The Survivors

by Dinah McCall

  “What about getting a chopper in to take them out?” Tackett suggested.

  “We’re talking four people to evacuate, not just two, and when I left, the weather was too inclement for any kind of evac, whether by land or air.”

  “I thought you said there were only two other survivors besides Wilson. Who else are we talking about?”

  “The other two are my son and grandson, who happens to be Johnny’s father. There’s no way they would let that little boy leave that mountain without them.”

  “They couldn’t walk out like you did?”

  “My son could, but my grandson, Evan, who’s Johnny’s father, is still recuperating from wounds suffered in Iraq. He made it up the mountain during the search, but it took everything he had in him to do it. I would hate to put him through that kind of rigorous march again.”

  “I see,” Tackett said. “Do you have a phone number where you can be reached?”

  “We have a room at the Carlisle Motel in Carlisle, Kentucky. You can reach me there. The room is in Evan O’Ryan’s name. Also, I’ll give you my cell phone number.”

  Tackett wrote everything down, then added, “We’ll be in touch,” and hung up.

  James returned the phone to the cradle, then leaned back as the guard finished taping the bandages in place. Having overheard everything James said, both guards were staring at him in disbelief.

  “You claiming Finn was murdered?”

  James nodded.

  “That other senator killed him?”

  “That’s right,” James said.

  “Man…I’m glad I’m not on that detail,” the guard said. “Can’t you just see the shit hitting the fan when they go to arrest a senator?”

  “I need a ride down into Carlisle,” James said.

  “I’ll take you,” the guard said. “I’ll come back to get my buddy here when our shift is over.”

  By the time they pulled to the curb at the sheriff’s office, James was shaking from pain and exhaustion. “I think you’re going to have to help me,” he said.

  The guard jumped out and steadied James as they entered the building.

  Paul, the night dispatcher, took one look at the bloody clothes and the bandage on the big man’s belly and jumped up to help.

  “Find the sheriff and get him here ASAP,” the guard said.

  Paul got on the radio and began to call.

  James stared through the windows to the café across the street. It appeared to be open, but he didn’t know for how long. If Thorn was still up, they could talk over some hot food. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone and called the motel. To his relief, the call went through.

  Thorn had been watching television when the phone rang. He answered absently.

  “Hello.”

  “Dad! Hey, Dad! It’s me. James.”

  Thorn sat up quickly.

  “Son! Where are you calling from? Is everyone all right?”

  “I need a ride. I’m down the street at the sheriff’s office.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Thorn said, and hung up the phone. He was out the door within seconds.

  It wasn’t any time before James saw a pair of headlights appear at the curb outside. He breathed a quick sigh of relief, then winced from the motion. The door to the sheriff’s office swung inward. Thorn was silhouetted in the doorway briefly, then hugged his son.

  “By God, it’s good to see you.” Then he frowned and pointed to the bloody bandages. “What the hell happened?”

  “Gunshot. I need to see the doctor to get some antibiotics. Otherwise, I think I’m okay.”

  “Christ Almighty,” Thorn muttered. “Come on. I’ll take you to the doctor.”

  “Can’t leave yet, Dad. I’ve got to tell the sheriff what’s been happening.”

  “Tell me first. And where is everyone else, by the way?”

  “They’re still on the mountain. As for what’s been happening, the other missing passenger is a killer. Molly and Johnny witnessed him killing Senator Patrick Finn.”

  “Oh, good Lord. I thought he died in the crash.”

  “Nope. He was still alive when it was over. Molly said Wilson strangled him.”

  Thorn’s eyebrows rose.

  “You’re saying that Senator Wilson killed Senator Finn?”

  “Yes…Then I ran into him on the way down the mountain. He shot me. We’ve got to get help up to Deborah’s house. She believes Wilson is going there to silence his two witnesses.”

  At that moment Sheriff Hacker came into the office from the back.

  “Hey! What’s everybody doing out so late?” he asked.

  James started talking.

  Sheriff Hacker’s reactions were instantaneous and unquestioning.

  “How’s the road up to Deborah’s? Can we get up the mountain okay?”

  “Not in the dark,” James said. “Some drifts are over my head.”

  “Damn it,” Wally muttered. “I’ve tried for years to get that woman to move down into Carlisle where it was safer, but she won’t give that place up. Now look what a mess she’s in.”

  “So is my family,” James said.

  “Yeah, yeah…I didn’t mean to exclude them. It’s just that I’ve known Deborah all my life. She’s a good woman. As for your family, I can only imagine what Ms. Cifelli and that little boy have had to face. The kid sees his grandparents die, then witnesses a murder. Sometimes I wonder what this world is coming to.” He frowned, then glanced over at the Wanted posters scattered all over the walls. “Maybe I spoke too soon. Maybe I do understand why Deborah stays up there instead of mingling with us down here.”

  “Are you done with James?” Thorn asked, eyeing the weary expression on his son’s face and the slight slump of his shoulders.

  “It was a long walk down,” James said. “As much as I hate to admit it, I’m not as young as I once was.”

  “You’ve been shot. We’re going to the doctor now,” Thorn said.

  “I’ll call the doc and tell him you’re coming,” Hacker said.

  “Just make sure you get to Deborah’s house tomorrow morning,” James said, then added, “Deborah said that Molly and Johnny are in danger.”

  Hacker’s face paled. “From Wilson?”

  “Yes. Right now, they’re the only witnesses to a powerful man’s sin. You need to get Wilson in custody, then they should be safe.”

  Thorn frowned. “Are you talking about Deborah…the so-called psychic?”

  James quickly came to her aid. “No, Dad, it’s Deborah who’s half witch and all woman.”

  “You mean you’ve bought into it, too?”

  James shrugged. “Look, I don’t know how to explain it, but she’s for real, and I can’t believe you’re questioning it. You, who started all this because Mom came and told you Johnny was in trouble.”

  The others frowned, unable to follow the conversation.

  Thorn nodded briskly. “Okay, you’ve convinced me. Now, off to the doctor.”

  They left the sheriff’s office together, and as they walked to the car, James realized how comforted he was by his father’s presence. Even at eighty-five, his father was still a power to be reckoned with. As James eased himself into the car, he leaned back with a groan.

  “I haven’t been this tired and hungry since I don’t know when.”

  “When we’re through at the emergency room, I’ll get some food to take back to the room.”

  “That sounds like a deal,” James said. “Once we’re there, I’ll try calling Deborah’s house. I’d like them to know I’m okay.”

  Thorn nodded as they drove away.

  “How’s Evan doing through all this?” he asked. “He didn’t look all that strong.”

  “He’s an O’Ryan. He’ll manage.”

  Thorn relaxed. It was true. Somehow, no matter what life handed them, the O’Ryans always found a way to survive.

  Johnny woke up, then sat up. His dad and Mollie were asleep, but he needed to go to the bathroom. He cr
awled over his dad, then did what he had to do. When he came back, Evan automatically made room for him without fully waking, but Molly came to enough to know that Johnny was back. She slid her arm across his body and hugged him close, taking comfort in the way he relaxed so completely. The last thing she was thinking as she fell back to sleep was how easy it was to love both father and son.

  Deborah, who had never in her life slept an entire night with anyone else in her bed, had fallen asleep in Mike’s arms as if it were a common occurrence. Even the rhythm of their breathing was in sync.

  Neither she nor Mike was aware, as they slept, of the shift in the weather or the strong winds that came out of the north. They didn’t know that, once again, the sky was filled with frozen moisture. But not the large, soft snowflakes they’d had before. This time it was sleeting. Tiny pellets peppered down, covering surfaces with a thin crust of ice and making travel treacherous.

  Deborah was lost in a deep, dreamless sleep until a man suddenly appeared in her head. Even though it was dark, she somehow knew he was looking straight at her. Then, suddenly, he was gone.

  She sat up with a gasp, hearing the horrific sound of someone screaming and the sounds of limbs snapping from the weight of a falling body, and knew he’d fallen off the mountain.

  Mike felt her movement before he opened his eyes, but as soon as he did, he reached for the light. Deborah was wide-eyed and staring at a point on the opposite wall, but he could tell she was locked into a vision. He didn’t know whether to touch her or speak, so he waited for her to make the first move.

  Deborah was inside the man’s mind, feeling the pain and confusion—and the anger. She understood the first two, but not the last. Why anger? Why not fear?

  There was blood. He could feel it running past his ear and down the back of his neck. His knee hurt, too, enough that he groaned when he tried to move.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  The way he figured it, this was God’s way of paying him back for what he’d set out to do.

  He leaned forward, then held his breath. His body actually rocked where it had stopped, which told him he wasn’t in a secure position yet. He didn’t know exactly where he was, but he knew where he wasn’t. He was no longer walking on the road toward lights he’d seen in the distance, and he was no longer carrying the rifle.

  It only took him a few seconds more to figure out that he was hanging upside down. At that point, he screamed. Only once. But the sound was enough to accentuate the seriousness of his present state.

  He didn’t know what to do. If he moved and his body slipped from where it had stopped, he might wind up in a worse position. On the other hand, if he did nothing, he would wind up frozen to death. How ironic would it be to finally die on this mountain after surviving that plane crash?

  What he needed was some light, but since that was impossible, he was going to have to proceed on feel alone.

  There was a large branch to his left. He felt the circumference, decided it was large enough to hold his weight and grabbed onto it for dear life. As he did, hisankle, which had been caught in the V of a branch, suddenly slipped and came loose. If he hadn’t been holding on to the branch, he would have plummeted to the bottom of…somewhere. He laughed aloud. Once again, he’d cheated death.

  But the humor of the moment soon disappeared. The darkness in front of him was frightening. At the least, he should have been able to see something—trees, snow, anything but this black, bottomless void.

  Obviously, he must have gone over the side of the mountain, and, as far as he could tell, the only thing keeping him from falling all the way down was his grip on the tree.

  One false move and he would be gone. At that point, he stopped moving and considered his options. It didn’t take long to accept that he had none.

  He cursed. Once again, by his own bad judgment, his free will had been taken away.

  He felt himself slipping again, but this time he was not only holding on to the tree with both hands, he’d dug into the trunk in front of him with the toes of his shoes. As he did, he felt himself gaining ground. Slowly, slowly—inch by inch—he felt and grabbed and climbed up until he realized there was nothing left to hold on to and nowhere left to climb.

  Somehow he was back in the same place he’d fallen from. He was too afraid to move, and grateful for the fact that he was on his belly and lying on solid ground. Unable to crawl any farther, he rested his head on his forearm and closed his eyes.

  “Oh Lord, oh Lord,” Deborah said, and covered her face with her hands. “He fell. He fell. He went over the mountain.”

  When Mike heard her, his heart nearly stopped. Thinking only of James, he wanted to weep. Instead, he took her in his arms and held her close.

  “Deborah…honey…what did you see? Was it Dad?”

  “No, no, it wasn’t James,” she said, and then covered her face.

  “Then who was it?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t tell.”

  Deborah got out of bed, putting on her robe as she ran through the house to the front door. Mike was right behind her.

  She pulled it open, then shivered as sleet blew onto her bare feet.

  “Dear Lord. Ice.”

  “It’s sleeting,” Mike said.

  She closed the door, then leaned against it as the tiny pellets of sleet coating her nightgown quickly turned into water.

  After the horror of what she’d seen and heard in her vision, she wanted the subject changed. Despite the fact that it didn’t fit the conversation, she said the first thing that came into her head.

  “It’s too bad I didn’t know sooner that I would be having company for Christmas. I would have done a little shopping.”

  Mike took her in his arms and pulled her close, resting his chin on the top of her head as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “I can’t think of a place I’d rather be right now than here in this house with you and my family. And thanks to you, my family is still intact.”

  Deborah pulled back, then looked at Mike.

  The intensity in her gaze silenced him.

  “If this thing between us is nothing but gratitude, a simple thank-you would have sufficed,” she said.

  He frowned. “I’ve been grateful plenty of times in my life, but I never took anyone to bed because of it.”

  “All right, then,” she said, and laid her cheek against his chest where his heart beat the loudest. “I don’t have all that much experience when it comes to casual sex. I just wanted to know where I stood.”

  Mike’s arms tightened around her. “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, but make no mistake…there isn’t a damn thing casual about my feelings for you.”

  “Mine, too,” she said, and then turned in his arms until she was standing with her back to his chest and staring out the window.

  “Do you think it was Darren Wilson who fell?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I knew for sure. I only saw the shape of a man, then, after that, just the sounds of screaming and breaking branches.”

  “Do you think that whoever fell is dead?” Mike asked.

  “I can’t tell. I don’t feel anything anymore.”

  Mike frowned.

  “Then that’s good enough for me. Maybe if you don’t feel him, that means the bastard is dead. However, if you get a new vibe that leans toward the opposite theory, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

  “Deal,” she said. “Are you sleepy?”

  “Wide awake,” he said, and then grinned. “Got any ideas?”

  “Hot chocolate.”

  The grin fell flat. “Hot chocolate?”

  “Um, yes. Don’t you want some?”

  “Oh, I want some all right, but it wasn’t chocolate that first came to mind.”

  Deborah poked his bare chest and then winked.

  “Well, little boy, if you say please when you tell Santa, you might get both your wishes tonight.”

  “Have mercy,” Mike said, and followed her to the kitc
hen.

  16

  State policeman Burl Tackett had known from day one that as an officer of the law, holidays did not apply to him, and this was no exception. After the talk he’d had with James O’Ryan, and then the background check he’d run on him and his family, he knew the man was definitely on the up-and-up. In fact, the entire family seemed nothing short of honest-to-God heroes.

  After verifying that, he’d wasted no time in locating Patrick Finn’s body. To his relief, it was still in cold storage in a Kentucky morgue.

  Despite shock and confusion from the family, he claimed the body and demanded an autopsy be done on the spot to determine the cause of death. The M.E. was pissed but had no choice but to comply.

  The findings were shocking. It was just as James O’Ryan had stated. Patrick Finn’s injuries from the crash were severe, and there was every chance that he might never have walked again. However, he hadn’t died from blood loss or blunt-force trauma due to the crash. He’d died of strangulation. The tiny pinpoints of broken blood vessels in his eyes, along with the crushed larynx and bruising around his neck, were all the proof the medical examiner needed.

  Tackett got the information about Finn just as he was leaving for the day, and while he’d opened himself up to the possibility that James O’Ryan had been telling him the truth, hearing the medical examiner tell him the same thing O’Ryan had said was shocking.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  The medical examiner rolled her eyes. “Yes. My colleagues and I, with our years of experience in this profession, agree that Patrick Finn was strangled, causing air to cease flowing to the brain, causing his heart to stop, thereby causing termination of his earthly self. Are we done?”

  “So he really was murdered.”

  Tackett hadn’t realized he’d spoken that thought aloud until the M.E. answered.

  “He died of strangulation. The rest is up to you.”

  Tackett frowned. “Are you hedging?”

  “No.”

  “Then could Finn have died in any other way than at someone else’s hands?”

  “I suppose he could have been caught up in something during the crash and strangled, but that something would have needed ten fingers and the ability to crush the larynx and the larynx only.”