by Dinah McCall
Find Johnny, before it was too late.
4
Darren woke up with his belly growling hungrily and the need to pee. When he started to get up, he winced and then stopped. His injuries weren’t life-threatening, but they were enough to make him suffer. He needed some antibiotics and a warm, dry place to rest. He wasn’t going to get either one here.
Cursing his luck, he finally crawled out from under the tree where he’d slept and got to his feet. He stood for a few minutes, trying to realign himself with the direction in which he’d been going last night. Once he’d figured it out, he clapped his hands together three times in succession then started moving. He guessed that the crash site had been located by now, but it would take the searchers a while to realize they were missing three passengers from the manifest. His plan was to get back to the crash site before noon and spend the night in a nice warm bed. He could have amnesia, which would keep him from having to explain himself in any way, and that would be that.
He thought and planned as he continued to walk, and when he finally relocated two different sets of prints, one of an adult with small feet and one of a child, paralleling the ravine, he knew his luck had changed. He didn’t know how far ahead of him they were, but he still had a trail to follow, and that was all that counted.
Molly Cifelli woke suddenly. The rapid movement sent pain shooting through her side and back. She moaned, which roused the little boy beside her.
He woke up screaming. Molly put her arms around him and held him until he stopped.
“It’s okay, Johnny, it’s okay,” she kept saying. “It’s me, Molly. I’m right here.”
Finally his cries diminished to the occasional whimper. She held him close and rocked him in her lap until there was, once again, silence inside the cave where they’d slept.
As he quieted, she glanced outside. It was daylight. She wanted to believe that the killer hadn’t followed them, but she couldn’t take that chance. They were as helpless out here as babies, and it was a feeling she didn’t like. She cupped Johnny’s face with her hands, making him focus on her and her questions.
“Do you hurt anywhere?”
He shrugged.
“I don’t know about you, but I need to go to the bathroom. I’ll go first, then you can go, okay?”
This time he looked up.
“Okay.”
“Wait right here,” she said. “I’m going to be right outside the mouth of the cave. You can talk to me all the time if you want.”
“I won’t cry,” he said.
Molly hugged him.
“It’s all right if you do,” she said. “I feel like crying sometimes, too.”
Johnny sighed, but he relaxed and said nothing more as she disappeared outside.
“I’m still here,” she called out.
“Okay,” he said.
She hurried, then told him to come outside.
“Your turn,” she said when he came out quickly.
She pointed toward some bushes, and he went behind them. When he came out, Molly was digging through his backpack. She found snacks and boxes of fruit juice.
“Would you like to pick out what we eat?”
Johnny looked interested. Being back in control, if only choosing food, was apparently a good thing for him. He eyed her silently, then glanced at the food she’d laid out, chose two boxes of tropical fruit juice and two packages of cheese crackers.
“Just what I wanted,” Molly said, and gave him a quick hug as he laid the food in her lap.
They ate quickly and in silence. Molly kept looking nervously about until Johnny caught on to what was happening.
“Is the bad man going to catch us?” he asked.
“No, darling, no,” she said, but the moment she said it, she knew she was telling a lie. She didn’t know what was going to happen to them, but she feared for their future.
“Are you finished eating?” she asked.
He nodded.
“So am I. I think we should start walking again. We need to find some help today.”
“What if we don’t?” Johnny asked.
Tears blurred Molly’s vision, but she wouldn’t let herself cry.
“We will—we have to. You’re going to help by remembering that we need to be quiet. Just in case that man is following us.”
“The man who killed his friend?”
Molly sighed. God, this was an awful thing for this little boy to be going through, but it was what it was, and the truth might be what kept him alive.
“Yes, that man.”
“Is he going to kill us, too?” he asked.
She hesitated, then frowned.
“I won’t let him, okay?”
Johnny looked at her for a long moment, then threw his arms around her neck and hugged her.
She hugged him back, feeling his cold little body and the fierce grip with which he held her. It was called trust. He’d given it blindly and in desperation. She would protect it—and him—with her life.
A short while later they left the cave. Molly was a realist. Even though they were on the move again, she knew she was hurt in some way that was eventually going to stop them. She had to get them to safety before that happened.
The O’Ryans heard an ambulance as it raced past the motel. It was their first sign that the crash site had been located, and an investigation and search were in progress. It ended the reunion.
“Let’s get out of here,” Evan said, and grabbed his backpack.
“I’ll drive,” Mike offered.
Evan gladly handed the keys to his dad. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was drained, both emotionally and physically. Ever since the phone call from his grandpop, he’d been sick to his stomach, thinking of the horror his little boy was going through—imagining him afraid and injured. He wouldn’t let himself think that Johnny had not survived. His grandmother had warned them to “help the boy.” That had to mean Johnny was still alive, didn’t it?
The drive toward the crash site took them north down the main street and then straight up the mountain. Rescue trucks, cars with government logos, investigators from the FAA and all the medical personnel from the surrounding areas had been called into service. Their presence was already evident as the O’Ryans passed through Carlisle. When they started up the mountain, the unusual amount of traffic on the old road was marked by deep ruts in the still-falling snow.
The family reunion at the motel had been warm and exuberant—like a shared relief in seeing a familiar face. But after warm hugs and unshed tears, they were oddly silent during the ride to the site. They each had their own memories of the little boy who was the youngest link in their chain, but no one voiced the fear they all shared. Thinking it was difficult enough—giving voice to the possibility that Johnny O’Ryan had perished was impossible.
Today Mike felt used up and worthless. The Gulf War had been the last straw in his first marriage. The failure had been hard to bear, but the marriage had given him his only son. That he’d been given sole custody had been his saving grace. It had gotten him through a second failed marriage a few years later and kept him from a succession of empty flings after that. In the back of his mind, he’d always had Evan to think of first. Even after Evan had married right out of high school, Mike had stayed close. When his daughter-in-law died, he’d moved into Evan’s house temporarily and helped take care of both his son and grandson until Evan had been able to cope.
Once again Evan needed him, only now there was nothing he could do, and he hated the helplessness of it all. Evan was hurting. He was hurting. They were all sick to their stomachs over what they might learn at the crash site, but it was out of their control.
James O’Ryan sat in the backseat beside his father, Thorn. His mother, Marcella, had been dead for years. Six months ago he’d finally given up and had his own wife, Trudy, admitted to a place where Alzheimer patients went to die. His son hadn’t been married for years, and Evan was a widower. He frowned at the thought. What was it with the O’Ry
an men that was so deadly for their women? They survived wars and grew old alone. Their women left or died young, whether in spirit or in body.
James made himself quit thinking of Trudy and shoved a shaky hand through his hair, absently disrupting the silver-gray spikes and wishing he could scrub away the thoughts of what might be happening to Johnny.
As they kept driving up the mountain, there was a sheriff’s car at the side of the road, obviously stuck in the ditch, but no sign of any officers. James could only imagine the frustration the officer must have felt, having to thumb a ride the rest of the way up. He eyed the stuck cruiser as they passed, then focused his attention on the road ahead.
“Hey, Mike…this may be as far as they let us go,” he said, pointing to the welter of parked official vehicles and the webbing of yellow crime scene tape that had been strung through the trees to the left of the road up ahead, and the two uniformed officers who were standing in the road.
“Like hell,” Mike muttered, and kept driving without any sign of slowing down.
They all knew Mike’s penchant for butting heads with authority, so no one argued when he accelerated and sped past the angry officers, quickly covering the legs of their pants with flying mud and snow.
“They aren’t going to like that,” Evan said.
Mike glanced up once in the rearview mirror, squinting slightly as he watched the officers grabbing handheld radios as they ran toward their car.
“I’d say they already don’t,” he drawled, and returned his attention to driving.
“They’re going to make us go back,” Thorn said.
“Gonna have to catch us first,” Mike said, pulling to a skidding halt beside the road. They quickly grabbed their gear and headed into the woods, angling back down in the direction of the site, based on where all the emerging vehicles and the crime scene tape were set up.
Silence reigned as they hiked, saving their breath to make better speed, until Evan drew a deep, shaky breath.
“I’m scared,” he said softly.
James patted his grandson on the shoulder.
“We’re all scared, Evan, but we’ll get through this together.”
Evan nodded, although he wasn’t sure he agreed, and turned to stare blindly ahead. He didn’t know when it first registered that he was seeing debris from the crash, but when it did, shock washed over him. He pulled at the black eye patch over his left eye in frustration, as if that would somehow expand the scope of his vision.
“Dad,” Evan said.
“I see,” Mike muttered.
Evan was shaking and didn’t even know it. All he could think was that his little boy could be in pieces, just like this. “Oh God, oh God,” he whispered.
The rest of them remained silent. What could they say in the face of this much destruction?
Suddenly Mike stopped, almost slipping on the treacherous slope.
Evan’s focus shifted, then he exhaled in frustration. Two armed guards were standing in the trees, blocking their path. Without waiting for them to approach, he started striding toward them.
The patch on his eye, his pale skin and the slight drag of his left leg seemed to slightly ease the tension the two guards were feeling. All they’d known was that a rental car with four men had run a roadblock down the hill, then been located by the roadside, abandoned. But this man didn’t appear to be threatening. However, when the other three men approached in his wake, the guards raised their weapons at the ready.
“Sir!” the first guard said. “You need to turn around and go back the way you came.”
“My son was on that plane,” Evan said.
Both guards relaxed. Family. Sometimes they did things like this, although coming to the actual site of the crash was unusual.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the guard said. “I understand your concern, but I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“Are you married?” Evan asked.
A bit startled, the guard nodded. “Yes.”
“Children?” Evan asked.
“Two boys,” the guard answered.
“Were they on that plane?” Evan asked.
The guard’s gaze wavered, then dropped. “No.”
Evan drew a deep, shaky breath. “Then you don’t understand my concern. My wife is dead, and what you see of me is all the Iraqis left intact. I haven’t seen my son in more than a year. He was coming home for Christmas. I am not leaving this mountain without him. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
The guard sighed. Damn. Not only a grieving father, but a soldier, as well. He reached for his radio and pressed the button.
“Sir? This is Grady. Can you send someone up here?”
“Not in this fucking lifetime,” a voice with a distinct Cajun accent answered.
Mike O’Ryan, who’d been silent until now, suddenly grinned like a wolf. “You tell that Cajun Popsicle to get his frozen butt up here, ASAP.”
The guard looked startled, and from the cursing that came back over the radio, the man on the other end of the line had heard everything Mike O’Ryan said. The guard yanked the radio back up to his ear as he glared at Mike.
Mike stuck his hands in the pockets of his coat and rocked on his heels while the rest of the men stared in disbelief. Mike was a rebel, but it wasn’t like him to be rude.
“Uh…sir…yes, sir,” the guard said, and then signed off before pointing at Evan. “You and your mouthy friend, stay right where you are.”
“Glad we understand each other,” Evan said, and shoved his hands in his pockets, too.
Snow continued to feather down around them, drifting weightlessly through the still, cold air.
James glanced at his father. Thorn was the eldest, but by no means in need of coddling. Mike was standing with his gaze fixed on the trees below. James couldn’t imagine what had gotten into him, but it wasn’t the first time he’d gotten them all into a tight spot with his volatile temper.
Suddenly Mike’s posture changed. James followed Mike’s gaze to the bright yellow snowmobiles that were zigzagging through the trees toward them.
“Mike…”
Mike glanced at his father. “What?”
“Don’t lose your cool.”
“In this weather? Impossible,” Mike said.
Evan tensed, then moved toward his dad. Whatever happened, they were in this together.
“It’s all right, son,” Mike said. “I’ve got this covered.”
“I’ve got your back,” Evan said softly.
Mike’s smile slipped sideways as his eyes filled with tears. “I know that, son, and I’ve got yours. Now, rest easy. It’s not what you think.”
At that moment the snowmobiles came to a sliding halt. The man who got out of the lead vehicle was huge, both in height and girth. His hair was black, as was his beard, and it crossed Evan’s mind that the man resembled the caricature of the giant in Johnny’s Jack and the Beanstalk storybook.
The big man paused, scanning the crowd. When his gaze fell on Mike O’Ryan, he started walking toward him, cursing with every step.
Mike headed toward him, grinning.
“Is that the best you can do, you hairy ox? Damn it, man, don’t they have any soap and razors back in Natchez?”
Then they both started laughing, and thumping each other on the back. Finally it was the Cajun who pulled back.
“What the fucking hell are you doing on my mountain?” he asked.
Mike pointed to Evan.
“Evan…this is Antoine Devereaux. We were in the Gulf together. Tony…this is my son, Evan.” Then he pointed to the men behind him. “The big man with the white hair and rock star hairdo is my dad, James, and the good-looking one is my granddad, Thorn.” His smile slipped. “My grandson…Evan’s boy, Johnny…was a passenger on that plane.”
Tony Devereaux sighed. “You know you can’t be here.”
“But we are here,” Mike said. “You know our backgrounds. You know our training. We’re not going to get in your way. We’r
e not going to disturb the investigation. We just came to get our boy.”
Tony lifted his eyes to the heavens, then closed them briefly against the pain of what he was going to say. Then he looked back at Mike.
“My friend…and you know that you are…there are no survivors.”
Evan felt the ground go out from under him. He would have fallen had it not been for the quick thinking of Mike and Tony. Almost instantly, he began fighting against their grip, trying to get free.
“Don’t,” he said. “I’m fine. I just need to get Johnny.”
Mike’s eyes were swimming in tears, but he couldn’t let go of his grief for worrying about Evan.
“Evan…you heard what Tony—”
Evan turned on his father, his face contorted in anger.
“Stop!” he cried. “You know what Grandpop said. Why would Marcella tell us to ‘help the boy’ if he was already gone?”
Thorn’s shock at the news began to lessen. Evan was right.
“He’s right,” Thorn said. “Marcella told me to ‘help the boy,’ not bury him. We need to see the body. Could we see the body?”
Tony sighed.
“Look, we just started pulling victims out of the wreckage about an hour ago, and we’re still not through.”
“Just let us look,” Mike begged.
Tony tugged at his beard as he watched the play of emotions on their faces. But it was the look of anger on the young father’s that helped him make up his mind. If the situation were reversed, he would be just like Evan—furious that God had dared let this happen, and in disbelief until he’d seen with his own eyes.
“I can’t have all of you traipsing around up there.”
“Dad and I will stay here,” James offered.
Thorn nodded in agreement.
“Fine,” Tony said, then pointed at Mike and Evan. “Pretend you belong there. Don’t freak out at the blood and—”