Hikers - The Collection (Complete Box Set of 5 Books)

by Lauren Algeo

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Brewer said. ‘Kids can be cruel when they don’t understand things.’

  ‘It’s ok. I got bigger than most of them so they didn’t say much after that!’

  ‘What does that actually mean for your body?’ Brewer asked. ‘How does it affect you?’

  Mitch sighed – this was clearly a boring topic for him that he’d had to discuss throughout his life. ‘It’s an autoimmune disease,’ he said almost mechanically. ‘My body’s immune system attacks my pancreas so the insulin-producing cells are destroyed. I’m basically killing my own organ.’

  Brewer tried not to look too excited. A disease that attacked your own body could work on the hikers. With no insulin to combat it, and their speedy immune systems, it should kill them.

  ‘How long would it take for you to die from it if you didn’t have insulin?’

  ‘Jesus!’ Mitch exclaimed. ‘I’ve tried not to ever think about that!’

  ‘Sorry, that was insensitive,’ Brewer apologised quickly. ‘It’s just that hikers seem to succumb to viruses a lot faster than people so they would die pretty rapidly.’

  ‘I don’t know exactly, it depends. If my blood sugar gets too low I go hypo, which is when I’d try and combat it with insulin to return it to a normal level. I guess if a hiker couldn’t take any they’d pass out, then that could lead to dehydration and breathing problems, eventually a coma.’

  Brewer nodded. It was all sounding ideal to kill a hiker. He was impressed that Mitch knew so much but, then again, if he’d had diabetes since childhood he’d be worried if he weren’t clued up on it. He picked up his rucksack and took out the laptop. The battery was running low so he plugged it into the socket by the bed. He wanted to double-check everything Mitch had told him to make extra sure it would work.

  ‘How much insulin do you have?’ he asked.

  ‘Enough for a few weeks. I have to inject it into my thigh everyday.’

  ‘What would happen if you were to inject too much?’

  It dawned on Mitch where Brewer was heading with this line of questioning. ‘You mean an overdose? No way! I need all my insulin so we’re not going to waste it on one of those things.’

  ‘Fair point,’ Brewer nodded. ‘I was just thinking out loud.’

  ‘Your thinking is crazy!’ Mitch put the tranquiliser gun case on the bed and stood up abruptly.

  He wandered over to the dressing table at the side of the room and began to poke around in the drawers. ‘Doesn’t look like they clean this place much,’ he muttered.

  ‘It was cheap.’ Brewer couldn’t have cared less about the cleanliness of the room.

  They just needed somewhere basic to sleep, and private enough to discuss their plans without people overhearing and thinking they were insane. They could store the guns there while they went out later too.

  Brewer turned his attention back to the laptop screen while Mitch disappeared into the bathroom. He hooked up to the motel’s Wi-Fi and began to read up on diabetes. Most of what he found was a more in-depth explanation of things Mitch had told him. Untreated diabetes could lead to all kinds of problems and serious illnesses.

  The sound of running water drifted out from the bathroom. Mitch held the key to this plan. Brewer quickly searched the internet to see how diabetes could be passed onto someone – it was a brick wall. His heart sank as he read that diabetes wasn’t contagious and you couldn’t pick it up from other people’s blood. It was a genetic disease. Feeling panicky, he checked for something else to pass it on ­– saliva maybe, like the rabies? No, it was a dead end.

  ‘Can you infect people with diabetes?’ he shouted to Mitch. Maybe the internet was wrong.

  The sound of the tap stopped and it was replaced by Mitch’s laughter.

  ‘Don’t worry, you’re not going to catch it from sharing a room with me.’ He appeared in the doorway, smiling. ‘It isn’t contagious.’

  ‘That wasn’t what I was worried about!’ Brewer spread his palms in an exasperated gesture. ‘Think about it.’

  The cogs in Mitch’s head turned and the smile vanished from his lips. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Oh, indeed. How are we supposed to give a hiker diabetes?’

  ‘I hadn’t really thought about that,’ Mitch shrugged.

  It was frustrating being so close to finding a solution. Brewer ran a hand through his longer hair; he’d need to have it cut soon.

  ‘I know you don’t want to use your insulin but we’ve got no other choice,’ he said. ‘We can’t infect a hiker with diabetes so giving one an insulin overdose is the only other option.’

  Mitch folded his arms across his body defensively. ‘I’ve only got what’s in my bag, I didn’t bring my prescription with me to get more.’

  ‘How much have you got with you?’

  Mitch huffed over to his bag to get out his supply. ‘I use NovoRapid, which is a fast-acting insulin,’ he explained. ‘I guess that’s something.’

  He had his insulin stored neatly in a black, leather case. His fingers toyed inside as he made some mental calculations. He didn’t tip them out to show Brewer how much he had. Eventually, he took out one insulin pen and put it on the bed.

  ‘I’ve got enough for me so I can spare you this one.’

  Brewer eyed the single pen sceptically. ‘That looks pretty small?’

  ‘It’s more than enough. This is a 10ml pen and there are a hundred units per ml, which means there are 1000 units in this.’

  Brewer raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Is that enough to kill someone?’

  Mitch snorted a laugh. ‘Yes. It’s a high enough dose to cause hypoglycaemic shock.’

  ‘A hypo? That would knock the hiker unconscious, right?’

  ‘Right,’ Mitch said. ‘Then, untreated, the hiker would suffer brain damage and be killed.’

  ‘How long would that take?’ Brewer asked.

  ‘If we managed to shoot a tranquiliser dart full of this into one of its arteries then it would be dead within minutes.’

  Brewer couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face. ‘Well, that’s all we need for now.’

  He picked up the pen and peered at the insulin inside. It was hard to believe something so little could be so lethal. ‘The carotid artery,’ he mumbled.

  ‘What?’ Mitch frowned.

  ‘That’s the main artery in your neck.’ That was one random fact Brewer had picked up while attending a grisly murder scene during his time with the Met. ‘If we hit a hiker there, it’ll be impossible for its body to have time to adjust its insulin levels. If this works, we can go back and get your prescription to kill more of them.’

  He carefully handed the pen back to Mitch. They could empty the insulin into one of the darts for the tranquiliser gun when they found a hiker. It was perfect – they had their weapon.

  The next step was harder. They needed to find a hiker to use the insulin on. It was getting late and Brewer didn’t want to set off on a scouting mission this close to darkness. He wasn’t too proud to admit he was scared of the Grand, hiding out there somewhere in the night.

  He suggested they research that night then set off fresh in the morning. Mitch looked more than happy to stay in for the night. He went to the nearest shop to get some supplies for dinner and a selection of the local newspapers. Brewer had a quick shower while he was gone and carefully stored the guns in the room’s one wardrobe, wrapped in a spare bed sheet.

  Mitch returned with a dinner of burgers and fries for them, as well as a bag bursting with snacks, drinks, and folded up newspapers.

  Brewer eyed the bags of greasy food. ‘I thought you had to watch your diet?’

  Mitch rolled his eyes. ‘You sound like my mom! I know what I can and can’t eat, and it’s not like I have this every day.’

  He turned on the small TV set by the dressing table and settled down on the bed. He channel hopped until he found an MTV music station. Brewer decided to let him have a little break with dinner before they got down to business. He unwra
pped his own cheeseburger and took a large bite. It was surprisingly tasty for something so cheap looking, much better than the fast food places back in London. Brewer hadn’t been in a McDonalds or Burger King there for a long time.

  The music videos switched to an episode of Cribs, where some arrogant rapper was showing a TV crew around his ridiculously over-extravagant house. Brewer zoned it out and thought about the mission ahead while he ate his meal.

  ‘Wow, look at that!’ Mitch whistled. ‘I should’ve gone into the music business.’

  Brewer glanced up to see a row of huge cars on the screen, parked in front of a wide swimming pool. No one needed that many vehicles.

  ‘Maybe one day I’ll have that sort of cash,’ Mitch sighed and stuffed a handful of fries into his mouth. The house on the TV looked a million miles away from his neighbourhood in Philly.

  They ate the rest of their food in silence. Brewer gathered the rubbish from both beds and put it in the small bin by the dressing table.

  ‘You ready to get to work?’ he asked.

  Mitch nodded. They decided he would check the online news websites while Brewer read the local papers. Brewer turned the TV over to a news channel for background noise then he spread the papers out on his bed.

  An hour later, they were no closer to finding a hiker. Mitch drank a can of coke and clicked lazily at the laptop keyboard. He was sitting against his headboard with the laptop balanced on his knees. Brewer was halfway through the stack of newspapers but hadn’t found anything of interest yet.

  ‘This is boring,’ Mitch sulked.

  ‘It’s necessary.’

  They carried on silently for another thirty minutes. Mitch surprised Brewer by being the first one to speak again.

  ‘I think I’ve got something.’ He angled the screen so Brewer could see. ‘There’s a girl who fell to her death while on a nature hike with her mom.’

  Brewer moved closer to the screen. There was a photo of a large mountainous rock.

  ‘That’s West Rock Ridge, not too far from here. Apparently this girl and her mom were on the 7-mile…’ Mitch paused to check the story again. ‘Regicides trail in the state park. They’d done the walk loads of times before.’

  ‘Go on.’ This didn’t exactly sound like a hiker yet.

  ‘There’s a high point on the hike, at a junction with another trail on York mountain, that’s just over 200m. Somehow the girl fell and was killed.’

  Brewer tried to hold back the memory of his cliff top fall. It hadn’t been anywhere near that high and he’d almost died from it.

  ‘The mother has been too hysterical for proper questioning but one of the first people on the scene managed to get a couple of words from her. They claim the mother said her daughter was murdered. That they weren’t alone on that trail and she’d heard a man’s voice.’ His eyes widened dramatically. ‘A voice, god dammit!’

  Brewer took the laptop and quickly read through the details. The mother was called Ellen MacIntosh and her daughter’s name was Lucy. She had only been sixteen years old. The police claimed Ellen was in shock and they believed the death was accidental. They warned other people to take extra care on the trails. That one quote from the mother was all they had to suggest this was anything other than a tragedy. Brewer knew in his heart that it wasn’t. They had to go and see this woman.

  ‘She lives in West Rock,’ he said to Mitch. ‘We should go and…’ He stopped abruptly when he saw the date at the bottom of the article. ‘Mitch this story is old! It’s from ten weeks ago.’

  Mitch peered at the small print. ‘Oh, sorry, I hadn’t noticed. I was just looking for any weird stuff.’

  ‘It’s kind of important,’ Brewer scolded. ‘If that was a hiker then it’ll be long gone by now.’

  ‘So-ho-ree.’ Mitch drew out the word and didn’t sound like he meant it at all.

  Brewer sat back on his own bed with the laptop and searched for any more details on the case. There was only one other snippet about the girl’s funeral. It re-capped her tragic death on the trail and there was a photo alongside it. She was smiling widely for the camera and it broke Brewer’s heart. She was so young, and she’d had everything in front of her. She had shoulder-length brown hair, a slim face, and shining brown eyes. Something about her gaze reminded him of Georgie. There was so much life there.

  There was nothing in the article about a strange man’s voice or any hint at murder. The death had been recorded as an accident. It said Lucy’s devastated mother, Ellen, was in attendance but there was no picture or comment from her.

  Brewer glanced at the girl’s photo again. He needed to know if that spark in her eyes had been extinguished by an evil hiker. The mother would know for sure.

  ‘Tomorrow morning, we’re going to West Rock.’

  Chapter 8

  The next morning was dry and bright. They checked out of the motel early and took the CT Transit as close to West Rock as they could. Brewer carried the tranquiliser gun case over his shoulder and Mitch kept the Glock in his rucksack. They were well hidden, but Brewer still felt nervous about carrying the guns around. He had his new knife tucked away in the side pocket of his own pack.

  Ellen MacIntosh lived off the bus route, on Jennifer Road, and they hiked the rest of the way there. Brewer had done some background research the night before to find the right house.

  ‘It’s that one there,’ he told Mitch.

  They stopped outside a fairly spacious, detached house, with white walls and wooden shutters. It was set on a slight hill and there was a fair distance between each of the neighbouring houses. It looked as though it had once been well cared for but now the garden was overgrown and the porch was littered with newspapers. There was no car on the driveway.

  ‘You think we should knock?’ Mitch asked.

  ‘I guess so.’ Brewer had a feeling he’d know what they’d find inside the house.

  He was well accustomed to grief and a woman who had recently lost her daughter would be distraught. There had been no mention of a husband or partner in the articles, although that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. He might not react well to two strangers turning up at his doorstep asking questions.

  ‘Maybe I should go up alone first.’

  ‘What?’ Mitch was instantly defensive. ‘You think the little white lady will be scared of me?’

  Brewer gave him a withering look. ‘No. It’s just more respectful. She’s going to be very upset still and she might not answer if she’s alone and sees two unfamiliar men on her porch.’

  ‘Oh. Ok then, I’ll wait here.’

  Brewer walked up the path, keeping one eye on the windows. They were all closed and there was no movement inside the house. The curtains were drawn across the downstairs left window. Brewer remembered clearly the hours he’d spent alone in his own house after Karen had died. He’d never thought he’d be able to face the world again.

  He climbed the two steps to the porch and stepped over the newspapers. There was a small bell to the right of the doorframe and he pressed it once, firmly. There was no other sound from within. If Ellen was home, she was sitting in silence. The door was solid wood, with one small, glass panel in the middle, through which he could see the empty hallway beyond.

  He waited for nearly a whole minute before ringing the bell again. This time he pressed it in quick succession and two chimes echoed inside the house. A shadow appeared in a doorway to the left of the hall. The figure was hunched over and leaning out to see who was at the door, but they made no move to come towards it.

  ‘Mrs MacIntosh?’ Brewer called gently.

  The shadowy figure slowly stepped out into the hallway. She must have realised that if he knew her name then he wasn’t going to go away quickly. He stood patiently, until he heard the lock on the door releasing, then he took a step back to give her some space. The door inched inwards and a pale face squinted up at him. She kept the door half in front of her body as a shield.

  ‘Are you Ellen MacIntosh?’ he asked.
>
  She nodded once. Brewer noticed her red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. She was a petite woman, around 5ft 4in, and she looked very thin. The baggy, grey t-shirt she was wearing made her arms seem like twigs, and the dark jeans hung from her frame. Her hair was light brown and unwashed. It was pulled into a tight ponytail that made her cheekbones look sharper. Her brown eyes were filled with sorrow.

  He paused for a beat, unsure exactly how to explain the situation. ‘My name is Scott Brewer and that’s Mitchell Baines over there.’ He nodded towards the pavement where Mitch was loitering, repeatedly pacing up and down, and generally looking shifty.

  ‘Could I have five minutes of your time to talk to you about something very important, please?’

  Ellen blinked but didn’t answer immediately. When she did, her voice was low and husky.

  ‘What is this about?’ She was studying him curiously.

  He knew he didn’t look like a police officer, or anyone of authority, and she wouldn’t recognise him as being from anywhere local. He was an odd, English stranger.

  ‘It’s about your daughter, Lucy.’

  The front door swung towards him so fast he barely had time to react.

  ‘Ellen, wait!’

  The door closed with a loud click.

  ‘Please, it’s very important.’

  He saw her shadow moving away from him.

  ‘It’s about the man’s voice you heard!’ he called desperately.

  She paused in the hallway. He had her. Ellen came flying towards the door rapidly and it flung wide open. He wasn’t prepared for the anger on her face. Her delicate features were contorted with rage.

  ‘How dare you come here and say these things!’ she hissed. ‘What do you know about any of it?’

  Brewer held his palms towards her in a non-threatening gesture. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s very important that you talk to me.’ He spoke calmly. ‘I do know something about what happened.’

  The flash of anger faded from her eyes and her body slumped against the doorframe in defeat. Ellen beckoned for him to come into the house and Brewer glanced back at Mitch.