by C. J. Box
The things he did for Dallas, he thought.
Or more accurately, the things he did for his mother. Dallas probably didn’t even know he was out of prison.
Timber was assured that everything was fine and that he hadn’t been recognized when the sisters emerged from the storage room. They’d changed from their scrubs to civilian clothing and they seemed to be joking with each other, the younger one teasing the oldest. They were good-looking girls, he thought. In any other circumstance, he’d probably make a run at them.
The mother, Marybeth, met them in the hallway, and the three of them went into the room of his target.
The ceramic knife was in his sock, hidden by the baggy right pant leg of his prison hospital scrubs. He hadn’t even passed through a metal detector to gain entry to the hospital, so the precaution had been unnecessary. The prison ID, which he wore on a lanyard around his neck, looked similar enough to the ones they used at the hospital that it wasn’t getting a second look.
Hell, he thought, he could have brought a gun. But the knife would do.
He’d wait. They’d all have to leave the room eventually.
28
Plumes of snow sprayed out from the tires as Joe barreled down the mountain in the foul-smelling cab of Bull’s Ford F-250 meat wagon. Brass casings that had been ejected during the fusillade danced across the dashboard.
The snow wasn’t falling as hard as it had been and there were breaks in the clouds. The big spring storm that had been predicted didn’t turn out to be all that big, he thought, although it had dumped six to eight inches that would remain in the forest overnight and it made the road down the mountain slick and treacherous. He had less than an hour of light.
Joe had left his own pickup where Bull had shot it up in the elk camp. He doubted it could be repaired after being hit twenty to thirty times with high-powered rifle rounds.
He thought: Another one.
—
DAISY WAS ON the bench seat beside him and Bull’s lifeless body rolled around in the back. Joe had tried to wrestle the mass into the bed, but it was too heavy and ungainly. At one point, he’d sprained a muscle in his back while trying to lift Bull’s upper torso onto the tailgate far enough that he could release his grip and push the legs up and over the lip, only to have the body slide off into the snow again. Bull’s body was slick with blood. It was worse than loading a dead elk. At least with an elk, there were antlers to grab on to.
Rather than leave the body to the snow and predators, Joe had wrapped a chain around the legs and used Bull’s own game winch to hoist the body into the air. He was then able to swing Cates’s 280 pounds up and over the bed wall, where he lowered it into the back.
Despite the situation and the gore, Joe admired how well the game winch had been welded together. Probably Eldon’s work, he thought. Bull was useless.
Had been useless.
—
JOE’S SHOTGUN LEANED AGAINST the bench seat, muzzle down. Next to it was Bull’s Ruger Mini-14. It was still warm to the touch.
The inside of the cab reeked of sour, spilled beer and whiskey, bloodstains, motor oil, and rotting food in fast-food wrappers on the passenger-side floorboard. There was a long crack through the front windshield and a dead rabbit on the console that Bull must have shot along the way to the camp.
But the pickup ran well, and the tires gripped the slick rocks on the road better than Joe’s pickup had on the way up. He was making good time.
He knew if the dispatcher was trying to reach him he was out of touch, since Bull’s pickup obviously didn’t have a radio. Joe realized he’d left his handheld radio in his pickup back at the elk camp and he cursed himself for forgetting it.
Then he checked his cell phone. Ten percent battery life and still no signal. Naturally, he’d left the charger back in his truck as well.
He glanced down at the gauges. Unless the fuel gauge was broken, it looked like the pickup was almost empty.
“Bull, you idiot,” Joe said aloud.
He’d never make it all the way to the highway, he thought. The closest place that might have gasoline was the Cates compound.
And it was where he was headed anyway.
—
WHEN THE TREES CLEARED, Joe’s phone came to life with a quick series of pings.
He pulled it from his pocket and saw there were five missed calls from Marybeth. His phone now had five percent battery life left, which would be just a few minutes of talk time.
Joe had a decision to make and he didn’t like it, but he punched the preset for Sheriff Reed’s cell phone. He didn’t have enough time to go through the office’s receptionist. When he raised the phone to his ear, he winced at the jolt of pain from the bullet wound.
“Joe?” Reed said through a mouthful of dinner.
“Mike, listen to me. I’m on my way down the mountain right now and my phone is about to die on me. I found Eldon’s elk camp and Nate’s van was ditched there. Bull showed up and started blasting away—”
“Are you hurt?”
“Mike, please. I’m fine. But Bull’s dead. I’m in his pickup because mine was shot up. I’m headed toward the Cates place right now. I need you to put out a high-priority call to your guys and any LEs in the area to converge on the compound as quickly as they can get there. I don’t even care if Chief Williamson fires up his MRAP, because we know Eldon will be armed. I don’t know the connection between Nate and Eldon, but it’s there.”
“Jesus,” Reed said.
Joe could picture the sheriff pushing his chair back from the table with one hand and wiping his mouth with a napkin held in the other.
“What about Olivia Brannan?” Reed asked.
“I didn’t find her body. It’s possible she’s buried on the compound or maybe even still alive. I don’t know.”
“How soon will you get there?”
“Ten, fifteen minutes,” Joe said.
He was on the two-track now. There were two sets of tire tracks in the road before him: his and Bull’s.
“We can’t get there that fast, Joe. Can you pull up and wait?”
He could look off the sagebrush bench now and catch glimpses of the Cates compound in the swale below. Although it was almost too dark to see, Joe could make out Eldon’s red pump truck cruising across the untracked snow in the equipment yard, headed toward the edge of the outbuildings. Puffs of exhaust rose in the cold air from dual pipes.
“No,” Joe said. “Something’s going on down there.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay,” Reed said. “I’ll put out the word and we’ll get there as soon as we can. Joe, don’t do anything stupid and don’t get yourself hurt.”
“Yup,” Joe said. “Please call Marybeth. Tell her I’m all right and I’ll call her as soon as—”
His phone died. He’d used up all of the battery and he had no idea whether Reed had heard any of his last message.
29
Brenda stood at the edge of the root cellar doors, wearing her heavy winter coat. Liv saw she was wearing the same scarf over her hair that she had worn when she introduced herself as Kitty Wells. It was almost dark out.
Brenda didn’t look down. Instead, she peered off into the distance and motioned with her arms, indicating Come on, come on.
Liv was confused. But when she heard the low rumble of heavy equipment, she realized what drew Brenda’s attention.
She said, “Brenda, what’s going on?” Her voice was flushed with panic.
Brenda shushed her with her hand, then continued gesturing.
Liv could hear the sound of a truck entering the compound.
When Brenda finally bent slightly and looked down, Liv thought she could see tears on her cheeks.
“It’s time, girl,” Brenda said. “Eldon’s back with a full load.”
>
Liv closed her eyes.
“Put all them dishes and the silverware in the bucket. How’d you like the pork chops? I made ’em especially for you this time. Eldon and Bull will have to wait for theirs later on tonight. At least, if that damned Bull ever shows up. And Dallas, too. He saw this snow and took off an hour ago on that snowmobile. But I bet he’ll be back later for his dinner.”
She talked to Liv as if Liv cared about these details.
Liv said, “You don’t have to do this, Brenda. I told you, I won’t talk.”
Brenda ignored her and started lowering the bucket hand over hand with the rope.
“Just put everything inside, sweetheart,” Brenda said. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”
“Are you really going to bury me in raw sewage?”
“Don’t think of it like that.”
Liv felt cold fear spasm through her. “How in the hell can I think of it any other way?”
“Don’t get hysterical, darling.”
“Why are you doing this to me? Why don’t you just shoot me and get it over with?”
“Shhhhhh.”
The pump truck was coming toward the root cellar. It was still out of view. Liv heard a squeak of brakes. Then it began to back toward the opening.
Reep-reep-reep.
As it got closer, the warning increased in volume. Liv saw Brenda glance up at it and cock her head to the side to guide it in. She had moved to the other side of the opening so that the bumper of the truck wouldn’t knock her into the root cellar.
Brenda was suddenly lit up in red from the taillights. Liv could smell the exhaust of the big truck now, and she saw a bronze valve, like a snout, ease over the opening of the cellar.
“Don’t come any closer, Eldon,” Brenda shouted. “You’re far enough.”
To Liv, she said, “Put them dishes in the bucket. I can’t bear to lose a place setting.”
The sheer unreality of the situation almost overwhelmed Liv. Brenda was concerned about her dishes getting buried in filth? That’s what she was concerned about?
“Eldon,” Brenda said. “That’s good right there.”
Liv raised up her hands for the bucket as it lowered. She looked up to see that Brenda was distracted by the proximity of the release valve of the pump truck.
Liv grabbed the top of the bucket in a firm grip and yanked down as hard as she could, putting all of her weight behind it. A guttural sound came out of her as she did it.
Instinctively, Brenda didn’t let go in time. And now she pitched forward off balance, pausing for a half second on the edge of the opening and windmilling her arms before falling in.
Liv threw herself to the side of the wall so she wouldn’t get hit. Brenda dropped fast, her body hitting the floor with a horrible crunching sound like a full bag of ice cubes dropped on pavement.
Reep-reep-reep.
The ear-piercing sound filled the hole.
Liv bent over Brenda, who had landed facedown. Her housedress was flopped up on her backside, exposing her thick white thighs and knee-high support hose, and her coat had bunched up on her shoulders. Brenda’s arms were splayed out on either side. Her head was turned toward Liv and her eyes were open.
Brenda’s eyes bore into Liv with so much hatred that Liv shuddered.
But she couldn’t move. Brenda Cates was alive, but she’d broken her neck in the fall.
Liv’s words were absorbed by the reep-reep-reep when she said, “God forgive me for what I’m about to do.” Somehow, though, Brenda must have heard her because her eyes got even harder.
The reep-reep-reep sound suddenly cut out above and the motor sputtered to a stop.
“Brenda?”
It was Eldon. He’d shut the motor off and was clambering down out of the cab of his pump truck.
“Brenda, where are you? Where did you go?”
Liv knew if Eldon saw Brenda’s damaged body down there, he’d likely grab his gun and start blasting. She knew she could try to wedge herself beneath Brenda’s bulk, make herself harder to hit, or . . .
—
ELDON SAID, “Oh no. What the hell happened?”
He was bending over the opening, looking down, the beam of his flashlight moving gently over Brenda as if caressing her with light.
The pool of light found Liv. She was on her side, legs and arms splayed out as if she’d fallen, too. She kept her eyes closed even as the light turned the inside of her eyelids orange.
Then it was gone.
“Oh nooooo,” he said, his voice choked with emotion.
When the light vanished, Liv opened her eyes a crack and found Brenda still glaring at her from a few feet away. Liv had never experienced so much raw, focused hate in her life. But this time, instead of shuddering, she grinned.
She whispered, “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”
Then: “You can watch what happens next.”
—
AFTER THIRTY SECONDS of Eldon’s panicked shouts to Bull for help, which went unanswered, and then to Dallas, who wasn’t there, he slid the ladder into the root cellar. The feet of it settled between Brenda and Liv and broke up their staring contest.
As Eldon backed down the ladder, he grunted with each step. Liv closed her eyes again in case he shined the flashlight at her.
Eldon reached the floor and immediately turned to Brenda. He bent down over her, stroked her hair and back, and said with grateful astonishment, “You’re still breathing.”
Liv cracked her eyelids to see that Brenda’s eyes were on Eldon in a sidewise glance. They looked desperate. She was trying to warn him.
“What happened? Did you fall in? Don’t tell me I hit you with the back of the truck and knocked you in here.”
As quietly and gracefully as she could, Liv rolled to her feet and grasped the rock in the wall. It pulled free, but it was heavy.
Brenda’s eyes clicked back and forth between Eldon hovering over her and Liv approaching him from behind with the rock raised unsteadily over her head.
Eldon said, “Did that nigger bitch get you down here somehow?”
Before he could turn around, Liv smashed the stone down on the crown of Eldon’s head and he rolled forward onto Brenda, whimpering like a wounded dog.
Blood streamed down the sides of his face onto Brenda’s coat and back.
—
BEFORE SHE MOUNTED the ladder, Liv looked over her shoulder. Eldon’s arms and legs were twitching slightly and the back folds of his C&C Sewer and Septic Tank Service uniform shirt tightened and relaxed. He was still breathing as well. He was a tough old man with a really hard head, she thought. That rock would have instantly killed anyone else.
She climbed the ladder recklessly, once losing her footing on a rung and nearly falling back into the cellar. The near-accident focused her attention and she climbed out very deliberately the rest of the way. But when she reached open air and felt the sting of the cold fresh wind on her face, she whooped.
Then she grasped the ladder and started to pull upward. It would not come free.
Liv yanked hard on it and there was some give, but not enough.
Was it stuck on something?
She peered down into the hole and cursed. Eldon’s huge hand grasped the bottom rung. He was still on the ground, still on top of his wife, but he held the ladder in a death grip. Even with one hand, he had more strength than she did.
Liv looked around. The compound was silent. The only light was the porch light at the main house. Bull and Dallas were still away.
Maybe Eldon had some kind of tool in his truck, she thought. Something she could slide down the ladder or drop on Eldon to make him give up his grip.
She found a flathead shovel sticking up on the side of the pump unit and she pried it loose. Liv ran back to the root cellar and threw the
shovel down blade-first like a spear. It bounced harmlessly off Eldon’s back and clattered in the corner of the cellar. He still had that one-handed grip.
Then she thought about leverage. She couldn’t outmuscle him, but . . .
—
SHE TWISTED THE LADDER hard to the right. It gave, but not enough. Then she violently reversed the twist to the left in a full rotation and it came free. She’d managed to wrench it out of his fingers.
When the ladder was up and out of the cellar and lying in the snow, she whooped again.
Hot tears stung her eyes and her cheeks. She didn’t want to look back down in that hole, didn’t want to see Eldon and Brenda Cates twitching down there like bloody salamanders.
She just wanted to be out of there.
That’s when she looked up and saw headlights coming fast from the west.
30
The engine of Bull’s pickup coughed, then raced, then coughed again. Joe glanced down and saw that the needle of the gas gauge was past the E, and he hoped he had enough fuel in the tank to get into the Cates compound.
He was surprised how dark it was now that the sun had finally dropped behind the mountains. There was still enough cloud cover to blot out most of the stars, and the only sign of life he could see ahead of him was a single porch light at the main house.
Where was everybody?
The motor shuddered and quit and the power steering went down and made the steering wheel taut. Joe pushed the transmission lever into neutral and coasted the last forty feet into the compound.
“That’s it, Daisy,” he said aloud.
As he reached down to kill the headlamps, he glimpsed movement on the far side of the compound in the vicinity of the outbuildings. Joe squinted to see better, but whoever it was had moved beyond the reach of the lights.
He started to get out with his shotgun but thought: Bull was a poacher. Poachers have spotlights. The grip for Bull’s roof-mounted spotlight was overhead and Joe grasped it and thumbed it on.
There, shielding her eyes against the powerful beam, was Olivia Brannan. She was dirty and bloody and standing to the side of the C&C Sewer and Septic Tank Service pump truck he’d seen moving across the yard from the sagebrush bench.