soon they would think of a better way to fight back.
Ginger Lee paid no attention to her injured son.
Something inside the building cracked sharply, sending a panoply of sparks into the air and then raining them down. The Death Squad’s truck glittered like a carnival float.
Do something.
“I grew up on a farm like you,” she said to Ginger. “As I think I told you. But how did you move from killing sick animals to people?”
“Don’t compare yourself to me, you little nothing. You’re not like me at all. Jake, do something!”
But she was distracted by someone running around the truck and stopping in front of them.
Fiona gasped. It was the tourist from the café who had complained about Marysville.
He looked at the gun she was holding, shocked. “What are you doing?”
“They’re burning the church down with people inside! They won’t let us rescue them!”
“People are in there? I already called the fire department!”
Without waiting, he turned and was running toward the church.
Almost immediately there was a siren, its wail startling in the empty countryside.
“Come on!” Ginger snapped at Jake. “We can’t be here.”
They turned and ran toward the Death Squad truck. Fiona kept the pistol trained on Mickey, who was ignoring her, propelling himself with his arms as he dragged his leg along the ground. He yelled at them to wait.
They didn’t wait. The Death Squad truck passed the first fire engine and skirted the ambulances and two sheriff’s sedans. Fiona lowered the pistol as vehicle doors opened and a collection of men and women raced toward the burning church. Then she collapsed on the ground, put her head on her knees, and sobbed.
Chapter Forty-Six
SHE WAS STILL weeping when she heard Jackson say, “It’s okay, stop; we got them all. Take care of her.”
Fiona looked up then and saw him supporting a young girl with long brown hair, her arm in a grimy cast. Coral?
Coral. They had found Coral.
“She’s been drugged—they all were. She’s groggy, but okay.”
Pushing to her feet, Fiona held out her arms and embraced the girl. “But why didn’t they send her home with a story?”
Jackson gave a grim laugh. “They wanted to. But there was never any answer at her mother’s house and no answering machine. By the time they knew about her father, he was already out here looking for her.”
Dominick. Where was Dominick?
“And the others in the church?” She almost couldn’t form the words.
“Okay. They’re okay. They’re taking them to the hospital. Your—he’s fine, he was in the first ambulance. He’ll be conscious soon.”
“You mean he was unconscious all this time?”
Jackson sighed. “In and out. They couldn’t risk sending him home. And then you were out here.” He remembered something. “Who was that man who helped?”
That mystery man? The Lone Ranger? She fought down a hysterical laugh but didn’t answer.
“Let’s go to the hospital. The same one, in Magdalena.”
Yes, I have to see Lee. But she wavered. “I have to find Dominick.” She glanced at the girl pressed against her. “You know your father’s cell number, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’ll see you there.” Jackson ran quickly toward the last ambulance.
“Can you walk?” Fiona asked Coral. “My phone’s back in the truck.”
“If you help me.”
They passed the remains of ruined church, the fire finally extinguished. Its white paint had blistered and darkened completely.
“I hate this hospital!” Coral said suddenly. “I hurt my arm, and they wouldn’t let me go home.”
“It wasn’t exactly a hospital,” Fiona said gently.
“And this little German boy who hurt his leg, he died, and they left him lying there! And then they put him in a bag and took him outside.” She started to cry.
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Fiona hugged her more tightly. “You’re safe now. They’ll arrest the people who did this. We’ll call your dad and go get him.”
Please, God, make Dominick okay.
She checked the passenger seat for Rosa’s blood, then helped Coral in. Before she turned on the Explorer, Fiona asked, “What’s his cell number?”
Coral, small in the passenger seat, looked very tired but recited it.
Dominick answered on the second ring. “Fiona? Where are you?”
“I’m fine. I have someone who wants to talk to you.” She handed the phone to Coral, who took it awkwardly with her free hand. “Daddy?”
She couldn’t hear his response and couldn’t see Coral very well. Tears welled in her own eyes. She’d probably collapse when she saw Lee.
“I know. But I broke my arm and it hurts!”
“Tell him we’ll pick him up,” Fiona said urgently. “Ask him where he is.”
Instead, Coral handed the phone to her and slumped against the seat.
“Dominick? Are you still at the mountain?”
“Was that really Coral?”
“Yes, it’s okay. We’re going to pick you up.”
“I’m at that gas station where we got water. I didn’t know where else to go.”
“Is there an address?” It sounded silly as she said it. “For the GPS. I don’t know where the hell I am.”
“I’ll ask.”
A moment later he told her.
Chapter Forty-Seven
FIONA THOUGHT CORAL and Dominick would fall into each other’s arms, sobbing. Instead, Dominick cuffed her on the chin and said, “Hey, kid,” and she said, “Why didn’t you come get me? I hated it there!”
“Believe me, I was trying.”
They climbed into the backseat and began talking in a low murmur.
Fiona set the GPS for Magdalena, and they were off.
The hospital blazed with lights as if there was a party going on. This time Fiona went into a lobby that was furnished in 1960s style, turquoise and bright orange vinyl. A few ragged magazines lay on a kidney-shaped coffee table, and there were prints on the walls by an R. C. Gorman wannabe.
Lee was in a second-floor private room. She stood in the doorway for a moment and took in the IV drip and tubes, almost not recognizing him. His fair hair was shaggy and a light beard covered his face—Lee, who was more meticulous than anyone she knew. He gave her a groggy smile, his lips twitching.
To her surprise she did not break down, just went over and kissed his forehead hard, then hugged him tightly.
“I’m not letting you out of my sight again,” she murmured.
“Good. Obviously I can’t be trusted.”
THE SURVIVORS MET two weeks later at an Indian restaurant in Patchogue—a place that Rosa had chosen. When Fiona pushed open the heavy wooden door, the waft of heat and spices stunned her. Tandoori was elegant, lit subtl
y like a cave, with carved rosewood panels that showed scenes of daily life in India. At the back of the restaurant was an open, black-walled oven; to its right a man in a white robe stroked a long-necked sitar. The mingled odors of sandalwood and spices took Fiona back to New Delhi.
Rosa had asked Fiona and Lee to come before the others so they could talk privately. She was waiting at the bar in a far corner, under an overhead drape of dark blue silk. An apricot-colored drink stood on the counter, and she laughed when she saw them. “Can I interest you in a piña colada, Fiona?”
“Oh, God. You know what happened the last time I had one.” She leaned over and kissed Rosa, careful not to touch the white gauze pad on her forehead. “How are you?”
“I’m fine. I’m tough.”
“You remember Lee from the hospital.” She pushed him forward like a proud mother. Although his recovery from his concussion had been good, he was quieter, more pensive than before.
“Of course I do.” She leaned forward for a kiss. “You’re feeling okay?”
“Better every day. Fiona worries too much. My vision’s still blurry sometimes, but the doctor says that should improve. Funny thing is, I still can’t remember the flight.”
“That’s what everyone says. Order what you want and let’s sit at a table.”
“How do you know no one can remember the flight?” Fiona asked when they joined her.
“Ah.” Rosa looked complacent. Tonight she was wearing an emerald-green cotton dress, embroidered and mirrored, with long jade earrings. “That’s one of the things I want to tell you.”
Lee lifted his glass and the other two clinked theirs against it. He had decided to keep the beard and looked to Fiona like a Viking explorer.
“I’ve been in touch with the others because—okay, Susan’s gone. I accept that. It’s tragic that she never enjoyed the recognition she should have gotten. But I’m not looking for someone to replace her. This is a wonderful story, and I’m writing it.”
“No! Really?”
“To paraphrase Samuel Johnson: When a man knows he will be hanged in two weeks, it focuses the mind wonderfully. When I was in the hospital I realized I’ve been part of the backstage crew all my life when what I really wanted to do was write. And this story has everything. Drama, twists, the Jesse-Ginger Lee connection.”
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