Susan was dripping with sweat by the time she reached the helicopter. It had taken a toll of her highest concentration and effort, though it had only been three hundred yards. Now she could hear the pickup coming. Every so often there was a loud crack and crash of metal and wood flying apart as he smashed through his own fences and gates to catch her.
Getting into the helicopter was the hard part and she partially blacked out twice, but she was driven and determined to get her way and this pulled her past pain and sanity. Once she was buckled in things were better. Again, sitting straight as a beam, the pain was bearable, but leaning forward, excruciating. Takeoff would be tricky, but once she was in the air, she would be okay.
She started the engines and even through their roar, she could hear the pickup coming. She ignored that—all she needed was to get fifteen feet off the ground before he pulled into the yard, and she was sure she had at least one minute. She turned the rotors on, and when she had adequate power, she throttled the bird up.
Through all of this she had not allowed her head to turn to check on the woman and baby or the cowboy’s progress. Any movement of her head more than a few degrees right or left made the pain worse, and so now her vision was limited too. But she was airborne now, and over the deserts of Nevada there would be no major obstacles until she landed in Vegas. She could hear the pickup below her and the cowboy cursing her—she moved the copter up to fifty feet and back a bit so she could see him. He didn’t appear to have a gun. She set the controls on hold, pushed open the door and drew her gun. It was a difficult shot. Because of her injuries it was most likely she would miss him and possible that she would lose consciousness. But if she killed him, even if she died doing it, it would be worth it.
Cami held Landon so tightly to her chest that she wondered why he didn’t struggle, but her wild, carefree, don’t-hold-me boy was scared now too. Though he could not know how badly her broken ribs hurt, he did know about Mommy’s owie on the side of her head and he did know about tears, although he had never seen his mommy cry.
The blonde had come back staggering from the corrals, hurt badly and bleeding, a miracle Cami could not have hoped for, nor imagine how it had happened. But now a new terror, this woman teetering on the edge of sanity and consciousness was going to fly them somewhere. Cami could hear Tom coming, ripping through gates and fences to save them, but he was too late. The woman took the copter off the ground—wobbly, but she did it—and then incredibly, she was hovering and opening the door to get a shot at Tom. Cami could barely see him from her seat in the back, but she knew he didn’t have a weapon. All she might do to help him would be foiling the woman’s aim. She waited until it seemed she was about to shoot and then screamed, “Don’t you hurt my husband you fucking devil worshipper!” The blonde shot once and grimaced, seeming to wink out of consciousness for a second. But she pulled it together, closed the door and swung the copter up and full speed away from the ranch and southeast.
The woman did not speak to her until they were flying for a few minutes. “I got him, you know.” She did not turn back to look at Cami. “Your handsome husband is dead in your yard and now there is no one to save you or your baby. You are going to die a horrible death … after you watch me sacrifice your baby.” The woman’s voice was cold and matter of fact. She spoke no more.
Cami wanted to believe she was lying, but she had the tiniest glimpse as the copter pulled away of Tom’s body on the ground.
Chapter 48
Richard Taylor entered the maintenance room quietly and immediately noticed the hidden room was open. How had the intruder found it? The room had been designed and built by a man who was quite famous for his work on hidden chambers and access; it had never been discovered all these years that the casino had been in operation. He guessed it had something to do with Susan.
He soundlessly approached the room and saw a man going through the filing cabinets. He was an older, silver-haired man dressed in black and he was shaking, his face beaded with sweat, though they kept the room cool for various reasons. He cleared his throat and the old man jumped and dropped the file in his hands, spilling its contents across the floor. It was his turn for surprise as he saw the priest’s collar and silver cross hanging about his neck. The priest radiated good and repelled him instantly. No wonder the man was shaking, for the room was representative of years of evil and a receptacle of evidence of their decades of human sacrifice to the One. If evil affected the priest the way good and holy affected him, he must be near to passing out.
“Richard Taylor,” said the priest. “What a surprise.” The old man’s hands were shaking visibly now.
“I’m sure it is. Father—?” He waited for the name.
“Father Bob,” the priest answered weakly, “that’s what my parishioners call me.”
He laughed. “Father Bob, huh?” It was amusing that his security had been breached by someone with such a pastoral name. Now he grew sober and angry. “And what brings you—Father Bob—into the heart of my casino to commit the crimes of breaking and entering and trespass?” He straightened to his full height of six foot seven and glared down at the man.
His anger fired Father Bob’s temper, and he kicked at the pile of photos that had spilled from the file. Hundreds of photos of little children, many under ten years, fluttered into the air and drifted to the floor. Most were bound and gagged and all wore the expressions of terror. “You monster! I came to bring you down!”
He said nothing and watched the priest rant.
“What else do you have here?” Father Bob tore around the open filing cabinet and unlatched a large door on a tall cupboard and threw it open. He uttered a cry of shock and fell to his knees. Stacks and stacks of bleached skulls stared back at him. Almost all of them belonged to children, and he saw a whole shelf of skulls that could only belong to babies. He dropped his stare to the floor and forced himself to remain conscious.
“Oh, don’t stop there. Don’t you want to look in the other cupboards … Father Bob?” The priest was so white that he thought that he might fall over dead then and there. “Surely you know about the black mass? Would you like to see a black candle?” He teased the priest.
Father Bob knew that he was not kidding. There would be abomination on top of abomination in these drawers and files and cupboards. He had struck the mother lode of evil here, and candles rendered from the fat of babies would be only one of the horrors. He wanted to curse the man, strike him, kill him, but he began to pray instead with a passion and intensity that made his own heart leap with wonder and admiration. It was his favorite prayer to St. Michael, the archangel, and he said it loudly in Latin. He rose to his feet and pronounced it to the victims’ skulls, the cupboards full of vileness, and to the walls that held the room of evil. It seemed to him that there was a slight concussion like that of a sonic boom and all of the contents of the room rattled. He saw Taylor bend, stagger and pale. He continued to pray, louder and stronger now—the words seeming to purify the very air. He stopped when he felt cold metal pressed against the base of his skull.
“I don’t want to blow your brains out here, priest,” he said, trying to catch his breath, “but one more word of prayer and I’ll do it. I swear.”
Father Bob slowly turned and looked up at the man. “I have people that know where I am—I am supposed to check in with them. They know all about you.”
“Do they?” He felt sick and now he too was sweating in the cool room. “I rather doubt that, Father Bob, since only just now you found out ‘all about me.’” He gestured to the door with the gun. “Now out.” He followed the priest out of the room, grabbing the priest’s satchel with a scowl.
Tom staggered to his feet and watched the helicopter fly erratically for a few moments and then head southeast out of the valley. His heart was pumping with adrenaline, and though the past minute was a blur, time had seemed to slow down too. During his race across the last field he had watched the short blonde lurch to the helicopter. He had thought he wo
uld beat her, but she had made it, pulling the bird into the air just as he roared up to ram it. He could not see Cami or Landon in the back, but he could see the blonde, and as he had stood there cursing, it was as if time had warped and slowed. He saw her point a gun at him and fire from the open door. And so he had dodged, felt an impact on his left shoulder, the searing pain, and fell heavily to the ground, all in slow motion. Now he was back in real time. Standing there bleeding in the driveway, his heart thudding, with his wife and baby son as good as a million miles away.
“No!” he screamed at the disappearing helicopter. He fell to his knees, beyond tears. He felt like the old dog that had belonged to an old cowboy in town. When the old man died the dog had howled remorsefully for days. The sound had struck Tom as the audio definition of irrevocable loss and mourning.
He felt a warm wet tongue lick his ears and neck. Farley. He sat up and hugged the dog, trying to pull himself together. Suddenly he remembered the girls—were they okay? He wrenched himself to his feet and his shoulder responded with a pain that made him dizzy.
“Amanda! Kylee!” he yelled as he staggered towards the corrals. “Are you okay? It’s Daddy!”
The girls peered around the corner of the barn, making sure it was just him, and then ran full speed into his arms. He winced as he embraced them. “Daddy, you’re bleeding!” Amanda shouted. “Really, really bleeding!”
“I’ll be okay,” Tom muttered. He allowed himself thirty seconds to embrace his daughters, thanking God for their lives, holding them tight. Having his two girls in his arms renewed the fight in Tom. There had to be a way to save Cami and Landon.
“Kylee, go shut off the truck for me. Amanda, come in the house and help me bandage up this arm.” The girls, pale with shock, did as he asked in silence.
They ended up cutting his shirt sleeve off and binding a clean washcloth to the wound with medical tape. The bullet had grazed his shoulder, taking a strip of flesh about a quarter of an inch deep and wide by three inches long. It hurt every time he moved his arm.
Kylee watched the doctoring and at last broke the silence. “Daddy, is that bad lady going to kill Mommy and Landon?”
Though he and Cami had tried to shelter the girls from the terrible murders last week, they had ears and were smart. “Girls, that bad lady might want to hurt Mommy and Landon, but I’m going to stop her.” He stared at the frightened little girls before him. “I’m going to go and get Landon and Mommy and bring them back.” The girls hugged his waist and he allowed them for a moment, but he needed to get going—ten minutes at least had passed.
“Let’s go, girls,” Tom said. He walked to his bedroom and took his cell phone and wallet off the bed and then grabbed his .22 and its holster from the high cupboard on the back porch. “Get in the truck,” he called over his shoulder as he strapped the holster onto his waist. There was enough ammo in the gun belt that he didn’t take another box. He dearly wanted to take a shotgun with him, but he didn’t see how it could fall in with his plan. He satisfied his need for another weapon with his pocketknife, which he slipped into the front pocket of his jeans. He threw his bloody, torn shirt to the floor and threw on a loose long-sleeve shirt that would cover his gun belt.
He left the house at a jog and jumped into the truck with the girls. The truck looked like hell, broken headlights, scratched and dented, but it was still running fine. He drove out the back way, avoiding the gates he had locked to deter his enemies—he had never thought they would come from the sky. Once he reached the smooth main road he stomped on it and raced the five miles down to the turnoff to the Krill ranch—his neighbor and friend David had a Cessna that he kept in a hangar off his long dirt driveway. He was a good pilot and had taken Tom several times, taking off from that same dirt road. Amanda dialed the home number for him. “No answer, Daddy.”
Tom parked next to the hangar. “Girls, open the doors to the hangar for me.” Tom tried David’s cell and then Cami’s mom. There was no answer. He started to dial 911, but stopped. He knew that even if he could get someone to believe him, he would have to stay on the line a long time, maybe half an hour—Cami and Landon were moving farther from him every minute.
The girls had the hangar doors open and were in front of him, wide-eyed. “Amanda, I want you to drive down to the Krill house with Kylee and wait for them on the back step. Pay attention … I don’t think there are any more bad people out here, but use your heads and watch for any strange cars or people. When David and Angela get home, tell them what happened. Tell them Daddy borrowed the plane to get Mommy and Landon. And now, this is important, tell them the helicopter that took Mommy and Landon is registered to the Taylor Casino.” The girls nodded solemnly. “Now, where is the helicopter registered?”
“The Taylor Casino.” They answered in stereo.
“Good. Ask the Krills’ to call Grandma to come and get you.” Again, the girls gave frightened little nods. Tom took a knee and enfolded them. “I love you girls. I’ll be back with Mommy and Landon, don’t you worry.” He kissed both of them on the cheek and then stood. “Go now.”
He watched them drive off and then turned to the plane. Farley was sitting there watching him. “Farley!” he shouted, half annoyed and half pleased with the dog’s sneaky determination to stay with him.
Farley wagged his butt and approached Tom in an appeasing manner. “Okay, you can come, but don’t get airsick on me.” Tom pulled the chocks and walked around the plane quickly. He loaded Farley and then took his seat. David kept the plane fueled and ready to go at all times, a condition that Angela, his city wife, had demanded if she had to live out in the sticks. Tom blessed her little, city-girl heart.
He closed his eyes for a moment, praying for Cami and Landon and then for his safe journey and finally for the girls, who were probably at the Krill ranch by now. He paused a moment longer, going back in time to when he was sixteen and his father was letting him fly from start to finish all on his own. He opened his eyes and called out the preflight checks to Farley, who cocked his head and thumped his tail.
The plane started and he eased it out of the hangar and onto the road. It was as if he had been flying yesterday and the memory of his father sprang up sharp behind his eyes, making them water. He swallowed hard; as the plane began to race down the little dirt road and the wheels left earth he said, “Help me out, Dad.”
Chapter 49
Landon had fallen asleep in her arms, and Cami held him as best as she could with her wrist shackled to the arm support of her seat. She had a terrible headache from where the blonde had kicked her in the side of the head and it hurt to breathe … she must have broken some of her ribs. It was worth it though. The girls had made it. Cami wondered about that. The woman had come back badly injured, with dirt and manure all over her clothes. They must have managed to lure the woman into the corral with that bitch cow. Thank God. And the old cow? If Cami somehow survived this, she would let the old biddy stay on the ranch till she died of old age. The creature had saved the girls from being handcuffed next to her.
She tried to keep from thinking about Tom and the view of his body on the ground. He couldn’t be dead. She wouldn’t believe it. Maybe the witch had wounded him, but dead? No. Never. She tried not to believe this was wishful thinking. At last, she pulled her mind back to the facts. The helicopter was zooming over the landscape, taking her further away from Tom and the ranch—at this rate they would be approaching Vegas soon. That must be where they were headed. She needed to make some sort of plan. She had no doubt the woman would delight in killing Landon before her eyes, but more frightening to Cami was her talk of keeping him. Would she replace her lost brother with Landon? Teach him to murder others, torture people and worship the devil? This was a worse fate to Cami—turning something beautiful and pure into something that prized darkness and hatred. She had to stop this woman somehow … she wasn’t going to just let her cut their throats like sheep.
The woman’s bag had slipped off the front seat and with the v
ibration of the helicopter, it was inching towards her. At last, the bag was close enough for Cami to stretch out her leg and hook one of the straps with the toe of her tennis shoe. Landon murmured at this switch in position. Cami froze, but the blonde was concentrating on flying the helicopter. Cami slowly pulled the bag back. She could see some maps and what looked like another set of handcuffs, but she would have to set Landon down on the floor to use her free hand to dig through the bag. She gently lowered him to the floor and he half woke, but the hypnotic rumble of the helicopter lulled him to sleep again on the carpet at her feet. She pulled the bag onto her lap now and boldly looked through it. She figured the woman either couldn’t or wouldn’t look around, because they had been flying for almost half an hour and she hadn’t done so yet. There were flight maps and regular Google maps of Lyon County and the ranch—these only underscored to Cami how determined this woman was to get her family. How successful she would have been if it hadn’t been for that old cow! There were more handcuffs, duct tape, a razor knife, a large knife in a scabbard that looked old. Cami tried not to touch the knife in the scabbard—it had an aura of evil about it—but she took the razor knife and put it in the front pocket of her jeans; it was thin enough that it would probably go unnoticed. There were also syringes, needles and a vial of Midazolam. Cami could read on the label that it was a sedative. Cami thought about putting a shot together, she had done it a thousand times before for the cattle, but it didn’t seem practical with only her jean pockets to hide it in. Then she remembered the diaper bag. Holding the vial in the hand handcuffed to the seat she managed to make up a shot. She didn’t worry about the dosage—it wasn’t for a friend. She put it in the bottom of the bag. There was a pistol, but it was so big and heavy that Cami didn’t think she could handle it with one hand. Its weight in the bag would surely be missed if she took it. She continued digging—rope, scissors, a windbreaker, but Cami didn’t see what she hoped for—handcuff keys. She wasn’t even sure what they would look like, and maybe the blonde had them in her pocket. Cami grabbed the scissors and put them in the bottom of the diaper bag also. She was starting to put the bag back on the floor when she noticed a side pocket. Inside, a special canvas pouch held several sets of what must be handcuff keys. She took a set and put them into the other front pocket of her jeans. Then she slowly pushed the bag back towards the front seat. She let Landon sleep where he was and tried to relax herself. She had thought briefly of freeing herself and holding the giant pistol to the woman’s head, but rejected this idea. She would wait until they returned to earth; the woman seemed close to madness and it wouldn’t surprise Cami if she didn’t suddenly decide to plow all of them into the ground on a whim.
The Sacrifice Page 19