Presumed Dead

by Mason Cross

  “He knows we’re coming,” he said quietly.

  “How do you know?” she asked. She had come to the same conclusion. He wanted them to come, or wanted her to come, at least.

  Blake was looking away from the path, directly up the steep slope up into the fog. Visibility was down to less than twenty feet.

  “I heard something,” he said, his voice a whisper.

  None of them spoke, each straining to hear another hint of what Blake might have heard. The fog seemed to dampen the usual woodland noises. No birds chirping, no squirrels moving through branches, nothing.

  And then something.

  “Get down,” Blake said sharply, pushing on Isabella’s shoulder. She bent at the knees at the same instant she heard the tiny crack of a rifle bullet breaking the sound barrier, a split second before she heard the report of the rifle itself ring out.

  With sick inevitability, a third sound followed. A sound all too familiar. The sound of someone screaming out in pain.

  74

  Carter Blake

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dentz drop like a felled tree, clutching a hand somewhere between the top of his vest and his neck. I didn’t turn to look, I was too busy dropping to the ground and focusing on the place I had seen the muzzle flash. The same approximate location I had heard the soft click of a bolt being drawn back a matter of seconds before.

  I estimated Feldman was less than thirty feet above us. Close enough for him to make out four targets moving through the fog. It might already be too late for Dentz, I thought, but I hoped the remaining targets had changed position enough to be more of a challenge. And the thing that’s guaranteed to make a target harder to hit is when it’s shooting back at you. A challenge I was only too eager to supply.

  I braced the stock of the rifle against my shoulder and fired three shots in a straight line: one to the left of the flash, one to the right, one dead center in case he was overconfident enough not to have moved. I nestled in behind the trunk of the tree I had sheltered behind and glanced across at Green. She was fine, but looking across at where McGregor and Dentz were behind another tree. McGregor was keeping pressure on a wound in Dentz’s neck, just above the vest. I could hear a muffled moan under a hissing noise as Dentz gritted his teeth to avoid giving away their position. I waited for another shot.

  “How far is the shelter?” I whispered.

  “Quarter of a mile, maybe?” she guessed.

  “Not by the most direct route,” I said after a moment.

  She glanced back at me, looking like she was checking if I was serious. “Can you make it?”

  “I think so,” I said. “As long as you keep him busy.”

  She reached down to her hip and withdrew her handgun; a Glock 43. Without taking her eyes off the hillside she held it up and then tossed it to me. I caught it and tucked it into my belt.

  Green lifted her own rifle and fired another couple of times blind. We listened, both holding our breaths. There was nothing but Dentz’s hyperventilating, and McGregor’s whispered reassurances that he was going to be all right. And then there was a rustle from the trees above us, and I knew Feldman was on the move.

  75

  Carter Blake

  I waited for the next burst of fire from Green and McGregor and took off down the trail at a run, keeping low. In a couple of minutes, I found the bottom of the cliff that rose sixty feet up to where I knew the old shelter was. I had appraised the cliff wall with interest when I had seen it the other day. It had been a long time since I had tried free climbing, but it hadn’t looked like it would be a particularly difficult challenge the other day in the sun. A lot of things had looked less challenging the other day, in the sun.

  Even under the best of conditions, there was no way I was hauling the Winchester up there with me. I could hang the rifle around my back, but the weight would throw my balance off. I laid it on the ground, under a patch of bushes, and checked the Glock was still tucked inside my belt. If everything went all right, it would be all I needed. The next time I laid eyes on Kurt Feldman, it would be at close range.

  As if to reinforce the point, another two shots sounded from somewhere in the fog, followed by return fire from Green’s rifle. Call and response. Keep it up, Green.

  I remembered seeing the pile of gloves back in the armory and wasted a tenth of a second regretting not bringing them. And then I flexed my fingers, examined the wall for the first two handholds, and put my hands on the cliff face.

  76

  Isabella Green

  Dentz hadn’t made any sound for a minute or two. Isabella didn’t think that was a good sign. She risked taking her eyes off the slope – not that she could see a whole lot through the fog – and saw McGregor. He still had a hand over Dentz’s throat. There was blood all over both of them. Red on McGregor’s hands, black on the blue of the uniforms. Dentz’s head was lolling at an angle, his eyes wide open. McGregor caught Isabella’s eye and shook his head. He took his hand off the body, and she knew then that Dentz was dead.

  Feldman’s last couple of shots had come from a position above and to the left of where he had originally fired on them. He was moving back up toward the plateau and the shelter. She couldn’t let him get there. If Adeline was still alive, he might kill her, knowing there was nothing to lose. And if he worked out that Blake was coming after him, it would be like shooting fish in a barrel if he caught him halfway up the cliff.

  McGregor and Isabella exchanged another glance. She indicated the last position Feldman had fired from and then pointed to herself to tell McGregor she was headed the same way. McGregor understood. He raised his rifle, moved out of cover and fired three shots at the spot she had shown him.

  Isabella started to crawl up the slope. It was steep, but manageable as long as she kept her hands free to use roots and shrubs to steady herself.

  She ignored the sounds of the shots passing back and forth as she moved up the slope, not daring to raise her head enough to bring her knees and elbows into play. It was tortuous. She kept going.

  It felt like she had to have crawled a hundred miles by the time she glanced back and saw that it had been no more than twenty yards. She kept going and the next time she looked back, it was twice as far. She had to have come past Feldman’s firing position with no sign of him. There hadn’t been another exchange of gunfire in a couple of minutes. He must have retreated. There was a level patch of ground a little above her. She focused on the edge and dragged herself closer. And then she saw two size-twelve boots in front of her face. Slowly, she raised her head and saw the wide black circle of the muzzle of a rifle, and a little above that, Kurt Feldman’s face, set into a stony mask.

  “Drop it,” he said quietly.

  Isabella released her fingers on her own gun, and moved them gradually away from it.

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  “On your feet. Scream or say anything and I pull the trigger. Look at me. You know I’m not bluffing.”

  She did. He wasn’t.

  Getting to her feet wasn’t easy, on the slope. Not wanting to make any kind of sudden movement that might attract a bullet between her eyes, Isabella brought her hands up, open palmed, and braced on her elbows. Then she got to her knees. She wondered if McGregor could see either of them, figured she had advanced too far for him to see anything. She just hoped he wouldn’t pick now to take any blind shots. What about Blake? Could he have made it to the cabin by now?

  Feldman took a step back, keeping the muzzle out of her reach, and then jutted his head up, wordlessly ordering her to her feet again. She did as requested.

  He shook his head. “What are you doing, Isabella?”

  “What am I doing? You killed all of those men. Wheeler too.”

  “And I did it for you!’ he yelled.

  Isabella flinched at the sudden change in him. He was coming apart, not worrying
about drawing attention to his position anymore. She could see they were on the section of path above the one McGregor was on. She had crawled farther than she had thought. Feldman used the barrel of the gun to indicate their direction of travel. Up, toward the shelter. She only hoped Blake would be there to meet them.

  “Where is Adeline?”

  Feldman said nothing.

  “Did you kill her?”

  “Keep moving.”

  Isabella kept her voice low as they walked, remembering Feldman’s instruction not to yell out. “Best thing you can do is give it up now, Feldman. You know it, I know it.”

  “Why are you talking like you’re better than me? We both know that ain’t so.”

  She felt a chill down her spine. She stopped in her tracks and slowly turned around to look at him. He just stared back at her. His eyes were blank, like he was daydreaming. It was deceptive, she knew that. She had seen that look in his eyes before, right before he sprang into action and broke an unruly drunk’s nose, or pinned them down before they could hurt anyone. If she made a threatening move, he could drop her before she got within touching distance. Despite it all, she wondered if he could really do it.

  “What do you mean?”

  He stepped forward, the barrel of the gun not wavering from her belly. He got within arm’s length and leaned forward.

  “I know,” he said. “I know what happened fifteen years ago.”

  She met his gaze. In the bottom of her vision, she could see the barrel of the gun, unwavering, six inches from her navel. At that range, she would be practically cut in half. All it would take would be a few ounces of pressure on the trigger.

  “I waited so long to tell you about it. We’re meant to be together, I know you can see that now, Isabella.”

  “Kurt, I …” she began, her mind reeling with questions.

  “I did it for you. Damn it, Isabella, can’t you see that? All for you.”

  She blinked, and moistened her lips. She took a deep breath and said his name.

  She heard someone cry out from behind them. It sounded like Adeline’s voice. Instinctively he looked over Isabella’s shoulder for a second, in the direction the cry had come from.

  And then Isabella lunged for the gun.

  77

  Carter Blake

  I got about halfway up the cliff face before I met any serious challenge. Then I hit a stretch of smooth rock about ten feet high, with very few handholds. I maneuvered horizontally to where there was a little more purchase and managed to get to a break in the sheer wall, where it turned into a sloping shelf about three feet deep. I hadn’t heard any gunfire in a couple of minutes. I hoped that didn’t mean one of Feldman’s shots had found its target.

  I braced myself backwards against the wall, not looking over the drop, and then put my hand in a crack and gripped on so I could angle my body around to survey the rest of the climb. I had another twenty-five feet or so to climb. Two thirds of the way up, there was a stretch that looked like it would be tough. Not a lot to get purchase on, from what I could see. I just had to hope it would be passable.

  My arms were out of practice. It felt as though I had been walking around for an hour carrying a couple of heavy suitcases. I hoped I would still have enough strength to get me to the top. After that? I would cross that bridge when I came to it. I examined the wall and planned out where my hands and feet would have to go, and then picked out the first handholds and started the climb.

  It was tougher on this section, not just because the wall was more difficult, but because my arms were tired. I could hear my pulse thudding in my head, and my breathing seemed loud enough to be heard in the next state. I had gotten about halfway when I heard a scrabbling on the top of the cliff, only a few feet above and to the left of my position. I held my breath. If it was Feldman, I was a sitting duck. All he would have to do would be to look over the edge. There was nowhere to hide. I froze in place, holding on.

  The sounds moved closer. Somebody was approaching the cliff-edge. And then I saw two shoes appear, and then ankles, and slender, jean-clad legs. Adeline. She had gotten loose somehow, and had decided to risk climbing down the cliff face. I didn’t know if she had any climbing experience, but even if she did, it would be far riskier on the descent than the ascent.

  I opened my mouth to call out, and then stopped myself. She was already scared enough to risk hanging off a cliff – a sudden noise from an unexpected direction at this moment could be a very bad thing indeed.

  I risked a glance below me. I had climbed about fifteen feet above the sloping shelf. If I could get back down there without distracting her, I could be waiting when she made it that far. If she made it that far.

  I made up my mind and started descending again. I retraced my route with relative ease, stopping to keep an eye on Adeline’s progress. She made it down the first ten feet okay. I could hear her mumbling to herself. Whether she was uttering curses or prayers or self-motivation, I didn’t know. And then she froze. She had encountered the difficult patch I had spotted. She clutched onto the rock, looking down at her feet. I could see her calculating, wondering if she could make it. She was close enough now that I could start to make out words. Curses interspersed with prayers.

  I just held my breath and watched. She braced herself and let go with her right hand, stretching to reach the handhold, tantalizingly close. My reach would have been long enough to make it, but I wasn’t sure hers was. She stretched farther, closing the gap a little more. Maybe two or three inches away. No more curses, no more prayers, not even grunts of effort. She stretched again, and I could see she was going to make it.

  And then her right foot slipped from its hold.

  For a second it was as though she was frozen in place. And then she pitched to her right and lost her grip on her left side and she was falling.

  I didn’t think. The whole time I had been watching, I had been willing her to succeed in her descent, not allowing myself to consider what would happen if she lost her grip. But that was simply a necessary self-deception. I had been watching her the way a power forward watches the arc of a basketball toward the hoop. Not consciously thinking anything, but allowing the brain space to make the mental calculations to predict exactly how the ball will rebound, and where to position himself. The good news was that Adeline Connor’s position and angle of descent would be far more predictable than that of a rebounding basketball. The bad news was that she weighed a hell of a lot more than a ball, and I was standing on a narrow forty-five degree slope above a thirty-foot drop.

  Dimly, I heard her scream as she fell. I held on with my left hand and swung out as she dropped, getting a solid grip around her waist, taking her weight as she hit the ledge and started to fall backwards. I felt the already-overworked muscles of my arm scream out as I took her full weight. For a second I felt the fingers of my left hand slip, and thought she was going to take me over the edge with her, and then they held, and I gripped her tightly, absorbing the momentum. I pulled us back in toward the ledge. I lowered her to the ground, keeping one hand on her arm in case she started falling again.

  She looked at me in a daze.

  “Are you okay?”

  She said nothing.

  “Anything broken?”

  I examined her legs, they looked okay. I gave each of her ankles a light squeeze and she winced when I touched her left. I ran my hand over it gently, feeling for anything out of place. Clean break or a sprain, I guessed.

  “How did you …”

  “We don’t have time for that, do you think you can climb down?”

  She flinched and shifted her weight closer to the wall of the cliff, away from the drop. I didn’t blame her.

  “I got away when he left me. There’s an old hut up there. He told me there was nowhere to go. I thought I could …”

  “I have to keep going,” I said. “Can you hold on her
e and wait until we can get help?”

  She nodded. “I think so. He took me. That cop – he said he was going to finish the job. Is Deputy Green …?”

  “She’s fine,” I said, hoping that that was still true. It might not be if I couldn’t get to Feldman. Adeline seemed a lot more alert now. I wasn’t worried about her fainting and toppling over the edge anymore.

  “Hold on and stay put,” I said. “I’ll be back.”

  I looked up at the cliff wall. It was the last thing in the world I felt like doing.

  The close call with Adeline had given me a second wind. I made quick progress, ascending quickly, knowing that every second I hesitated was another second closer to using up the strength in my arms. I made the top quickly and hauled myself over the edge. The muscles in my upper arms sang out in pain. The shelter was dead ahead, in a wide clearing before the woods began. The fog was even thicker up here. I could see only the first row of trees in the gray.

  I took my gun from its holster and moved toward the door of the shelter. I knew it was unlikely Feldman was there, since he would have seen Adeline had gone and would have looked over the edge, but I had to check it anyway.

  But before I got there, I heard a shot.

  78

  Isabella Green

  “Green.”

  Isabella looked up in the direction of the voice. Carter Blake emerged from the fog and paused between two thick trees, the muzzle of his gun pointed toward Kurt Feldman’s body on the ground. He wouldn’t be needing it.

  When she didn’t answer, Blake moved closer. He checked Feldman’s hands and saw they were empty. Then he holstered his gun and knelt beside the body, putting his hand to Feldman’s throat.